A/N - thanks to mac214 and jkane180 for beta'ing and DoUTrustMe for pre-reading. Thank you for reading!
Facebook Status: my mother doesn't want to be my Facebook friend anymore.
"Jesus fuck!" I squeaked eloquently and tossed my phone off the bed, the horrible honking of Charlie's blubbering still ricocheting through my ear canal. "That coffee better be fucking Irish because I need to not be sober right now." I peeled the sheets off my body and swung my legs over the side of the bed, digging my toes into the carpet. My phone buzzed from its spot on the floor, the vibrations making it dance in a sad little circle.
That's right, you little bitch - sit and spin! My phone was a punk-ass traitor, and yes, I was fully aware that it was dumb to anthropomorphize my cell and direct my rage at it. Rational thinking wasn't exactly my forte.
"Okay," I said to the night stand. "He doesn't necessarily know, right? I mean, he could be crying for a total plethora of reasons that have nothing to do with Phil." It wasn't that I minded the idea of Charlie slicing off his balls, per se; it was just that I never wanted him to know about this shit. Now we'd never be normal. And what if he told Renee? She was totally going to blame me . . .
I couldn't even fathom it. My stomach threatened to erupt into burning lava at the thought.
Sadly, the night stand had no wisdom to offer, unless you counted the bible sitting arrogantly in the top drawer - which I didn't.
I grabbed the phone off the floor and pressed the link under Jake's ugly mug to dial his cell. His picture on the screen grinned like a smug asshole at me.
"Bella?" he whispered, all groggy and shit, like I just woke him up from a good dream.
"You're such a skank!" I screeched like a harpy . . . I mean, I probably did, having no idea what a harpy actually sounded like.
"Dude, where the fuck are you? Charlie's losing his mind. He was talking about draining the ocean to find you yesterday."
"What? Why?"
"Embry thought he saw you up on the cliffs, but I knew there was no way you'd jump."
"Show's what you know; I was totally going to jump. What do you mean there was no way?"
"I mean you wouldn't jump," he said in his smug, asshole voice.
"I totally would have!"
"Nah."
"Yeah-huh!"
"Did you?"
"Well, no . . ." I conceded. "But I was going to. I just changed my mind. Wait, you're distracting me."
Jake laughed with a genuine light-heartedness, an ease I envied. "Where are you, Bells? You need to come home and quit this melodramatic shit. Look, I'm sorry about the way I acted. I was a jerk, okay? I'm still your best friend; I'll help you talk to Charlie."
"Wait... what do you mean? I thought you told him."
"No. I mean, I was going to, but it didn't seem right. You need to tell him-"
I suddenly had trouble hearing anything other than the terrible ringing in my ears. My heart pounded quickly, my respiration desperately trying to keep up. I was running a marathon but not moving.
"Jake. Where's Charlie? Is he still with you guys?"
"Nah." He yawned. "He left a couple hours ago to speak with Dr. Cullen. I figured you were with pretty boy, so I wasn't surprised when his daddy called. I told him all along that-"
I cut the call and pressed my finger on the power button until the screen turned black, glaring.
Well, shit.
"Okay," I said to the dresser. "What the fuck is going on?" Clearly I'd lost my mind, and as Hunter S. Thompson said: "Any thing worth doing is worth doing right."
"If Dr. Cullen told Charlie, why did he wait until now? I mean, he's known about Phil and me for weeks now. What the fuck changed?" The dresser frowned at me; the hardware looked like down-turned crescents, so I stuck my tongue out at it as I dragged my jeans over my legs.
"Where the fuck is my shirt?"
Don't ask me. You never even bothered to open my drawer.
"Huh. Maybe I did have some sort of mental breakdown."
As much as it killed me to admit, my phone held much more wisdom than the cheap, particle board motel furniture. It was totally the source of all evil, but I had to check my email for collateral damage.
Holding my breath, I touched my passcode into the screen, pressing my Gmail shortcut as soon as the desktop came up. The blue inbox emerged, and the only new message was an iTunes receipt for Angry Birds.
I exhaled the air trapped in my lungs in slow relief like smoke from a cigarette, feeling my frenetic heartbeat finally slow to a jog.
Come to think of it, Charlie was probably just freaking out because I'd be been gone all night. That made sense! Jacob didn't tell him anything, and Dr. Cullen likely just called him because Edward was missing all night too.
A nagging in the back of my mind buzzed dully like an over-taxed refrigerator. I sucked the flesh of my lower lip into my mouth and chomped down compulsively - a nervous habit Renee absolutely detested. She hated all of my awkward idiosyncrasies that, typically, only a mother would love.
