Mine: Freshly painted fingernails. A rented book from the library on HTML. A playlist to accompany this chapter (see profile for link.)
Not mine: Edward Cullen. Edward Schmullen… maybe.
EPOV:
When life is good, it moves way too quickly.
When it goes badly, however, an hour can seem like an entire week.
"Why are you here, Edward?"
Because I haven't eaten in three days. Because I haven't slept for more than three hours in as many. Because I fucked up.The answers came easily in my mind, but I wasn't ready to delve into that with Dr. Travato.
"You came highly recommended from Carlisle," I sighed.
"Your father is an old friend, indeed, Edward. But I see in your file that you haven't been on medication or seeing a psychologist since high school. What brought you here to see me today?"
My gaze shifted. So far I had studied the fish tank, his desk, the windows and the Kleenex box on the table in front of me. I was running out of things to distract me from Dr. Trovato's persistent gaze. Deep inside, I knew that if I truly wanted to get better that I would have to be open and honest.
"I'm here today because I want to get better. I have to get better," I sighed. "For me… and for her."
********
The past week and a half had been miserable to say the least.
As I watched the taxi carrying Bella pull away, I knew that there was no way I could go home.
Throughout our ride to the club and the entire time we had been there I had imagined Bella in my apartment. On my couch. In my bed. With me in my shower.
After my brilliant idea crashed and burned, I found myself wandering the streets of Manhattan. I roamed with no perception of which direction I travelled in, only wishing myself as far away from my home as possible. And far from Brooklyn.
When the aching in my legs became unbearable, I glanced at the time on my cell phone. 3 A.M. At some point I had made my way to the border of Central Park, and as I glanced upward I saw a sign marking 99th Street. I had walked over eighty blocks.
The eighty blocks hadn't brought me any clarity over how to fix my egregious error with Bella. Until I made it right there was no way I could go home. Before I knew it, I found myself in a taxi and checking into a room at the Waldorf-Astoria.
"Do you have any luggage, Mr. Cullen?" inquired the gentleman at the front desk.
"No, thank you."
As I began to retreat, key in hand, a thought crossed my mind.
"Sir?"
"Yes, Mr. Cullen,"
"Could the name on my room be switched?" I asked, trying not to come off as creepy. "It's a sort of vacation for me, and I don't want to be hounded with calls from my assistant," I said unconvincingly.
His eyes gave me a once over, surely noting that I looked more like a mental patient than a traveling businessman. My hair was tugged in every direction. My eyes were surely dull and lifeless. My face was swollen from the first thirty blocks of my walk, in which I had given in to my urge to cry. To hurry the process, I slipped him a fifty dollar bill.
"Absolutely, Mr. Cullen," a smile lighting up his face as he tucked the bill in his pocket.
"Any preferences on the name?"
"Ass. Mr. Jack Ass."
It was true.
Before receiving confirmation, I retreated to the elevators. Once inside the room, I turned the lock, shut off the lights, and tossed sleeplessly on the comforters.
The night brought me no comfort, and I deserved every bit of the misery I was feeling.
********
Three days into my stay, a rapt knock on my door pulled me from my shell of comforters and pillows.
"Go away," I called weakly.
I hadn't eaten a thing since I had checked in.
I felt weak, disgusting, and all alone.
The knocker persisted. Since willing them to leave with solely my mind hadn't worked, I trudged out of bed, bringing my cocoon of sheets with me. As I passed the desk in the outer room of my suite, I saw my appearance for the first time since the incident. I looked like hell. But not as bad as I felt.
Without looking through the peep-hole, I threw open the door with my eyes closed.
"WHAT." It wasn't as much of a question as it was a broadcast of my discontent.
"If I weren't worried sick about you as it is, I would be kicking your ass right now."
Alice.
"How did you find me, Alice," I sighed.
"Your credit card. Dad had it traced. Mr. Jack Ass? Really?" she questioned as she stormed into the suite without invitation.
"Shower. NOW," she demanded as she grabbed my arm and led me in the direction of the bathroom.
"I. Am. Fine." Pissed didn't even begin to describe my emotions. I was far past the age of needing a babysitter.
"Have you looked in the mirror, Edward?" she asked, a pained tone overtaking her voice. I was always doing this. I was the master of letting everyone around me down.
