Our Sick, Unhealthy Ways

Disclaimer: I do not own the Twilight Saga characters; they belong to Stephenie Meyer Meyer. No copyright infringements intended.

Warning: Darkward, contains violence, abuse, mild form of sexual abuse. DOMESTIC ABUSE. POSSESSIVE, HARSH EDWARD. Do not read if you don't like that.

CHAPTER ONE - Is that so?

ESME POV

I always wonder, about Edward and Alice. Sometimes, I don't know if we did the right thing. It's so weird, don't you think? He's Carlisle's son-adoptive son-and she's my niece. Fine, adoptive niece. And they're in love. And Carlisle and I married.

And that is weird.

I don't think I'll ever fully accept it. However, they are adults. They can do whatever they wish. Carlisle doesn't think it's that bad. We're both really happy for them; they complete each other. Alice is so—so content. I feel that I've given my sister a reason to lie peacefully in her grave. Her daughter is well; I have been as a responsible guardian. Everything is OK.

I met Carlisle many years ago. My adoptive sister, Mary, had just died and Alice was sick. I took her to the hospital and Carlisle accepted to see her although he wasn't a pediatrician. She was 11, I was 23. Overwhelmed—we both were. It turned out Alice wasn't dangerously ill; just a stomach ache. Needless to say, Carlisle and I dated, fell furiously in love, and got married, all in one year. I never understood the rush; Carlisle seemed to be fleeing from something, or someone. I was too happy to ponder on this back then. I regret it today.

Carlisle's 13 year-old son did not pose a problem; I was very taken by him. He was sweet, gentlemanly, the perfect older brother for Alice!

They didn't see it that way.

They seemed to fancy each other that first month. I didn't really pay much attention to it-marital bliss had blinded me. They really took to one another though, and they started dating.

OFFICIALLY.

I freaked out. Carlisle was calm.

Isn't this incest? No, it isn't. They are in no way related. They have never lived together as brother and sister. I had-have-no reason to fret.

Besides, I have Carlisle. Not like I had him all those years ago, but still.

I'm just the aunt, right?

Alice POV

I feel like a sixty-year old; I'm so tired. I remind myself that I am only eighteen, that I am still young and healthy before I walk in to our Upper Westside apartment.

It's silent and I realize that it's very late. 2:00 A.M. God, I hadn't realized that it was this late; Edward will be furious. Maybe I'll be lucky and he'll be asleep.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" He asks my quietly from the couch as I enter the apartment, tiptoeing my way though the large living room. No, it doesn't look like it's my lucky day.

I smile at him feebly and answer,

"I didn't see the time fly by; I was busy shopping with Rose. Then we went for dinner. Then, she wanted me to go over to her place so that she could show me something-'

I see his jaw tighten.

"I was worried, Alice. You could've called. Or answered my calls, for that matter."

"I'm sorry. My phone was on silent mode.'

He glares at me furiously, stands up from the couch and heads to our bedroom. Without saying anything.

I follow him slowly, giving him time to cool off. I know he sometimes has a temper. I've known him for almost eight years, after all.

Suddenly he turns back to face me so abruptly that I slam into his chest, my face barely reaching the base of his neck.

"It's funny. I recall Rosalie and Emmett being in France right now. He is my brother, Alice, I know his plans. She's my closest friend and I think she would have mentioned it in one of our daily phone calls had she decided to suddenly fly back home to go out with you. Not that I would've believed it since you dislike her so fucking much! And it's funny, but I never pegged Jasper for the type of guy who likes shopping."

Shit, he knew. Shit shit shit. Ok, calm down, Alice. Play it like you're the one who's angry.

"Have you been following me?' I ask, outraged. Feigning, of course.

"Don't you dare turn this around! And no, I have not been stalking you. I saw Jasper drop you here. You lied," He's getting angrier with every word.

"Only because I knew that you would have a fit. I missed Jasper. He's my friend."

"I wouldn't be having fits if you stopped lying to me. And if he is your friend, why do you have to hide his presence for me?"

I'm beginning to feel trapped. I don't know what to do. He's right. I'm a liar.

Now, I'm so nervous that I become angry at him for being right and at me for screwing up.

And before I realize it, I shout,

"Because YOU HATE HIM!'

'Lower your voice, Alice. Do NOT forget to whom you are speaking. And he's your ex-boyfriend. OF COURSE I HATE HIM!' He warned me furiously. It sent shivers down my spine. I should've bit my answer back,

"I didn't forget that I was speaking to the most POSSESSIVE, CONTROLLING, ASS—"

His eyes widen. He 's probably wondering if he had heard me correctly?

