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Our Sick, Unhealthy Ways
Disclaimer: I do not own the Twilight Saga characters; they belong to Stephenie 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 THREE - Love isn't supposed to be about hurt!
Alice POV
"Alice." He calls out form the doorways.
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. Look at him.
And I see rage and concern and more rage.
Guilt.
Pain.
Love.
Confusion.
Thank God! He loves me still.
Edward approaches me slowly, and I don't know what he's thinking. I'm expecting a storm of fury and reproaches, looks of disappointment, scolding… But Edward tenderly encircles my waist and kisses me. He holds his forehead to mine and his eyes are gentle.
"I didn't mean to walk away. I just needed to calm down."
"Ok." I whisper, unsure of how to respond. He hadn't realized what I had done; he hadn't seen. Thank the Lord!
"Alice."
"Yes?"
"I love you."
"I love you," I feel warm in his arms.
"Why do you look so nervous?"
"Ummm. For no reason. I'm sorry about Jasper."
"Don't let it happen again." Firmly.
"I won't."
I'm lost in Edward's gaze for an undetermined amount of time until his gaze shifts from me to the wall behind me.
"Why is there blood on the wall?" He asks, still not realizing.
"I don't know."
"What do you mean you don't know? You were the only one here! Unless, of course, you followed my advice and called Jasper to keep you company:'
'STOP IT!'
"Do NOT yell at me."
Edward rushes to the wall, leaving me standing there like a confused idiot, and inspects the area.
His voice is dull when he asks me,
"Alice, what did you do?"
"What do you mean?"
"Don't play dumb with me! Why is there a blade on the floor?" There's urgency in his voice and fear in his eyes.
"Maybe you dropped it."
"Tell me! What did you do?"
"Edward—"
He's back in front of me in the blink of an eye and he orders,
"Show me your arms."
"This is ridicul—"
"SHOW ME YOUR ARMS."
"No."
His hands dart to my wrists and pull them forward. Edward spots my left palm quickly.
"What the fuck is this?"
Edward doesn't usually curse.
"I tripped."
"On a razor blade?"
"No."
He releases me and turns away from me.
I can feel his anger.
"I don't understand. What on Earth, Alice?"
"Edward—"
"Why would you do this? We've had worst fights."
"I didn't mean to do it."
Edward walks out of the bathroom and sits on our bed, his head in his hands.
His voice sounds deranged when he tells me,
"Alice, it doesn't matter whether or not you meant to do it. It only matters that you did."
I don't understand.
"Are you going to leave me?" Panic, panic.
"I don't know. If you've done this—something so fucked up and childish—to yourself because of me, then maybe I should be the bigger man and leave."
"If you leave me, I'll just kill myself." He stands up and rushes over to me menacingly.
"Oh, so you're suicidal too now?"
His question is harsh.
No, I'm not suicidal.
"Why are you so angry?"
He shakes me so forcefully that it hurts.
"How DARE you ask me that? What the hell am I supposed to do?" He yanks my arm harshly forward and forces it to my face while shouting,
"You just took a razor blade and cut yourself. Like a fucking angsty teenager."
I find myself slammed against the wall and feel his cold breath on my face, so close,
"HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO REACT?"
"Edward."
"WHAT?"
"You're scaring me."
"You're scaring me. I've known you for eight years, and you've never done this before. Why now?"
"I don't know, love."
I try to move away from the wall, but his firm hand holds me there, helpless,
"Don't call me that. If you loved me at all, you'd never do that. You can't imagine how much it hurts me to look at that. The cut, the blood, on your skin."
"Edward, I don't know what to say."
I don't.
Suddenly he sits down again, head in hands.
"Neither do I."
"Please don't leave me."
"Alice, this is too much. We're all damaged. You don't see me slashing my wrists with razor blades, do you?" I cringed at the idea of Edward doing something so weak.
Edward wouldn't be a cutter; he'd turn to alcohol. Perhaps drugs. But never self-harm. Besides, Edward has Rosalie; she'd never let him stoop so low.
I have no one. No one except Edward, and I can't lose him so I say,
"Edward. I'm not a cutter. It was just a lapse of judgment, I wasn't thinking clearly."
I kneel down before him, and he looks at me, hurt, sitting on our bed, his hair disheveled. I put my hands on his knees and look up at him. He looks down at me sadly and puts his hand on my right cheek.
"I'm not going to leave you."
I smile, relieved. I wonder if it's because he doesn't want to or because he can't. Everyone we know seems to think it's because he can't. If that's true then I wonder why. Why can't he leave? Why does he love me so much? Why does Perfect Edward love Imperfect Alice? When he could love Perfect Rosalie?
Edward's demanding voice snapped me out of my thoughts,
"But if this happens again, I'm going to walk out of here and never come back. If you hurt yourself again, you will never hear from me. I will disappear. I'll be damned if I sit back and watch you hurt yourself. I will not stand for it. I'm being forgiving this time; I'm going to believe you and say that it's a lapse of judgment. Is that clear?"
"Yes."
"OK."
Edward puts his other hand on my shoulder and makes me stand up. He sits me on his lap and buries his face in my shoulder-length hair. A few minutes go by and he brings his lips to my ear and says suddenly,
"It hurts me. To see you hurt, Alice, hurts me. Stop hurting me. Love isn't supposed to be about hurt."
He kisses my palm.
"Let me see if I can get this cleaned up. If it's too deep, we'll call Carlisle."
"No!" I shout, alarmed. "I don't want Esme to know."
"I'll ask him not to tell her."
He thinks he wouldn't tell her. They don't talk much anymore, but I don't want to risk it.
He looks at my panicked expression and says that he'll see if we even need to worry about telling Carlisle.
I hold my palm out to him and he observes it silently. He doesn't have to speak because I know exactly what he's thinking. He looks at me, trying to hide his disgust, and announces,
"I think that if you don't want a scar, we need to ask Carlisle to fix this…He won't tell Esme if I ask him not to."
"Whatever you say."
At this point, I just want to forget this ever happened. I look at Edward's pained expression and wonder if he'll ever let me forget.
"I'm going to call Carlisle, but I want you to know that this is not the end of our discussion. This childish act will not go unpunished."
I only nod. I'm not sure what he means. I briefly wonder if he's talking about our nightly games, but I doubt he wants to turn me on right now. So I don't understand.
Edward puts me on our bed and stands. He goes to fetch his phone and leaves to speak to Carlisle from the living room.
I hear him say a weak, "Hello, Carlisle."
