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"You're late," Alice said by way of greeting. She held the door partially open with one hand and planted her other hand on her hip. "And you look like death."

I was late and I was still drunk from my all-night one man jam session. I hadn't been sober since before Leah left, and Alice knew that. My whole family knew that, and they pretended to be on red alert because Papa Cullen was a recovering alcoholic and they all worried I'd follow in his footsteps. Never mind that Alice, the beloved angel, had a thousand-dollar-a-week coke habit or that Emmett was still popping Vicodin like Tic-Tacs.

"Thanks," I answered, as I squeezed past her into my mother's house. I craned my neck over my shoulder and looked back at her over the top of my shades. She was wearing a pale pink, very sheer, very low-cut blouse.

She fidgeted and readjusted her top, feigning a disapproving glare. Not that she was opposed to me seeing something I shouldn't—I'd already seen it all, and Alice seemed to want me to see things I shouldn't—but it was a nervous habit of hers to smooth her hair and obsessively check herself for tiny, self-perceived flaws.

"You're always so sweet to me." I faced her once again and smirked at her huffy attitude. I cupped her jaw and pulled her in for a kiss. Alice dropped the pretense and moved closer, aligning her body with mine, her forehead lingering, waiting for more.

"Where is everyone?" I asked nuzzling the side of her jaw. "In the dining room?" I leaned away from her, gauging her mood. I rested my hand on her shoulder, fingers wrapped gently around the thin column of her neck.

Alice was narcissistic and paranoid and endlessly concerned about her appearance as well as the appearances of the people surrounding her at any given time. One of the reasons Alice hated Leah was because the first time they met, Leah was wearing a t-shirt and an old pair of my jeans that she'd cut off and functionally secured at the waist with a rope-like belt. Leah could not have cared less about what people thought, which made Alice suspicious of Leah's "character." I think Leah scared her a little bit.

Alice nodded and burrowed her face further into my hand, closing her eyes and sighing. She was my sister—not by blood, but by law—and I should not ever have entertained her inappropriate expressions of affection. I shouldn't have strung her along. My acceptance effectively encouraged her territorial behavior and her advances toward me, but it had come in handy whenever I needed it.

Like last summer on a boat trip, Alice had asked me to help her apply her suntan lotion. When I agreed, she took her bikini top off, while Jasper and Leah watched. Jasper smirked, kicking back for the show and Leah fidgeted, pretending to have something to do in the hull.

I always liked the way those things affected Leah. I liked that she stayed closer to me for the rest of that trip. When she fucked me that night, she pushed my hands into the pillows over my head, bit my lips, and ground over me with more intensity than I'd ever felt, even from her.

Following Alice and my pathetically desperate cuddle session, proving once again that we both needed affirmation and would take it from anywhere it was offered, we wound our way from the front of the house to the dining room. Our family was eating dinner and laughing. I assumed Emmett was keeping them all entertained. When I approached the table I saw Jasper smirk at Alice and my joined hands before shaking his head and stabbing his roast beef with a fork.

Alice and I found our respective seats, and Kate, my mother's housekeeper, brought me a scotch. My mother fussed over how thin I was, and my father asked about work. Rosalie rolled her eyes at everything I said in response to my father's inane line of questioning about the quality of my life, and Emmett smoothed Rosalie's silken hair. It was the same as any other time we all got together—the same as the last time I was here with Leah.

"Edward, you really need to stop thinking with your dick," Alice had scolded, taking a dainty hit off the joint Jasper had just handed her. "I get that she's hot, so fuck her and move on." She wheezed and coughed.

Jasper just sat chuckling quietly at Alice's rant and her inability to hold her smoke. I turned my gaze to watch through the large picture window at the beach house as Leah played cards with Emmett, Rosalie, and my father. Leah looked up from her hand, met my eyes, and smiled.

I smiled back at Leah before turning my attention to Alice once again. "I've fucked her six ways to Sunday, Ali. And I like it. A lot."

"So fuck her twelve ways to next Sunday, just be done with it." Alice pointedly handed me the joint and settled into Jasper's side. "What you need is someone like Esme. You don't marry girls like Leah, Edward."

Jasper had seemed as disengaged as always, sipping his scotch. He always watched Alice and my interaction with quiet amusement.

I knew what Alice was really saying back then; you don't marry girls like Leah, you fuck girls like Leah. And I knew Jasper agreed. I could never forget the night I found him backing Leah into our washer in the cabin during one of Leah and my parties. I had entered the doorway right before Leah grabbed him by the cock and twisted. By the time I was fully in the room, ready to beat his ass, Jasper was on the floor, cupping his balls, a silent cry floating from his gaping lips.

