Smoke & Mirrors
Happily ever after? Pfft.
Cocktail hour begins after breakfast while she can still taste the gritty protein drink coating her tongue. She makes it a bit better by chasing the vodka with a handful of pills. Then she pours herself just a little more because what she really wants is the numbness
Some days she promises herself she won't drink. Just for that day. And she sits in the living room, her fingers tapping on the edge of the sofa, and she snaps at Anthony as he rushes out the door, backpack slung over one shoulder. Everything is jittery and she stares across the room at the bookcase where she knows she tucked a small bottle between the carefully alphabetized titles.
Their bookshelf is full of beautiful hardcover books, collectible editions, rare signed copies that Edward brings her from his trips to soothe his guilt. And Bella places them carefully on the shelf, in order by author and she brings the books up to her nose, enjoying the dusty smell and trying to catch the hint of perfume from Edward's latest whore.
She unpacks his suitcases, examining each item of clothing. Looking for a trace of lipstick, a love note slipped secretly into a pocket by some foolish, idealistic girl who mistakenly thinks Edward Cullen might rescue her from her pitiful existence. But she never finds the evidence she both craves and dreads. He's too clever for that. It becomes one of the games they play with each other.
It's not like she's been tirelessly faithful and Edward's the asshole who breaks her heart over and over again. She had an amazing couple of weeks on the French Riviera with the son of a Greek shipping magnate and then there was her trainer who had wandering hands and Bella finally let them wander at will. However, her indiscretions were few and far between and for Edward, cheating on her seems to be as essential as breathing.
After breakfast, Bella takes a long bath then stands in front of the mirror, water still dripping off her body. She stares at her long, tanned legs, her breasts courtesy of the best plastic surgeon in Switzerland, her face smooth from chemical peels and botox.
Bella thinks that a long time ago she really was beautiful, living a crazy life of parties, lurking along the edges of the glitterati. She would stay up until the sun was so bright she had to push her sunglasses up her nose as she stumbled home to bed. There were parties and clubs and snorting blow off mirrored trays in the bathroom. There were old men that she seduced and they bought her beautiful clothing and jewelry that sparkled in a way that made her know it was the real stuff. There were movie stars she slammed against the bathroom wall and stuck her tongue down their throats, giving them a night they'd never forget.
She was beautiful and vibrant and alive, so when she met the handsome oil tycoon with his blinding smile and his charming ways, Bella fell head over heels in love. Here was the man who would give her everything she wanted. He was her perfect match.
It wasn't even a year into their marriage before Bella figured out he was cheating on her. And sometimes she'd wondered if he had ever been hers at all.
She'd wanted to leave him after she walked in on him fucking his assistant. But she was five months pregnant and Edward seemed sincere as he begged her to stay, as he promised it was the first and the last time. He'd told her she was the only one for him, that he'd die without her, and the next day she found a small leather box containing a huge teardrop emerald on a platinum chain.
She'd forgiven him and she always wears the emerald when she needs to remember what hope feels like.
Sometimes between her sixth and seventh glass of the day, she wonders what would have happened if she'd walked out that afternoon. She wouldn't have the beautiful house hidden behind a gate and long winding driveway. There would be no shopping trips in Paris during fashion week or weeklong spa getaways in Florida.
But she might still have herself instead of trying to lose herself in alcohol every day.
And maybe she wouldn't have to sit in the living room and listen to the screaming matches between her husband and son. Each fight was a testimony toward how Bella had failed him by staying and letting him grow up in an unhappy household.
She always expected anger from Anthony when he finally emerged from the den, but there was only sadness and pain. He would finally let the tears spill from his eyes when she was sitting on the edge of his bed, one hand trying to soothe him, the other holding her highball. She would sip from her glass and say nothing because there were no words that wouldn't reveal that she was also guilty for Anthony's pain.
Lunch would be a quinoa salad and half a grapefruit, chased by another glass of vodka and a couple Valium, and then she'd sit by the pool and smell the chlorine and try not to think.
The sun would be beating down on her and she'd hear the squeal of brakes in the circular driveway. Minutes later Anthony would come stalking up the pathway, backpack still slung around one shoulder. Some days when she missed her morning drink and she didn't chase lunch with Valium, things would be clear enough for her to ask him how his day had gone. He might sit on the edge of her lounger and tell her that he got a good grade on his essay in English, or a funny story about his best friend. Before his girlfriend moved to France, she'd tell him what a nice girl she was just to see Anthony smile.
They haven't talked much since she moved, Anthony is closed off and his eyes are always sad. Bella doesn't have the words to tell him that so much of life is loss and pain and this is just his first lesson. So most days she just turns her head when she hears the car in the driveway and pushes her sunglasses up her nose and tries to look like she's asleep.
When he's gone, sitting in his room playing video games, Bella reaches for her glass once again and takes a drink. She wishes there was some way they could talk because Anthony is the only thing keeping her from taking a few more pills so she can finally slip away.
Bella smiles a little and relaxes into the lounger. She still loves her husband, despite his indiscretions, and she feels like a fool. She loves her son because he's the one thing that is truly hers. But most of all she loves the alcohol and the pills she chases it with, because they bring the numbness and she needs the numbness so she doesn't have to look at what she's become.