Chapter Three
God was a funny mother fucker.

He never made anything easy or fair.

After spending an hour outside Bella's apartment, staring up at the frosted glass door Edward gave up, realizing she wasn't going to come outside.

It was a chance meeting in the first place. Too fucking convenient if you ask him. But as Edward finally resolved to the fact that it was a onetime thing, he stuck another cigarette in his mouth and light it as he walked away.

And talking of fucking change meetings the big tattooed fucker from the package store crossed him on the sidewalk, his face all kinds of angry.

Edward kept to himself, walking close to the buildings to avoid the streetlights' reflections. He wasn't sure what to do anymore. It was like after seeing Bella for a fucking second his life had meaning again. But leaving her, with her husband-Edward sneered at the thought-felt wrong. She seemed different more so than when she ended it.

He cringed at the memory.

That day, when he walked out of her dorm, he fucking lost a part of himself. With Bella, he started to regain it.

Fuck he sounded like such a pussy.

Edward dropped the butt onto the sidewalk and angrily stomped it out as he continued his trek home. He didn't want to go back to his empty studio apartment, eat nothing and stare at the television until he felt like it was time to call it a day.

Parole was a bitch, was it not.

"Fuck." Edward whispered to himself as he rubbed his face with his palms.

He needed something to do, maybe pick up a new hobby. Anything to get his recent encounter with the love of his life out of his mind.

Maybe he should just fucking take up knitting and redecorate his fucking house in bright colors because his dick seemed to shrivel up into a vagina-like counterpart.

He rolled his eyes at himself as he pushed his apartment doorknob up and to the left, listening to the lock disengage. He lost his key years ago and didn't bother getting a replacement. It was pointless to lock the fucker in the first place considering his most prized possession was on him at all times.

He grabbed a bottle of Bud from his mini-fridge and collapsed onto the second-hand recliner he picked up from Salvation Army a few years back. A little duct-tape to cover up exposed springs and a squirt or two of air freshener and the thing was like new.

Emphasis on "like".

He toed the television on and leaned back, taking pull after pull from his beer. It wasn't until bottle number three that he finally dozed off into a restless sleep.

~oOo~

The stupid fucker scientists call "the sun" woke Edward up from his slumber, transitioning his mood from shit to nuclear hell. All he wanted to do was drink, smoke and cry. But he wouldn't admit the third part out loud. Ever.

He groaned and scratched his face, shrugging at the stubble that just happen to grow in overnight. His day seemed anything but interesting and his motivation went from lacking to nonexistent. Chickenshit or not, he missed Bella.

Grabbing his cellphone off the tray table to his left, he dialed up his parole officer and made with the "hey-how-are-ya" before hanging up. Second on his list of people to call was the chop shop he called work. He spouted off the first excuse he came up with and tossed his phone across the room, not wanting to deal with the plastic bastard for the rest of the day.

As Edward popped his neck and cracked his back, the stench of a long day hit his nose, making his face wrinkle in disgust. He instantly yanked his t-shirt from his body and tossed it onto the ever growing pile of clothes. He made a mental note to gather that shit up and hit the Laundromat after his shower.

Rinse and repeat was the name of the game as he shed himself of the remainder of his clothes and stepped under the cold spray of his shower. He didn't bother waiting for the fucker to warm up, knowing the water-heater had been broken even before he moved here. Three years ago.

His skin resented him for the shock though, creating goosebumps and invisible razors all over him. He clenched his teeth through the pain and dealt with the cold water shower. At least it took care of half his problems.

The other half of his list wasn't something he was prepared to mentally delve into at the moment.

So, he jumped into the cleanest pair of pants he could find, sniffing around until he found a shirt that wouldn't offend half the people at the Laundromat and shoved the pile dirty clothes into a drawstring bag.

The mesh fabric of the bag dug into his neck as he walked down the emergency staircase and out his apartment. He shifted it from shoulder to shoulder as he walked along the sidewalk, counting his paces along the concrete. It was just a few blocks from his humble abode but a long enough walk to spark the tiniest of perspiration.

Edward pushed the glass door open with his hip, scowling at the ringing of the bell above him. The sound went right up his back, making his teeth clamp together with a crack.

As he loaded his clothes into the washing machine, he patted his pockets for quarters, praying he grabbed enough change from his jar in the kitchen to do the few loads necessary. The stupid little brass bell above the door rang, but he couldn't be bothered to look at the door to see who made the fucking bell ring again.