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May 13
…

I'm disoriented when I finally wake up, unsure if the darkness of the sky reveals an early morning or a late night.

A dull throb forms just between my brows, this pounding headache a reminder that I drank too much. A few seconds later an ache in my chest follows, a reminder of Edward's confession.

Rolling onto my side, I find him lying beside me. He's asleep, breathing deep and heavy. I'm able to stare at him for a good minute before the sight of him makes me sick.

I work on autopilot after that. Walk to the bathroom. Throw up. Turn on the shower. Stand under the stream for a few minutes. Sit down. Pull my knees up to my chest.

At some point, the curtain opens. The water is warm, the tile against my back is cold, and the man towering over me is somewhere in between.

Edward shuts off the water. He says my name a few times before he pulls me up. "You need to dry off."

I stand, but stay in the tub. He wraps a towel around my shoulders, rubbing his hands up and down my arms. I hate and crave this comfort he brings me.

His movements slow. And with his forehead against mine, he whispers, "Look at me." I shrug out of his grip. "Please. I'll tell you everything."

I don't respond right away. But instead of telling him no, I slowly nod my head. Because as much as I know it's going to hurt, I want to know everything.

He waits in the living room while I get dressed. I sit motionless on the opposite end of the couch, while his leg bounces and his knuckles crack.

"I don't know how to start this…" he mumbles.

I'm silent long enough for him to figure it out.

He tells me he dated Rosalie for less than a month. Maybe just a month, sometime around August. It wasn't anything serious. He started seeing me again, stopped calling her. Eventually she stopped calling him, too. Until December. She left a few messages, explaining that she needed to talk to him. He gave in and met up with her a few weeks later, in January.

He veers off track, offering meaningless details. Like what coffee shop they went to and where she works and how she waited until they were outside to break the news.

"I don't care," I tell him sharply. "I don't fucking care about any of that."

Standing, he opens a window and lights a cigarette.

"You can't smoke around babies." I don't know why I say it. It just comes out. It's like I need him to realize how different his life will have to be from now on. I want him to regret this, and somehow have the ability to make it all go away.

With a hand still cupping the flame, he looks up at me. "I know," he says, smoke appearing with his words. "I… fuck. I've been trying to stop."

He's been trying to stop. He's been trying to change. For another woman. For a life I knew nothing about until yesterday.

"How do you even know it's yours?" It sounds like a question, but it's loaded with accusation. It can't be yours, I want to say. This can't happen to us.

"I'm pretty sure she's mine."

"Pretty sure?" My blood boils as I repeat the words in my head. "You're ruining our life over something you're pretty sure about?"

"I don't think Rosalie would lie about something this."

"Are you fucking delusional?" I snap.

He winces at my tone. Like he's surprised I'm livid.

"Why would she lie? If the kid isn't mine, then why me?"

"Because she just fucking would!" I half shout, half cry. "You're supposed to be mine and this woman is taking you from me. And you're letting her. Because you're a fucking coward." My words are mumbled now, cheeks soaked with tears.

He blinks at my words. But he doesn't move from the window, doesn't stop pulling on his cigarette.

"Tell me what I'm supposed to do." He whispers this, and I'm convinced I imagined it until he adds, "Tell me how to fix this."

"No. You don't want to fix it."

"I'll have a paternity test done."

"And then what? If the baby's yours, you'll leave me? You'll run off and play house with Rosalie?"

"No. That's not what I want," he says adamantly. "That's not what's going to happen."

"If that doesn't happen now, it will someday. Rosalie could be the mother of your child. Your first child. It was supposed to be me. I was supposed to do this with you, and you took that from me."

"I never wanted kids, Bella."

He says it simply. Crushing any future dreams I ever held for us. Confirming that he's a selfish bastard. And maybe it's what I needed to hear, to realize that it never would've been me. It never should've been her. But that's how it worked out. And I can't be second best for him, and I won't share him.

"Fuck you." My words are deliberate, slow. I don't scream them like I want to. Don't want him to think I'm crazed with anger, but need him to know that I'm desperately hurting.

Somehow accepting that pain makes everything clearer.

I move around the apartment, finishing what I should've done yesterday. Muster whatever self-respect I have left and tell him I'm done. Pack as many clothes as I can. Ignore his pleas to stay. And this time, when he blocks my path and grabs my arm to stop me from walking out the door, I slap his face.

It's only after I'm gone that I wonder how long the sting will last.

-insert apology for taking forever to update, blah blah blah boring boring-

But in all seriousness, thank you, THANK YOU for continuing to read and review. Even when these characters are doing things you don't approve of.

I owe Kimmy Kim MY LIFE. Or in a less dramatic manner, maybe just a thank you.