"You're wearing the same clothes as the last time I saw you. You haven't showered. The circles under your eyes are so black that I'm wondering if it's from lack of sleep or if you got in a fight. You look anything but fine." Her concern morphed into anger.
"I-" I couldn't disagree with her. As I watched her turn on the shower, I realized I had began crying again.
"You are NOT fine," Alice emphasized. "But we have an appointment to catch, so I need you to shower now."
After she left the room, the force of the water hitting my face called me back to consciousness. What was I doing?
I heard Alice's voice before I found her after I showered and changed my clothes. "He looks bad, mom. It's worse than I've ever seen him," she said lowly. "I don't know how I'm going to convince him to come with me," she continued.
"Alice, it's okay. I'll go wherever is necessary," I said, my voice shocking her.
"Thanks again for the address mom, I- we- will call you later," she ended the call.
"What do we do now?" I asked, her expression causing me to panic slightly.
"We're going to see one of dad's friends, Dr. Trovato."
BPOV:
I hunched over my laptop, starting my playlist at the first song. According to the play count on iTunes, I'd listened to this playlist forty times since I created it yesterday. It was meant to be an anti-love, anti-boy, anti-Edward Cullen soundtrack, but all it did was make me think of him more. And miss him.
There was a fork in the road ahead of me; I could either remain stationary on my couch for several more days, or I could get back to actually living life. While the former was definitely tempting, I knew that the world couldn't stop spinning just because I was a sad girl.
"One more listen," I decided as I let the sounds of Alkaline Trio take over my mind.
****
Step one to re-joining my life was to follow through with my commitment of covering the Los Campesinos! Show at Webster Hall. I had gotten a fairly steady flow of concert gigs, and broken heart or not, I didn't want to piss anyone off with a last moment cancellation.
"I should be on the guest list," I told the lady at the door. From the look on her face I could tell that she didn't care who I was, she just wanted to go home.
That makes two of us.
I got a decent spot along the upper level of the venue, arriving early enough to snag one of the coveted tables on the edge of the mezzanine.
The trick to concert-going as a freelancer was to come late; I had ignored my own rule tonight, anxious to finally get off of my couch, and now found myself with an hour wait before even the headliner would go on.
Although drinking in my current emotional state seemed a dangerous choice, I decided to get a martini to pass the time.
As I waited patiently at the bar, I got the feeling that someone was staring at me. Hardcore staring. Maybe even ogling?
I turned to find the offender, and was brought face to face with a pretty hipster boy.
"Oof." Oh great. I sounded like I spoke idiot.
"What was that?" he asked, smiling as he moved a few steps closer to me.
"Oh, I just was saying hi," I said, allowing my hair to make a veil around my face as I looked downward at my shoes. The deep blush overtaking my face was a sort of warm reminder of happier times. Embarrassing times in the moment, but happy ones in retrospect.
"Hi back. I'm Mike, let me buy you a drink." He motioned for the bartender, winking at me in the process.
Oh no. Mike loved himself. Mike loved himself a LOT.
"What's your poison, baby?" Seriously? More winking?
"I…. uh, actually I just wanted a water," I wanted no part of drinking near this guy.
"She'll have a cherry bomb," he told the bartender, slapping $20 onto the bar.
"I'm sorry, I actually don't feel well. I should be going," I attempted to politely excuse myself as he gave the bartender his own order.
"Where do you think you're going?" he asked a little loudly with a little too much anger, grabbing my arm to stop me from turning around.
I jerked my arm back, repressing the urge to punch him. "Just so you know, it's rude to touch people without their permission," I spat as I threw $6 at him to cover the cherry bomb which I wouldn't be drinking.
Like so many guys of his type, he was unfazed by the scene. He rolled his eyes and turned to his right, only to find another girl to his right.
And this is why I will be single forever, I thought as I made my way back to my seat sans water.
*****
I had my eyes peeled for any recurring visits from Mr. Douchetastic, but so far I was in luck.
Los Campesinos! finally took the stage around 9:30, and I was pleasantly surprised by their performance. During the end of the set, one song in particular caught my attention. The tone was rather upbeat, with a driving flurry of keyboard and vocals. I found myself bobbing my head. The tone suddenly slowed, and the band pulled back to give the vocalist the spotlight.
"You feel terrified at the thought of being left behind
Of losing everybody, the necessity of dying
Oh, WE KID OURSELVES THERE'S FUTURE IN THE FUCKING,
BUT THERE IS NO FUCKING FUTURE!