"Edward are you thinking about looking into some more work with that television production company?" Carlisle's voice brought me back to the present, as he cut his meat, expressed interest, acted like a good daddy.

But I remember the not-so-good daddy. I remember the fights and broken glass, the cruel words and my mother's tears. With all due respect, my mother was a fucking saint, but she's also a fucking doormat for taking that piece of shit back, time and time again.

I glanced around the table at the hypocrites, drunks, and whores that were my family members. My father was still just as fucked-up as he ever was when he was a drinker, manipulating my mother and Alice and talking down to me. Jasper played Alice like a fiddle and laughed behind her back, stuffing bill after bill into the g-strings of strippers in Montreal every other weekend. Rosalie fucked her fiancées cousin (me) and never once looked back, never came clean, never apologized. And Emmett enabled them all.

But I was in the hot seat this Sunday.

"You know, I think I'll take some time off." I cocked my head and leaned back in my chair, sipped my scotch, looking pointedly into my father's icy-blue gaze.

I wanted to egg him on, see if I could get him to rise to the challenge, drop the fucking Dalai Lama act. I was thrilled when Carlisle finally gave in and I saw the classic Cullen temper flare. He'd claimed for years now that the alcohol was the culprit, but I knew better.

"Kick back…" I continued to taunt him. "Just chill for a little while." I shrugged then gently set my glass down on the table in front of me, never taking my eyes off his.

I hadn't had as much as a disagreement with my father in more than ten years. We were about due, I thought.

My mother was silent; Alice watched my father and I in morbid fascination; Rosalie rolled her eyes and sighed, clanking her fork down onto her plate and Emmett mirrored her. And Jasper remained seemingly unaffected, reflecting how they all wanted to appear, unflappable and unharmed.

"What you aren't saying is that you plan to continue living off the family." Carlisle's smile was tight and smug. I'm sure my mother thought he was self-effacing and serene as he spun his water glass, wishing it were gin. "You'll be a lay-about, sleep with whomever you please, and drink whatever and however much you want." He tilted his head back and looked down his nose. "Meanwhile, your mother and I lay awake at night wondering if we'll find you dead in a gutter some morning."

Precisely.

He could predict the future because he and I and everyone else at the fucking table communicated via the bond formed with Cullen blood and sweat and spit.

"Yes, Carlisle." I sneered, knowing he hated it when I called him by his first name. "You know me so well."

He inhaled slowly and deeply through his nose and stared, but he refused to take the bait. He backed down, shaking his head free of thought. The rest of dinner was an edgy blur of knives cutting, teeth gnashing, and one "he doesn't need any more, Kate". The next thing I knew I was on the side porch, smoking a cigar with a glass of scotch and melting ice in my hand.

"She's a good woman, Edward." Carlisle was talking about Leah. He was looking out over the water with his back to me. "But you need more than good. You need patience and kindness. Leah possesses neither of those things."

I suppose he thought he was bestowing his wisdom on me, the pompous ass. He thought he was consoling me for Leah's leaving me. As if I needed consoling from the likes of him.

"She doesn't have to be a fucking Stepford Wife to be worthy of respect, Carlisle." I took a swig from my glass then plunked it down on the arm of the Adirondack chair. "And who in Hell are you to tell me what's "good" and what I need?"

I stood and swayed. I'd sobered enough to know I was drunk, but I kept talking despite my total lack of tact and filter.

"Mom's a fucking automaton. Alice is a horny, little coke-head and she's lucky Jasper doesn't bring the Clap home to her one of these days…" I spun around looking for my keys. I needed to get the fuck out of there.

"You will not speak that way about your mother." Carlisle got his back up, thank fuck, but too little too late, I was ready to jet. "Your mother had faith in me—in us. She knew what we could be, which helped me see that I could do this, make the change-"

"Is this another one of your attempts to carry the message to me, Carlisle?" I mocked his 12-step success, because he was full of shit. "Well, save it." I downed the rest of my scotch and patted my pockets.

"Where are my fucking keys?" I stormed into the house, to my mother and Alice's surprise. Apparently their vapid little brains were so enraptured with the catalog or magazine they were poring over that they hadn't heard my tirade about them.

"I can't let you drive like this, son." Carlisle rounded on me.

"Let me?" I scoffed as he blocked my path. "You can't let me drive like this?"

Emmett and Rose emerged from another room, concern covering both of their faces. I had no idea where Jasper was, which, honestly, made me nervous. I felt a little like a caged animal. I thought I wanted a fight, maybe I still did, but then I was also so wound up and loose at the same time.