My nails were always bitten down to the quick, my hands calloused and rough, my eyebrows messy, my nose oily, my shoes dirty. She was like a diamond ring in a glass display case - beautiful and untouchable.
She was so full of herself, she couldn't see past the massive shadow her ego cast over everything. Even her fucking blog was called "The World According to Renee," which would've been clever if she realized she was making a reference to a famous fucking book - which she didn't.
It occurred to me to check my Facebook suddenly. Taking another unsteady breath, I opened the app on my phone: there were no new messages.
That was good, right?
I mean, it's not like Phil or Renee would've posted shit on my wall or anything, but there would be some sort of indication if something was up. And Renee wasn't even in my feed at all!
Renee wasn't in my timeline anywhere.
Wait, what?
Renee blathered on Facebook more than I did! That couldn't be right.
My heart raced so quickly in my chest, it felt like a steady buzz as the realization of what had happened tore through me like a hurricane. I fell back against the bed, kicked in the chest by a terrible epiphany, the air knocked completely from my lungs.
I didn't need to be Nostradamus to see what was coming. All I needed to do was open my eyes for long enough to read the writing on the wall - or in my case, the lack of writing on the wall.
She'd unfriended me.
In the language of Renee, this was akin to abandonment.
I bit my lip again, fighting the urge to scream, yet at the same time, feeling strangely vindicated. I'd always known my mother wouldn't take my side if she ever knew. I afforded myself a moment to bask in this cold pleasure before I fell apart.
And I did fall apart.
Too many emotions fought their way through my gullet, twisting my gut into a mess of acid, as if I was repressing my terrible thoughts by eating them. Now I was regurgitating memories, sepia tinged images tangled with words - hands on the small of my back, thick fingers, hot breath, sweat and beer, hollow words, pleading and vicious.
In a crisis, it's human nature to call for one's mother. I used to call for mine in the night, when my dreams became night terrors. I couldn't help it; instinct is a hard thing to overcome.
She turned her beautiful, blue eyes away from me, blinding herself to what she couldn't live with knowing.
-({})-
Shit and fuck! A shadow darkened the front window, and I jumped, surprised by the specter.
"Edward," I called dubiously, wrapping a blanket around my shoulders to cover my bare breasts. My eyes tightened, my limbs weary and weighted as I backed away from the door, half expecting Renee to burst through like a vengeful demon.
The door creaked open, casting a strange shadow over the wall in contrast with the sunlight that poured in through the window. In the early morning blaze, I caught sight of hair, red and copper like fire.
This wouldn't be a slow burn. Everything was about to incinerate.
"Hey," Edward greeted while I gaped. He set a brown paper bag and a coffee down on the depressive dresser, while staring at me with a guarded suspicion. "What's wrong?"
"What were you doing?" I asked quickly.
"Um, getting breakfast. How 'bout you?"
"Arguing with the furniture," I explained calmly. "So I have a question."
"Shoot." Edward busied himself by slicing and buttering a muffin he pulled out of the bag.
"Did you call your father?"
He dropped the plastic knife, his head snapping up. "Uh, yeah, why?"
"You told him . . . what did you tell him?"
"Don't freak out, okay?" He raised his hands in surrender, approaching me warily like I was a rabid dog or something.
"Edward!" His name flew from my mouth in a mournful whine. "He told Charlie. He told him!" I grabbed my shoe off the floor and threw it at his head. He ducked, and it hit the grimy wall, adding another scuff mark to the litany of unidentifiable stains. "Oh my fuck, do you know what this means?"
"Yeah, I do." He glared at me. "It means your stepfather will get his ass raped in prison finally, like he deserves."
Rage, red and hot, boiled my blood. I opened my mouth to speak, but a scream forced it's way out of my lungs before my mind could formulate words. When I ran out of air, I fought for another breath to yell but choked, making a sputtering sound which didn't articulate my emotions at all.
Words evaded me.
"I think it's time you find your shirt," Edward said evenly.
I squeezed my eyes shut, blocking out his inappropriately calm expression so I could draw in air. Slowly, I counted, counted, counted until I forgot why I'd started counting in the first place and then gasped at the sensation of fingers suddenly dragging over my arms.
"What are you doing," I seethed.
"Dressing you." His voice was soft but insistent. "We're going home."
"The fuck we are. I'm not going anywhere with you." Shrugging my other arm into the shirt, I knelt down to peer under the bed for my other shoe.
"What are you doing?" he asked, exasperated. "C'mon, baby, stand up. There's nothing under the bed."
