Painkillers are no joke. Like with any addiction, they can tear your life apart, make it hell, and rip relationships apart.


Songs for this chapter:

Only You Can Love Me This Way – Keith Urban

Too Far Gone – Sam Bradley


Four days later

It's 1am when my phone rings; it's been ringing nonstop since 10pm. Knowing that it's Edward, I don't pick up; I had a sort of epiphany the other day: I enable him to do the shit that he does.

I look through the texts that he's sent over the last few hours.

9:59pm: I miss u, baby. –E

10:30pm: Are you sleeping? If not, can u come over? –E

10:40pm: it's been 4days, and u still aren't back yet – I miss my girl. –E

10:50pm: why are you doing this? U said it wasn't forever… -E

11:15pm: I need you baby…pls answer ur phone –e

11:30pm: fuckk it. –E

12:18am: I feel nothin', & yet so much. I fuckin miss u, and I need u, but u wont help.

12:20am: Fuck you. I hate you right now.

It's a quarter after one, and I know that he's high. I pick up when my phone rings for the umpteenth time.

"Finally!" It's Emma.

"Oh, hi; I thought you were Edward calling," I say quietly.

She snorts. "Nah, he's too fucking high outta his motherfucking mind to dial a number right now."

It breaks my heart, but I'm not crying this time.

"I'm sorry Em," I say.

"Ugh, it's his damn fault." She sighs. "Look, I figured this was gonna happen—I mean, you and I both know that he doesn't handle 'breaks' well."

I nod at nothing. "Yeah."

"I—hold on, B," she says. "Edward, you motherfuckin' motherfucker!"

"Go to hell, Em! And take the heartless bitch I call a girlfriend with you!" I hear Edward yell back at her.

Even over the phone I can still hear that behind the anger, there's sadness.

"If anyone's to fucking blame, it's you, dear brother of mine!" Emma snaps. "Sorry, B."

I sigh shakily. "I deserve this completely; don't worry."

"Please," she scoffs.

I hear a door slam shut, and Emma curses.

"Y'know what, I'm coming over—wait, is he even still there?" I say.

"Yeah, he's here. I took his keys and hid 'em," she tells me.

"Good; I'll be there soon," I say, ready to hang up.

"I don't know," she hesitates. "He's not exactly . . . stable, right now."

I roll my eyes. "Please, he can't hurt me more than he already has."

I hang up and get ready to leave.


"Edward, calm down you stupid fuck!" I hear Emma snap when I enter the house.

"Shut up, you don't know anything!" Edward snaps right back.

Edward stomps into the kitchen and then notices me.

"Oh look, you're finally here! What, you here to rip me into more pieces, huh?" He gives a stony glare.

"Edward, knock it off," Em says tiredly, joining us in the kitchen.

"Fuck you!"

"Edward," I say, trying to his attention.

He turns his head to stare at me, but it looks like it's right through me; it's like the drugs have completely taken him over again.

They have.

"Let's go upstairs, okay? You can do whatever," I say, trying to coax him.

"B," Em says half-warning me and sounding afraid.

I shake my head at her.

"Whatever I want," Edward chuckles out. "Like bruising you?"

I bite my lip.

"Tell me something, baby girl; would you really let me bruise you again? Could you handle that—the pain again?" He smirks, thinking he's got me.

I nod my head, though, not willing to give in so easily.

"Like I said, Edward; whatever you want."

I walk to the stairs, willing him to follow me.


I go into his room with him trailing behind me, and once the door is shut, I know that there's no turning back. He locks it and I realize that he's planning on doing something tonight.

"Scared, baby?" He grins.

I shake my head. "I trust you." It's only a half-lie.

He rolls his eyes, coming to stand in front of me.

"Like hell you do."

He towers over me.

"What—what do you want?" I ask him.

"You," he answers simply.

"You have me," I say, sincere.

"Do I, though?" His voice is doubt-filled, but his eyes remain drug-cloudy.

I nod my head.

He reaches out and touches my jaw, and then leans down to kiss me. I back up until I hit the bed, pulling him with me.

"What're you doing?" he asks, a little out of breath.

I smirk. "What, you don't want me?"

"Oh, I want you, no doubt. My way, though." He grins, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

"Fuck, Edward," I say.


The bed is banging into the wall and it's like a repeat of last time—only this, I didn't have to beg him to let loose, he did that on his own.

"Fuck—why'd you—leave?" he grunts out and thrusts into me hard.

I hang on—barely—and cling onto his shoulders and waist.

He didn't just immediately fuck me, he did get me wet first, so I can't exactly complain in that area.

"I know," I whisper.

"No—you—d-don't." He pulls out and then slams back into me.

I cry out.

"I hate you for this—for leaving me—for not—answering when I needed you," he actually cries.

"I hate for you turning to drugs every time," I whisper.

His thrusts are hard, forceful, as he comes, and then he just collapses on top of me, out of both breath and energy.


I play with his hair between my fingers. It's an hour or so later, and except for cleaning up, neither of us have moved. He cleaned me up with a shirt and then cleaned himself off. I should have peed right after, but I didn't want to move.

"I love you," Edward murmurs, his breath hot in the crook of my neck.

He started to come down off the high of the drugs after we had sex, and relaxed a little. He's calm now; the storm is over for tonight. His energy to fight and scream has run its course, and all he's left with is exhaustion. His words contradict what he said earlier; about hating me.

He contradicts himself all the time though.

The lips that were harsh and spewed malice-filled words just a couple of hours ago are now soft and gentle against my skin, pressing feather-light touches and kisses and caresses onto my skin, melting into me.

"I love you," he repeats like a broken record. "Say it back, baby; please, say it back."

Instead of words, I sit up and he follows, watching me with worried eyes.

"What're you doing?" he asks.

He calms a little when I slide onto his lap and wrap myself around him. He holds me to him with one arm, and takes my messy hair out of its falling-apart-ponytail with the other. I wince as he tries to slide the holder out; it's stuck, but he finally gets it free.

"Sorry," he murmurs, kissing my temple.

"Why didn't you answer your phone?" he asks after a little while.

I tense, worried and thinking that the storm is back, but his body is still relaxed and calm; still, I tread carefully.

"I needed time . . . I'm sorry," I say through a whisper.

He nods.

"Why did you . . . um," I say, but pause.

"Ask me," he says.

I pull away and wipe at my eyes.

"Why'd you get high again?"

"Because I needed you, and you weren't answering, and you said you'd answer," he tells me.

So, he did purely for attention this time.

This time? Try like every time, my brain tells me.

I nod and go to move off of him, but he holds me, shaking his head, trying to get me to stay.

"No . . . stay. Please." He buries his face in my neck and hair, inhaling.


Before we lay back down, I ask Edward what he took to get high on.

"The usual," he answers quietly.

I nod and wrap myself around him.

Painkillers.