"You're going to go to your room, shut the door quietly, and wait there for me to come deal with you." I tell my angry nephew. I try to stay calm, but it's a challenge.
"For you to deal with me? What the hell does that mean?" Edward yells as he steps closer to me.
"It means you're going to be punished. Now go!" I point down the hall. He puts his hands on my shoulders and pushes backwards. I stay were I am, which just makes him even more upset. He tries to push me again, but still it doesn't work. Before he can try a third time, I grab his wrists.
"Let me go!" He screams and stomps on my foot. It takes everything I have to let go of his wrists in reaction to his stomp.
"When I let go of you, you are to go to your room. Understand?" I ask. Instead of responding, he scowls at me. I drop his wrists anyways. "Go, Edward."
"Fuck you!" He yells and pushes my shoulders again. "Fuck-"
Before he can finish the word, I grab his arm and spin him around. I don't hesitate with smacking his rear end. As soon as the first swat makes contact with the seat of his jeans, he yelps and tries to pull away from me.
"I'm sorry! I didn't mean it!" He says quickly, his tone changing to an innocent plea. For a quick second he has me pulled into his fake cry, but I remind myself about the scene I walked in on. "Carlisle, I'm sorry!"
"You do not act like this!" I tell him. I pull my arm back again, but he throws his hand over his rear.
"Stop!" Edward yells and spins around, the sweet little boy act over. I still keep my grip on his arm. "God dammit, Carlisle!"
"This behavior of yours is unacceptable! You will not put your hands on Esme!"
"Fuck you, Carlisle!"
"Don't curse at me, young man!"
"I hate you!"
"Go to your room. Now." I command and release his arm.
Instead of doing what I told him, Edward takes a step closer to me. Before he has the chance to push or yell, I spin him around again and land one hard smack on his bottom. He jumps away from me.
"I hate you!" He screams and stomps off to his room. I watch him slam the door harder than ever before. I sigh and turn to Esme, who's still against the wall, looking terrified.
"Are you okay, honey?" I ask. She nods yes. "What happened?"
"He came home and was angry. Something must have happened in his class today. He wouldn't tell me what's wrong." She explains and starts to cry. "He was being mean, hateful, and I told him his father wouldn't be proud of his behavior. That's when he blew up."
I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her into a hug. She rests her forehead on my shoulder as she cries. I pray that she doesn't have bruises on her wrist from Edward's hands. I sigh and hold her tighter.
How did we let this get so out of hand?
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