Aha! "This time I'm not aiming for your head," I warned, winding my arm back to throw with such spastic force, I managed to wrench my shoulder out of place. I cried out, the second shoe finally dropping.
"Stand still," I pleaded, needing to hurt him, wanting someone else to suffer.
"What are you doing?"
"Stand the fuck still!" My voice was a sob with a hint of a manic undertone; I struggled to make a sound above the painful tension in my throat. I gulped in air like water, drowning, dying with a bang instead of a whimper. My mind raced like a ream of film, a spinning dervish, and I couldn't settle my thoughts beyond the noise of agony.
I needed to release it; I couldn't hold all this pain on my own.
I pounded my fist into his solar plexus, and Edward gasped, staggering backwards onto the bed. Before the mattress had even stopped bouncing from the impact, I threw myself at him, landing on his stomach.
He caught me, his fingers digging into my hips as a scream, raw and primal, tore through me, tears like acid burning my vision.
But I couldn't stop hitting him, crying and yelling, my throat burning from merciless rage.
"Bella . . . stop," he pleaded weakly, not moving his fingers from me as my fist finally connected with his cheek in sickening crunch. My knuckles throbbed and ached, the pain having a sobering effect on my anger.
He cursed and rolled me onto my back, his weight heavy on me, his hands pinning my arms over my head.
"Get off of-"
His mouth was suddenly hot and violent against mine, his teeth biting my lower lip. I gasped, writhing beneath him, losing myself in his angry kiss. I felt dizzy as I pouted into his mouth, an ache between my thighs suddenly throbbing in time with my sore hand.
"I won't stand for that shit," he gasped, still holding my wrists as he dragged his tongue over my upper lip. "I've put up with a lot from you, Bella, but I won't let you use me as a punching bag."
"I'm sorry," I croaked, wrapping my legs around his waist. "Did I hurt you?"
"I want you," he said, ignoring my question. "Fuck, I want you and I can't . . . we can't."
"I'm sorry," I repeated, wiggling my hands until he let go of my wrists.
"Let me make love to you," he begged, his green eyes almost black.
I shook my head. "Please get off of me."
"Please," he begged, grinding his erection between my legs and burying his face between my breasts. My nipples tightened as he he licked each peak, my body arching off the bed.
"Don't," I moaned, pulling him tighter against me.
"So fucking hot." He fumbled with his belt and I closed my eyes, listening to him pant on top of me.
This wasn't what I wanted right now. My body responded to him, but my mind was in agony.
"Do you want me?" he begged, and I opened my eyes. He pulled his cock out of his boxers and stroked it, staring down at me expectantly. Jeez, he was hard. He ran his finger over the head of his dick, and I was pretty sure he was waiting for me to touch it too . . . but fucking him was the last thing I needed right now.
"I . . . I don't know," I faltered like a chickenshit. If I told him I didn't want him, he might leave me.
"Yes, you do," he insisted. "Either you want me or you don't." His hand - the one that wasn't pumping his dick - reached between my legs and sought out my clit. He rubbed furiously but I barely felt anything.
"I always want you, Edward . . . but I don't want to fuck you right now."
His hand stilled on my crotch for a moment before he rolled off of me. "Okay," he said, stuffing himself back into his pants.
"Okay?"
"Yeah . . . just give me a minute."
"Edward . . . are you angry?"
He rolled back over and wrapped his arms around me. "I'm pretty pissed that you hit me, but you punch like a girl."
"Do not! You totally have a bruise forming." I stroked his cheek gingerly, feeling mildly nauseated when he cringed. "It hurts?"
"No! Don't be ridiculous."
"So . . . you're not angry that I don't want to have sex?" I asked carefully.
"Of course not. It was stupid of me to start anything right now." He sounded contrite. "I don't want you ever to do something with me you don't want to do."
"I'll let you know as soon as I want to," I said quickly. "I'm sure you won't have to wait for long."
"I know I won't." He smirked, obviously cocky about, well, his cock.
"I'm still mad at you," I warned him.
"That's fine, but you shouldn't be. Are you ready to go home?"
"No," I said, sitting up to button my shirt. "But I need to talk to Charlie. Also, I have to kick your father in the nut sack. No time like the present."
"I'll hold him down for you," Edward muttered. I probably should've asked him what he meant by that.
A/N - *ahem* sorry for the late update. I've had one of the worst bouts of writer's block in my life, and it took longer than I thought to recover from surgery.
I'm writing an outtake of Tomato for the fandom for sexual assualt awareness. Let me know which Edward POV you'd be interested in seeing. You can donate/contribute at fandom4saa . wordpress . com
My phone is in my back pocket. Please review me so my seat will vibrate?