Penname: DirrtySouthernBelle
Title: The Cleansing
Summary: Carlisle has been having unexplained medical problems for months now. What is happening to him?
Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight, but I definitely own the sick mind that came up with this plot bunny.
Contest: Die, Daddy C, Die
Carlisle POV
"Motherfucking shit!" My whole body is tensed and in agony as I try to relax and push. Searing pain seems to start in my back and radiates right out the tip of my dick! CLINK! FINALLY! The sound only brings physical relief from the pain because I just don't understand what's happening to me. I pick my head up off my arm and push off the wall. I've been leaning over this fucking toilet for 4 fucking hours straight. Two days of trying to pass this damned stone and I finally gave up trying to leave the bathroom. This is the 6th stone in as many months. None of them have been a fucking cake walk either.
"EDWARD!" He better move his ass quick if he knows what's good for him. I am in no fucking mood to deal with his shit plus too damned weak to set him straight. I can't show him how weak I am so I do my best to stand up straight and remove the pain and confusion from my face. I am Carlisle-motherfucking-Cullen and I will be feared and obeyed, especially by my fuckup of a son. I must have conveyed this because Edward quickly but hesitantly peeks around the bathroom door.
"Yeah, Dad?" he asks. What the fuck does he think I want? The boy is so damned stupid sometimes. He kills his mother and then turns into a fucking water head.
"Get me two of my morphine and a glass of OJ right the fuck now!" I hiss.
"Yes, sir!" he answers weakly with his head down. Boy needs to learn to man the fuck up. Guess he's smarter than I thought for not manning up to me. I chuckle humorlessly. I still can't understand the events of the last 6 months. Sometime after I got back from my trip to Chicago I started developing rashes on my body and getting these god-forsaken kidney infections and stones. Life has not been to my fucking liking to say the least. To top it off, I can tell Edward knows something is wrong with me. It's like he can read my mind sometimes. I detest weakness especially in myself so I have put on a steely front for months now.
"Here, Dad." Edward whispers.
"Fucking speak up like you have some balls! I seem to remember you having at least one so quit cowering and whispering like some damned pussy!" I scream. Edward looks me in the eye finally. If I didn't know any better, then I would say he has an almost smug satisfied look on his face. It was just a flash but I know I saw it. He quickly puts on a neutral expression and says,
"Yes, sir!"
I jerk the blessed pills from his hand. Next I grab the glass of juice. No reason to spill this shit so I take it gently. I toss both pills in my mouth, take a swig of juice, and then toss my head back to send the pills to the back of my throat. I hate medicine. Ironic for a doctor I know, but I can't help it so I always have to swallow them quickly.
"Now get the fuck out and go practice." I sneer.
"Yes, sir. Goodbye, Dad." Edward says with a small smile. What the fuck is that about? The boy has turned into a damn pussy ever since that little brunette slut entered the picture. The best thing I did was make him get rid of her. Girls like that are bad news. Clingy, needy bitches.
I finish off the OJ as I head down the hall to my room. It's still light out at 7:00 pm so I close my curtains and lay down on top of my comforter. I've not been laying there for more than 20 minutes when I start to feel the effects of the morphine. I start to feel heavy and relaxed. My whole body starts to itch.
"DAMMIT!" I yell. I didn't eat when I took the pills so it's going straight to my head. Fucking great! Now I won't be able to sleep from itching so bad all night. I sit up and swing my legs off the bed. I go to my liquor cabinet. Yes I have a liquor cabinet in my room, bitch! Problem? I didn't think so. I'll drink a double shot of Jack and then pass out. I down the drink in two gulps. I go lay back down on my tan and black duvet. I still can't bring myself to change anything about our bedroom all these years later. I still see her everywhere and it helps to remind me to keep Edward in line. That boy fucked up my life, but Esme would want me to make sure he doesn't fuck up his life too.
