This is my first Twilight fan fiction of any sort. I have to admit I'm nervous about posting it anywhere, but I figured that here was as safe a place to post it as anywhere.
The ownership of these characters belongs completely to Stephenie Meyer. I only own the storyline.
Con/crit is always, always appreciated.
Thanks!
- Pondie
Bella's POV
The ache you feel when you've been cheated on or you find out your husband has had an affair with another woman never quite leaves you. Not after several weeks of constantly re-stocking the shelves with shitty boxed wine, not after several months of therapy, and not after several years of being divorced. There's the constant question of " what did I do wrong?" or "when did he fall out of love?"
"How could he fall out of love?"
"I think you need to ask yourself that, Bella."
My psychologist never ceased to interrupt my train of thoughts.
I started seeing Doctor Mitchel one month and two weeks after my divorce. My friend Angela practically forced me to go with the threat of "psychology or rehab". Obviously, I chose the first, and rightly so. Doctor Mitchel helped me more than any support group would have. I hadn't touched a wine three months, two weeks, and four days, and I was damn proud of it.
"Because he met other women when he was on tour."
"Any other reasons?"
Yeah. Definitely.
"Booze and marijuana."
Those were my two least favorite substances on the planet. Even if booze had been a best friend of mine for a few months after the divorce, it was one of those friends you really don't like but can't get rid of because you need them. To put it plainly, booze is a bitch. An addictive bitch.
"He's always enjoyed them, hasn't he?"
"Yeah."
"What do you think made this time different from any others?"
Oh, there were several things. His lack of interest in my life or what I was doing. His complete interest in one of the women on the sound team. His complete interest in someone who I thought was my friend.
"Jessica."
"Can one woman really make that much difference?"
Yes. Yes, they most certainly could. They could when they came over to our house almost every day during his break from touring. They could when they distracted him completely from his wife.
"One woman, booze, and marijuana can really make that much difference. Apparently five years of marriage doesn't matter when you can't think clearly and you have an attractive woman sitting in front of you."
"You don't think he had a better reason?"
What sort of question was that? There was never a "better reason" for cheating on someone. Doctor Mitchel stared at me through his wire-framed glasses and I stared right back at him. It was something we'd started doing a lot. We would stare at each other until one of us cracked, and most of the time, it was me.
This time, it wasn't the case.
"Your hour is up."
Those four words always struck something inside of me when he said them. It was usually either relief or disappointment. This time I couldn't really be sure. I was relieved that I didn't have to try to sort through my problems anymore and that I could go home with a clear head. I was disappointed that I had been on the brink of figuring something else and had been left high and dry.
"Same time next week?"
I just nodded and stood from my chair, picking my bag up and leaving the office. I'd paid for my sessions in advance. It was easier to remember to pay for them when I only had to pay for them once a month.
As I got into my car it occurred to me just how pathetic I was being. It was just five years of marriage. Five years of marriage that had all been thrown away when he came home and the first thing he said to me was "I slept with Jessica" as opposed to the normal greeting, which usually ended up in him sleeping with me.
Not Jessica.
My car quite literally roared to life. After we'd decided on getting a divorce, he had decided to take my car. Our car, really, but when he was on tour, it was my car. My black 2007 Volkswagen Rabbit that I spent an hour every week cleaning to make sure it always looked like new. He knew I loved that car.
Just another thing I couldn't replace.
I had managed to find an old blue 1982 Ford pickup truck at a used car dealer right in town. The engine was horrible and there were several other problems with it that the dealer promised to fix before I drove it home that I had no idea about, but he guaranteed it would be sturdy for another three years. So far, so good.
That was eight months ago.
Eight months. Eight months since the divorce. Time really did fly when you weren't thinking clearly.
Right now was one of those times. I had pulled out of the parking lot and driven about twenty or thirty feet down the street when I heard a thud, eyes widening. and slamming on the brakes. At least I'd only been driving around fifteen miles per hour.
Still, I hopped out of the truck and walked around to the front of it, eyes widening when I saw a man splayed out on the road. I hit a man. I hit a guy. I hit someone.
Shit.
