EPOV
The room that I'm sitting in is fucking dark. Or maybe my eyes are still closed. I know I'm fucking high as shit. I've had too much scotch. I always do lately. I'd drown in scotch if I could. But would I see her again if I did? Surely not. While I would burn in hell, she would sit pretty in heaven. My angel. Because that's what Bella is. A fucking angel.
An angel I tried to drag down with me.
I'm Lucifer. I tried so hard to be good for her. I burned and burned and burned. I tried, I really did, but sure enough, the evil couldn't relinquish it's hold on me. And I don't just mean the fact that I fucked Tanya. I mean everything. The drugs. The crime. The Family. The expectations. Fuck, all the expectations. I let that shit consume me. And where did that leave me? Too far gone to leave my office. Too far gone to even find my wife. Too sick to eat the food my mother keeps pushing at me.
Too deep into all of this to keep her.
I know it's my fault. I could hardly blame her for leaving me. I never once, in our entire relationship, thought I was good enough for her. But of course, I did blame her. And whoever took those damn photos.
I hear a loud pounding sound and for a second I think it's my head, rejecting the booze and drugs and the Valium. For another, I imagine that it's her, knocking on my door, asking me to come to bed, like she used to before I started to pull away. But then I finally am able to open my eyes, and it's Emmett.
"We have a live one downstairs for you, boss." He tells me. I know what he's saying. They finally grabbed Benny, my wife's bodyguard. What a shitty, shitty bodyguard. Letting someone get those photos to my wife. Letting her sneak off like she did. And now, even after several weeks, letting my beautiful wife remain elusive. Fucking useless.
I managed to move from my chair. I wobble slightly, and Emmett reaches out to grab me, and I glower at him until he takes back his hand. He leads the way downstairs, trying to make conversation.
"So we're all set for Paris. Jasper is meeting us there tomorrow. We're leaving after we take care of this." I glare at the ground as I think of seeing my asshole brother. Instead of realizing my displeasure for the Floridian, Emmett thinks I'm too fucking strung out.
"Are you good enough to fly?"
"Of course I am." I scoff.
"Well you look like shit."
"Fuck the fuck off."
He does.
We make it to the basement where this motherfucker is waiting for us, sitting nervously at a table. I can't even put on a front. Can't try to lure him into a false sense of security and then flip on him. As soon as I'm in that room, I'm pulling this fat ass fucker from his chair and throwing him up against the wall by the front of his shirt. Suddenly, I'm raging. This is common these days.
"First," I hiss at him, "Your team lets those fucking photos get to my door. Your system gets hacked, and there's no footage of whoever did this. Then, you lose my fucking wife. She slips right out of your fat, greasy fingers while you're in the room next door to us, jerking your little dick. And now, despite a plethora of time and leniency on my end, you can't. Find. Her." By the end of my speech, I'm spitting on him, and this cunt looks like he might piss himself.
But then, he gets a little bit of courage, most likely since he saw the pictures and the situation and my wife slowly lose her spark over months and says, "Don't blame me that you couldn't keep your wife happy."
It's silent for a moment. And then my ears are ringing and I'm punching him again and again and his head is hitting the wall, and he's on the ground so I'm kicking and hitting now and Emmett is yelling and pulling me back. And I leave. And I'm livid because he's right. But why would I admit that to myself? It's all my fault, but I'll pretend it's not. I'll pretend I didn't fuck Tanya a dozen times, for reasons she doesn't know. And I'll pretend I don't know that I'll probably never get to fuck my wife again, even though she's a million times better than anyone ever has been.
Everytime I fucked Tanya, I wished it was her. Wished I hadn't put myself in that position. Wished and wished and now I wish for her to come home. Wish that one morning I'll wake up and this all was just a dream and we're still on our honeymoon and happy and glowing and sunscreen is caked on her pink skin and her teeth are blinding white as she grins at me. I'll hold her forever when I wake up from this nightmare. I'll hold her, and smell her hair, and feel her skin, and touch that mole I love. And I'll forget about all this shit.
But for now, I'm on a plane, popping Xanax, off to the most romantic city in the world, even if she did prefer the Italian coast and kisses on salty sand, and I'm wishing she was next to me. I didn't realize until now how much I relied on her. How much she was my strength and my sanity. How much I need her to even feel like I'm alive.
This reality makes me wish I was dead.
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Huge thanks to everyone for their kind words recently! I clearly am slacking on writing, but in my defense, I'm moving right now. I hope you enjoy a brief glimpse into Edward's psyche. Clearly didn't explain anyting, but a few things need to happen before I can start to explain things. Please leave your comments and reviews. I love to hear your guys' thoughts!