Edward's eyes sparkle and he is turning red. Not the blushing type of red—Edward and I don't blush anymore—but the angry type.

"How dare you call me names?"

"How dare you try to control me?"

"You are mine."

"I am not."

"Alice, don't test my patience."

"Your patience is inexistent."

"So is your faithfulness."

"So is my love for y—"

"WHAT?"

I see Edward's mouth fall open and I know that mine did the same thing. I think that this would've been as trivial as our other little fights if I had not tried to be witty. I focus on Edward and see that he is not moving, and I wonder if he's breathing.

He is not looking at me when he says,

"I hope you realize what you're saying, Alice."

Call me a sadist or a masochist. Call me plain crazy, but I say, loud and clear,

"I do!"

Edward is still not looking at me.

"Take it back."

His voice is soft, pleading, a little whiney, and that gives me more courage to be mean.

"NO."

"TAKE IT BACK, GOD DAMN IT."

I hadn't realized that he was shaking me angrily, his face not an inch from mine. I feel terrified. For some reason—one that I would never admit— I can't speak anymore.

I focus on Edward again and he is shouting angrily in my face.

"YOU LIED TO ME! YOU DECEIVED ME. AND YOU DARE TELL ME YOU DO NOT LOVE ME? IS THAT SO?"

Silence shatters the room and I wonder if he was expecting an answer. If he was, he'd be disappointed because I feel too overwhelmed to answer.

"ANSWER ME"

And for some stupid reason, I say the stupidest thing,

"Jasper is better for me."

Edward drops me—I hadn't realized that he had been literally picking me up—and he looks pale. And disgusted.

He turns around and heads to leave.

I panic.

"Edward, I didn't mean it! Come back."

"Why don't you call Jasper to keep you company?" he asks bitterly

"Edward."

He doesn't pay me any heed. Instead, he opens the door to leave and before I realize it, I fling myself at him, begging him to stay, kissing him all over, holding his hand to my face.

I'm hysterical. It's my way out when I'm in trouble.

He looks at me and I can see that beyond his desire to hurt me back, beyond his anger and disgust, he is tired. Of our fights. Of the pain.

Of me?

He leaves.

I run after him in the hallway and call,

"Coward! You're not man enough to stay! Way to be a man. Walk away, go ahead. Leave. Coward! It's in your fucking veins anyways."

I think he smiles. I can always feel it when he smiles.

"I will no longer stoop down to your level", he says coldly.

He knows that indifference is what I hate the most. He wants to hurt me, damn him.

And then he disappears. The love of my life. My everything. Edward.

He walked out on me.

My mind turns dark, and I'm sick .I do not recognize myself anymore.

I go to our red kitchen and get out a knife, determined to hurt myself. I can't. The knife looked too painful. I run back to our bathroom and take one of his razors. Yes, it would be as if he were cutting through me…His razor.

I break it and pry the blade out.

I place it over my palm and press.

It hurts like hell.

Ignore the pain!

I deserve hell. I would be in it soon, I had lost him.

Red spots.

I pull the assassin utensil down through my palm, creating a tidy, hurtful mess. Satisfied and hurt—so, so hurt—I throw the razor at the wall in rage and cry.

I shut up, disgusted with myself, not wanting to cry.

Only weaklings cry, Rosalie would say. Rosalie was strong. Rosalie was perfect.

I grab another razor blade and run it over my palm or create perfect lines.

I throw this blade randomly too. Dad would be disgusted. Esme would blame herself. Would anyone blame Edward? Would anyone blame me?

They'd be wrong to do so! They should blame Rosalie. Perfect, sweet Rosalie. Can I blame him for loving her? I love her too! But I am not her and I hate her for that.

No, that's a lie; I only hate myself.

This is why I hurt myself.

This is why punish myself.

This realization terrorizes me. Will I be hurting myself a lot?

And I just sit there, on the floor, alone. And hollow. I think I sit there for two hours. Two damaging hours. Every minute is full of realizations. And terror. And blood.

Then I hear his footsteps. Good God, he'd be enraged if he sees this. I have to hide it, but I can't be bothered.

I don't have the force to fake, to clean, to hide.

"Alice." He calls out from the doorway.

I don't want to meet his gaze; I fear both the indifference and the rage I'd find there. It's sick, but I hope he'll be furious; at least that would show me he cares.

I close my eyes; I don't know why

"Look at me." He orders firmly.

I do. I look at him.

And I see rage and concern and more rage.

Guilt.

Pain.

Love.

Confusion.

Thank God! He loves me still.