"You heard him, Ed," Emmett spoke, continuing to approach my father and I. Rose tensed and laid a hand on his forearm, holding him back. Rose was always the smart one.

"Oh, fuck off, Emmett," I spat. "Take your fiancée and pretend to care about someone else's cousin."

"Edward." My father's voice was always so annoyingly gentle these days. He was too calm, too cool. "Just stay a while longer."

"Why should he stay? If he wants to kill himself, let him." Emmett shrugged indifferently, trying to seem nonchalant, but I could still feel the tension.

I hung my head and laughed to myself. I thought maybe I should tell him how Rose would never let me sleep in her bed or touch her face or look at her when we fucked. But I didn't say a thing.

I just wanted fresh air. I wanted to run, move, get the fuck out.

The next few moments were a blur. Carlisle reached to touch me or grab me, to stop me, and I swung. I heard gasps and felt the crunch. Everything distorted into watercolor malaise. For a brief moment, my mind was relieved of thought and sound. Just a quiet hum before I hit the ground. I felt cotton in my skull and cool air rushing around me before I could hear again. Then I heard Rose…

"Jesus Christ. I'll get some ice."

She really didn't sound like she wanted to get the ice, making me laugh out loud at the irony of the ice-queen not wanting to touch ice.

"Forget it," I mumbled, rolling over to sit up, my brain sloshing pleasantly in a haze of booze and blood. I touched my lip and saw wet/red on my fingers. I turned my head to see my mother standing next to my father's rumpled and slumped form. She was crying over his injured face.

We were a beautiful mess of tears and anger and torn skin and bruises.

"I'm not going to forget it, idiot," Rose replied. "Emmett's hand will swell, and your sissy backhand cut Carlisle's lip. You, on the other hand, can bleed to death for all I care."

I hadn't seen my face yet, but I'd been in enough fights to know the feeling. Whatever damage had been done would leave a mark. I accepted a wet cloth, not from Rose, but from Alice, and I finally found Jasper swinging my keys around his index finger.

Fucker. I knew I couldn't trust him to be out of my sight.

"As soon you get cleaned up, I'll take you home." Jasper looked pleased with the situation. He was the only one with a grin on his face. Didn't anyone else ever notice how fucking shady that bastard was?

"I'll follow you," Emmett replied with a pointed glance, accepting the ice pack from Rosalie as she handed another pack to Esme. "I'll make sure Jasper gets back alright."

Good plan, big man.


I never told Leah what to do when we were having sex. I never needed to tell her what felt good to me because she knew my body instinctually, and Leah was never one to take orders. But lately, I liked to give them.

"C'mere."

Angela straddled me, sparkling in the dim light. She was warm against my lap as she dipped and swiveled her hips. I slowly pulled the cups of her bra down far enough to expose her dusky nipples.

I looked up into her eyes. They were dark. Her hair was dark, but it wasn't dark enough and it was too long. Her tits were spectacular, though, and I wanted to watch them shine. I put my fingertips in her mouth and she swirled her tongue around them. I pulled them away and touched one of her nipples and watched it pucker. I pulled her other nipple between my battered lips, feeling them sting and burn and reveling in the sensation. I sucked her nipple and flicked it with my tongue. She moaned and smiled. She was a better actress than Nina.

"Do you want me?" she asked.

Her voice was sweet, too sweet, but hearing her ask what I wanted was getting the job done. Angela was the preacher's daughter; she was a stripper and a whore and I was going to tell her what to do, tell her how to ride me, tell her how and when to come. The thought of it made me hard, and I felt something close to delight bubble in my chest.

"As long as you promise to come on me." I smiled into her face. Her eyes softened and she cupped my jaw.

"I promise." She kissed the corner of my mouth, where my skin was split, then rose from my lap and stepped away from the chair where I sat. "You're lucky your cousin didn't do more damage to your pretty face." She joked and tossed her hair back, touching her exposed nipples with the tips of her index fingers, circling them, making them tighter and harder.

She was a professional. She was good at her job and for the next hour I could pretend that this was real. That her nipples were hard for me, and that she was wet for me.

She met my eyes and reached the front and center of her bra to unclasp it and then toss it away. "When you walked in tonight, I knew this wouldn't be another boring night of work."

Emmett had followed Jasper and I to the club, where Jasper dropped me off before taking my car to my cabin. When I saw where they decided to leave me, I weighed my options: get laid, or fuck with Jasper until Emmett hit me again. While I did love a good tussle, I was too drunk to take Emmett on, and pussy was much more enticing than another blow to the face.

