For: Linda
Prompt: "I Never knew how strong I was until I had to forgive someone who wasn't sorry, and accept an apology I never received"
A/N: So, this appears to go with the previous E/C prompt...Yes, I'm aware I now have the beginning and end of what could be an interesting story. ;)
When he found he was gay, Edward's father had gone for the ultimate cliche. First, he'd tried to beat it out of him. The same old bullshit. "No son of mine..." and all that while he striped his ass red with a belt, or tossed him around the room, or just punched him, punched him, punched him out of sheer frustration any time he did something gay. Anytime his gaze lingered on another boy or he displayed some effeminate thing. His father had ripped apart a journal he found full of flowery poetry once. He'd ripped apart and when Edward couldn't help his tears, he'd followed through on his promise to give his son something to cry about.
The last time was the worst-last times so often were. That time, his father had caught him with a boy. It was the summer between Freshman and Sophomore year of college. Edward was in his room, pinned beneath a boy. They were making out, their hips grinding against each other, hands everywhere. And then his dad had been there-furious, enraged. He'd dragged the boy off Edward, down the stairs, and out of the house. Edward had followed, yelling for his father to stop as he pulled his shirt back on. The second the door had slammed behind the boy, though, his father had turned on him, backhanding Edward across the face so hard, he'd seen stars.
And he beat him. He beat him senseless and bloody, and when it was all over, he'd dragged Edward out the door, pushed him down the four squat front steps, and told him never to come back.
That was the last time he'd seen his father-seen either of his parents-until his mother managed to track him down years later. His father was dying.
"It's time to make amends," his mother said.
Edward still wasn't sure if she meant him or his father.
The decision had been the hardest one he'd ever made. It had been years since he'd been that kid, crumpled, bleeding, and sobbing on the pavement. He'd hit rock bottom and come out of it clean on the other side. He was loved-cherished and adored by a wonderful man. He had ambition. His future looked golden. But his father was the man who'd never failed to make him feel ugly, who had hurt him-his body and his heart-over and over again. He was scared out of his mind.
He felt anything but strong.
He went, though. His boyfriend, always supportive, had said he might find closure. At the very least, he'd have no regrets. Not on his side.
"Let him take his regrets to his grave. Rest in peace is a personal decision," Carlisle told him, holding him tightly. "And I'll be there with you. I promise."
True to his word, Carlisle was holding his hand when his mother opened the door. She looked uncertain for a moment, looking between them, but she hugged Edward so tightly he could hardly breathe. "I'm sorry," she whispered in his ear.
And Edward knew that was the most he'd ever get from her.
His heart pounded as he got closer to the living room, where his father was watching TV. He stared. His father stared back. The man wasn't nearly as imposing as he had been. He was wasting away-gone gaunt and sickly. Still, Edward could hardly breathe around his fear.
His father's eyes rested on Carlisle, and he huffed. "Turned into a little fudgepacker anyway, did you, boy?"'
There was no real heat behind the words. They were mumbled under his breath, almost to himself. Edward gripped Carlisle's hand, and didn't speak right away.
His father was sick. Dying. Barely holding on to his dignity. He'd spent the last few years of his life angry that the world had given him a gay son. He had no other children. He would die with that hate and anger in his heart, and Edward would go on to live a happy, full life.
Edward took a deep breath and stepped forward, releasing Carlisle's hand to offer it to his father for a shake. "Hello, Dad. Let me introduce my boyfriend. Dr. Carlisle Cullen."
His father held his gaze for one second, then two. If he realized Edward had taken the high road-given him an out so they could enjoy whatever time they had left-he didn't acknowledge it. He took Edward's hand and shook it. "It's good to see you, son."
