Not mine. :(


Edward and I went out to dinner with our parents a week later. These dinner things were getting to be routine, one every week, but that didn't change my disliking for them. I hated playing nice with Edward just to give my parents the peace of mind that we were, in fact, happy. Although we weren't fighting as often, when we were fighting, they were more vicious than any of our previous little fights. Truth be told I hated fighting with him, but damned if I lie and say I didn't enjoy the outcome of every argument.

It seemed as if either of us would find something to fight about nowadays just for the makeup sex that was guaranteed afterward. It was almost a second nature for us to pick fights and make up.

Sure, the sex was fun, but the fighting was not. Sometimes we'd call each other out on the most random of things even if we were positively sure that we were wrong about it. It was pathetic, really, the way we depended on fighting just for the sex. It was as if we couldn't be intimate otherwise.

Which gave me an idea.

Edward had invited his friends over one afternoon; this was the first time I'd met them and I felt a little offended that, after being married for almost a month and a half already, he had never brought them around to meet his wife. Referring to Edward as my husband still tasted bitter on my tongue and I tried to use that word as rarely as possible. The only time I used it was when I was formally introducing him to a stranger or to a family friend – which wasn't very often.

The four boys were sitting around, each with a beer in his hand, and watching the Seahawks game. I stayed out of the way; football and I didn't quite go hand-in-hand. I didn't really see the point of a bunch of huge guys barreling down the field with a leather ball. So I stayed in my room – no, Edward and I hadn't gotten to the point of moving into the same room, and I preferred to keep it that way. When Edward and I fought, and makeup sex wasn't involved, I liked to hole myself up in my room for hours on end in hopes that it would make Edward feel extremely guilty about something he'd said – even if the fight was my fault.

That was another thing. Even though more than half the time I started the fights, something rude and vile always came out of Edward's mouth, but whether it was by accident or on purpose I couldn't tell. Whatever he said would make me cry and then I'd be in my room. Edward would sit downstairs for a while, mull over what he'd said, then come upstairs to apologize, and things just went from there. Half the time I never fully forgave him for saying what he did, but the sex was good enough to make me forget at least for a little while.

It felt weird, being intimate with Edward when usually we couldn't stand to look at each other, much less be around one another. He never showed any affection – except that one time in the bathroom where he promised he would try to make this work – towards me, and so I reciprocated. We spent more than half our time ignoring each other, and the rest of it was spent fighting and making up.

I sighed. This isn't what I wanted out of a marriage. As good as the sex was, I didn't like always having to fight with Edward just to get it. Fighting with him brought out the worst in both of us, and we often said things we didn't mean. Our word vomit was horrendous – if our parents heard the words exchanged between us, they would die of shock-induced heart attacks. Edward and I were going on a month and half of being married and we'd managed to do thus far was fight.

It was pathetic, really, the way we went back and forth at each other.

Edward's friends didn't stay for much longer, only until about halftime. I didn't question it as I heard them leave the house. Sitting upstairs with a magazine in my hands was what I'd been doing the entire afternoon, afraid to step downstairs and be confronted by one of Edward's buddies. I didn't know them and they didn't know me. I didn't see them as being my friends by association and the same went for Edward. We had separate friends, lead separate lives. The only places our lives met were the wedding bands on our fingers.

I heard Edward's footsteps on the stairs, heading towards his room. I didn't know what he did in there all day when he wasn't watching television, for I knew for a fact that he didn't have one. I chewed on my bottom lip, deep in thought. I wanted to prove to Edward that we could still get along when we weren't making up. I wanted this to feel like a real marriage – without the love.

So, bucking up the necessary courage, I set down my magazine and waltzed over to Edward's closed bedroom door. I knocked lightly and was invited in. Edward was laying on his bed, his arms behind his head, eyes closed.

"Are you tired?" I asked him quietly. Without opening his eyes, he shook his head no. "Hungry?" Another head shake. "Oh. I was, um, going to make something rather than getting takeout again."

"I'm not hungry." Suppressing a groan, I sighed instead and got up from his bed. I hesitated in the doorway before I left in case he had second thoughts. He didn't say anything.

I sat downstairs in the living room with the television muted, chewing on a fingernail. I wondered if he actually wondered why I was suddenly putting so much effort into a nice meal. If he even cared. But with the monotonous tone to his voice, I guessed that he didn't. I frowned. I just needed to try harder...that's all.