"Then you won't mind if I tell you to shut up and get to work." I unbuttoned my pants and pushed them open, pulling my cock into my fist.

She smiled and turned her back to me before pulling her g-string over her rounded hips and ass. I watched her bend at the waist and thought maybe I'd have her ride me backward so I could dig my fingers deep into her skin, pretend a little more.

After she removed the scrap of fabric, she stayed bent over to unbuckle her shoes, and she watched me from the side. She smiled and I could see her big, white teeth gleaming. I wanted her mouth on me.

"Hurry that ass up." I stroked myself once and squeezed. "I want it."

She kicked her unbuckled shoes to the side and sauntered toward me. She wasn't bare, but neatly trimmed, and I wanted to feel the soft patch of hair. I let go of my cock and reached forward, grabbing her strong, thick thighs, pulling her closer. She was built to last and I was planning to see just how long.

"What a pretty cunt, Angie." I touched her there with one finger, steadying her by her thigh with my other hand. I slid my finger between her lips. She was fucking wet. She was giving me my money's worth.

I twisted my wrist and cupped her with my full hand, slipping my wet finger between her cheeks. She tilted her head back and sighed. Her hands hung comfortably at her sides, her stance wide, as I gripped her thigh and fingered her. I pressed and rubbed the heel of my palm against her clit.

"Show me you like it," I said, looking up into her face. I wanted to command her, tell her what to do and when. "Come with my finger in your ass."

Her eyes were closed and she was smiling. She rolled her head to the side and opened her eyes just enough to watch me through hooded lids. She put her fingers and thumbs in her mouth one at a time and then pinched her nipples, plucked them. She groaned when I reached for the lube.

"Lie across my lap," I instructed as I covered my fingers with the slick, wet substance.

She draped herself over my thighs, the top of her head touching the floor, her ass at a perfect angle. She looked ready for a spanking.

"Spread your legs," I told her.

She spread her legs and turned her head, looking up at me with a grin. I slipped one, then two fingers inside her and she braced her hands on the floor, moaning. I dumped some lube on my cock with my free hand and then grabbed on for the ride.

I liked her ass a lot. It was round and juicy, and when I slid another finger into her she ground back into my hand and grunted. I pulled my cock with my fist and told her to look at me. She was breathing heavy and her eyes fluttered as I pounded her with my hand.

I was going to come, and I wanted to tell her that I wanted to see it on her. "Tell me how much you like it while I finger you and come all over you."

"I love your fingers inside me." She breathed, sounding so convincing and completely unfamiliar. "I want you all over me."

I jacked myself harder and faster until I spilled over her back, cheeks, and the backs of her thighs. I had a sudden burst of memory…

"Fuck, Cullen…" Leah was straddling my chest, her fingers in my mouth, holding my head still on the pillow. Her other hand was working between her thighs. I lay gently thumbing her nipples, watching her come, enamored by her beauty.

Angela slowly undulated her hips against my thigh. I relaxed back into the chair, pulling my fingers from her body. Realizing, once again, I might as well have stayed home with whiskey and porn and memories of Leah.

Angela gracefully removed herself from my lap and handed me the second wet cloth I'd received in a twenty-four hour period. She told me quietly that she was going to clean up a little bit.

"If that's alright with you…?" Angela was conscientious of her $300 client.

"Yeah, go ahead." I wiped my hands and my belly, tossed the rag to the floor, and pulled my pants up. I needed a fucking vacation from my head.

When Angela came back, she was wearing a satiny robe. In her hands she held two glasses of water. She settled beside me on the arm of the chair and handed me one of the glasses.

"You look beat, if you don't mind me saying so." She sipped her water and watched me over the rim of her glass then continued. "And I don't just mean that in the your-cousin-punched-you-in-the-face kind of beat."

Before Angela and I left the club to head to her apartment she'd asked if she had to worry about anyone following us to her place with unfinished business of the "hitting your face" kind. I told her we didn't have to worry about that because the person who had hit me was likely pleased to get rid of me, and that was a true fact.

"I'm exhausted," I realized aloud-tired of wanting, never satisfied, running, scratching, fighting for more.

"You can stay here, Edward." Angela offered her spare room because she knew I wouldn't pay her $1000 to watch me sleep in her bed, and I was too worn out to fuck tonight.

"Thanks." I accepted the kindness of the virtual stranger and rested my head back into the chair. I don't remember falling asleep, just her gentle touch against my forehead, and the swish of the satiny fabric when she left me alone.


Thanks to Moojuicey, Einfach_Mich, Chele681 for pre-reads, and to KrisBCullen for the red pen.