I'm just practicing my accents, picking at old sutures."
It was probably my favorite show that I had seen yet in New York, but the lyrics hit a little too closely for comfort.
"We are beautiful. We are doomed," he ended the song on an optimistic note, clearly.
Suddenly, my couch seemed very inviting.
***
My meager success as a freelancer meant that I could afford to take taxis to shows, which was a relief because the subway still creeped me out at night.
Up until last week, I wouldn't have had to worry about it because Edward would have been walking me home, I thought as I gave the cabbie my address.
Kelly Ripa's too-perky voice blared from the TV screen in the partition between the front and back seats.
I fumbled to find the mute button, preferring my own inner ramblings.
Edward had messed up. He had lied to me about something really random. If he'd lie to me about where he lived, what else would he lie about? It made it hard to imagine trusting him.
But I knew that he hadn't lied just for the sake of lying. He was concerned about the safety of a girl who had just moved to New York a day prior, a girl who was still not versed in the nighttime climate of an often dangerous city.
I couldn't decide if I was making excuses for him or simply looking at the situation objectively.
As we raced through the city, I remained lost in my own thoughts. I didn't have to make any decisions tonight, but I wished that I could. Both sleep and my appetite had been evading me since the fight after we left Rebel. I wanted to sleep. I wanted to dream. I wanted to see Edward.
****
I awoke with a start. I apparently had fallen asleep while writing my review of the show. A quick glance told me that I'd really slept- it was 3:00 in the afternoon.
After finishing the rather glowing review of the concert and sending it off to my editor, I tried to find things to occupy my time. I re-folded a laundry pile which had tumbled onto my floor. I made my bed. Made another playlist, ditching depressing songs for more upbeat and positive ones.
When I found myself on my couch again, I vowed it wouldn't be like the preceding week. I was done wallowing. I was ready to rebuild.
I picked up my phone from its perch atop a pile of clippings of my stories I was gathering to send to Charlie. E-D I punched into the phone, seeing his name for the first time in far too long.
As I pushed the call button, my breath hitched. Maybe he doesn't want to talk to me ever again, I thought. Well, if that's so, then he'll tell me and I'll move in with my life, I silently decided.
"Hello?" a voice answered, but not the one I was expecting.
"Alice? I did call Edward's phone, right?"
"Yeah, Bella, this is his phone. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. Are you okay? You sound bad."
I hoped she wouldn't be offended, but her trademark squeak and excited ramblings were absent.
"I'll be okay. Edward isn't here, though, so do you want me to take a message?"
"What's going on, Alice."
I heard her sigh, and I myself let out a breath that I didn't know I had been holding.
"Can we meet?" she asked.
"Absolutely."
"Do you have a pen?"
I jotted down an address and agreed to meet her in an hour. My stomach was in turmoil. Why wouldn't answer any of my questions?
For once, I was certain that I arrive at our meeting spot before Alice would.
****
True to my guess, I arrived at Coffee Bar and found that Alice had not arrived yet. The locale made me a bit nervous- the cab incident took place only a block away. Although it was an hour or so before happy hour would begin and I was never a big drinker to begin with, I hoped the vodka and pineapple I ordered would still my nerves.
It worked, at least until I saw Alice enter the main doors. Absent were her signature stylish attire and uncontainable energy. She looked drained.
"Bella," she said as she rounded the corner of the table to hug me.
"Where is he."
"Bella, it's complicated."
"Where is he, Alice?"
"He went home."
Author's notes:
AH!
Sorry for the cliffhanger. Does anyone remember where home is for Edward?
I chose the city he's from for two reasons: 1.) It's a part of Esme's past that's revealed in the books. 2.) It's where I'm from, so it's familiar. I'm really careful double checking all of my New York info, so it's nice just being able to type what I know about … Edward's hometown. (I'm gonna make you work for it!)
Times are sad in the world Edward and Bella. I don't like writing angst, so have faith that skies will clear up. Rome wasn't built in a day, right? Ouch, cliché.
Thanks a million to inside-the-disarray and Edward5953 for their reviews of the last chapter. Review this (or any previous) chapter and you'll find a sneak peek from the next chapter in your inbox before it's posted in its entirety. AND I'll geek out and thank you in my A/N, because it legit makes my day when someone offers feedback.
Title from: "We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed" by Los Campesinos!