My vision starts to get blurry and my breath is getting more and more shallow. I decide to check my pulse. I look at my watch and start counting my pulse for 15 seconds. 8 beats times 4 is…is….
"Oooh fuck…" I manage to slur out. I can't think clearly but I'm pretty sure that's way too fucking slow. I also notice I'm starting to hyperventilate. I can't get a deep breath. I'm starting to panic. What the fuck did I take? I decide to call Edward but I can't hardly get the sound past my lips.
"Eh-war!" I try to shout.
"Yes, Daddy C?" Edward answers as he saunters into the room. Even in my state I can see that he looks entirely too fucking pleased with himself. He has that same smug ass smile back in place and he's not even trying to hide it this time. He better watch out once I can finally get outta this bed.
"Oh don't worry, Daddy dearest. " he sneers. He leans down and whispers into my ear, "Because I'm not worried. I'm not worried because the only way you are getting outta this bed is in a body bag." He chuckles loudly. "Too bad I can't mar your flesh the way you have done mine all these years. But we wouldn't want this to look like a wrongful death would we? No,no, no! This is not wrong at all. I believe Shakespeare thought of you when he said 'Cowards die many times before their deaths;
The valiant never taste of death but once.' This is why I've poisoned you slowly. You deserve the death of a coward." Edward says.
Edward reaches down to the floor. I can feel myself slipping even closer towards unconsciousness. My breathing is still shallow and irratic. My mind is fuzzy and my mouth feels like cotton. WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME? This is when I finally notice the gloves on Edwards hands and the white 8 ½ X 11 sheet of printer paper. It looks like my handwriting! Edward clears his throat and begins to read off of the paper.
"Edward,
I am so sorry, son! I can't take the guilt of the pain I have caused you over the years since your mother's death. It wasn't your fault, Edward, but you were the easiest target. I'm sorry for beating you to the point where you had to go to the hospital several times. I'm sorry I made you lie to everyone about what an out of control asshole your father has become. I am ending it all now. No more pain for either one of us. Please just promise me that you will do whatever makes you happy in life, even if it's not soccer. I would love to see you become the man I know you can be. A man better than me. Love, Dad"
"I thought the 'love' was pushing it but no one but me and God really know what a sadistic asshole you are. I promised after Mom died that I would never forget anything ever again. Which is how I was able to remember with stunning clarity how to write just like you do. No one else will be the wiser don't ya think? " Edward says quietly. I swear on my life he's dead as soon as I get out of this bed. Something in me is actually starting to fear that I won't make it out of this bed alive. Should I beg? I DO NOT BEG! I'll try to bargain with him.
"Ehhh…" I try to talk but it all comes out as sound. I'm starting to drift off a bit more, but surprisingly there's no pain. I look over at Edward who is watching me closely.
"It won't be long now. I guess it's safe to tell you that I crushed Valium into your orange juice." Edward says and then waits for me to register this information. OH FUCK FUCK FUCK! NO NO NO NO NO!
"NO!" I manage to scream. I finally realize that this is probably the last noise I will make on this earth. MY OWN FUCKING FLESH AND BLOOD MIXED VALIUM WITH MY MORPHINE! Deadly combo. I am going to DIE! As if to confirm this I start to choke on my own saliva and make a horrible gurgling noise.
"Oh and Dad? Edward asks. I have just enough energy to turn and look at the ungrateful little shit!
"I've been slipping goalie glove cleaner into your lotion, shampoo, body wash, and anything else that you rub on your skin. Some of the harsh chemicals in the cleaner cause rashes and kidney problems. I hope you enjoyed the last 6 months as much as I have. It may be a little cliché but I've washed my hands of you and the guilt you thrust upon me since I was a child. Cliché but far too symbolic to pass up. Tell Hitler, Bin Laden, and everyone else in hell I said 'fuck you'." He finishes with a damned smile. Maybe we're not so different after all.
Darkness overtakes me.