I'm going to be updating this nonstop until it's finished! Tonight I should be hitting "complete"! Please review :). Your reviews are so much better than the pounds of twizzlers I've been shoving in my mouth today. Tonight at 6 pm I'll start posting my revamped "Perfect Submissive." Please keep your eyes out for that! I'm super excited :).
31
I'll Be Your Mirror
My cursor descended and glossed over images that seemed almost unattainable. Always happy—never sad, nor uncomfortable, nor less than perfect. There wasn't a single crack in the foundation they had created for themselves. Charlie tugged at the hem of my shirt and pulled me away from the perfect, virtual world. He was flushed from laughing and his hair was tousled from the way he was playing with it. With him, unhappiness didn't exist either. He was bubbly and vibrant regardless of the day or situation.
I brought him up to rest against my shoulder as I continued to browse social media. It was something that I rarely did but sometimes, I had the urge to see what old friends were doing. Too much time had passed for me to comfortably call them. It could have been my anxiety speaking, but I wondered if some of them would even remember me. Many of these friendships stemmed back to middle school—they had all ended before I reached high school. When you hated yourself, you didn't want anyone else to see it. I hadn't wanted to bother with a mask so I secluded myself instead. Now, they were happy with families, careers, and lives of their own. Have their smiles ever faltered? Have they always been this euphoric?
It wasn't fair to assume they hadn't had hardships of their own. Everyone had their own shadows—some were just more tethered to them than others were. I was so wrapped up in mine that I wondered which side of me everyone was seeing.
I moved my cursor, finding my own profile before being met with a collage of my own happy snapshots. These smiles were genuine and warm. They were so picture-perfect. I squinted my eyes and wondered if they were even real. When things were too happy, I always felt they were artificial—for years and years, I had been entirely artificial. There were so many common phrases that I had constantly vomited out:
"I'm just tired, today."
or
"I've been working late nights. It's really taking it out of me."
or
"I'm exhausted."
or
"I'm okay. Of course, I'm okay."
or
"Maybe you're right. A vacation could be good."
and, of course, the classic,
"I'm fine."
When you lied all of the time, it became as natural as breathing. People believed my words so quickly, I wondered if they had really cared at all. They had never dug any deeper. Part of me had been grateful for that—hating intrusive people—while another part had been hurt, wondering why no one could see past the façade.
Charlie's fingers reached out and he pointed at the screen. His gaze was directed at a picture of the three of us. He smiled at the image, recognizing his daddy's face. He giggled as I uploaded a few images—surprised with every one of them. He seemed to look at himself without recognizing himself or making the connection. Little fingers reached forward and touched the tiny image of his face on the screen.
"You recognize that guy, buddy?"
He was captivated by the screen. To him, everything still seemed magical. The door opened and Edward came in with his head down. He shrugged off his leather jacket and put it on its hook without looking at me. Tense muscles weren't the only thing giving his demeanor away—his aura caused the energy in the room to feel heavy. When he was in pain, I felt claustrophobic. Maybe it was a response caused by the string that I believed was between us. Everything he felt, I felt, too.
"You have a good day, babe?" he asked as he pushed up the sleeves of his black turtleneck.
His forearms were taut and veins protruded as he stuck his hands into his front pockets. Everything about him was heavy as his eyes were glued to his beat-up sneakers. After hovering in the doorway for a moment, he moved forward and came to sit beside us. His head dropped to my shoulder immediately, and he curled up against me. The position reminded me very much of Cyndy—which seemed humorous, considering his size and appearance. I gave him a moment to breathe, and then I dipped my head down and pressed a kiss against his hair. It tickled my nose as I pulled away.
"Good. As good as it could have been without you."
He wrapped his arm across my stomach and encompassed Charlie in the process. There was a short squeeze, and then he pulled away and leaned back against the couch. His eyes fell to the screen of my laptop, and despite his weary eyes, he smiled at the images.
"Those are nice," he murmured as his eyes skimmed the album of us on my social media. "I didn't know you had so many good pictures of us."
"You and Charlie are photogenic."
"Apparently."
Seconds felt like they were stretched to their limits as he posed quietly beside me against the couch. While his eyes were on the computer screen, I could tell that he wasn't focused on the pictures. His mind was somewhere else entirely.
"How was your night?"
He shrugged, and then stood up. "It was fine, I guess. I'm going to go take a bath. I need to wash off the day."
"When do you ever take baths?"
Again, he shrugged. "Since now."
A tired smile pulled at his lips, and he hesitated for a moment as if he wanted to say more before giving up and walking toward the bathroom. When he disappeared down the hall, I turned my attention to Charlie, the little baby he hadn't said a single word to. He probably needs me now. I turned on the TV and moved Charlie to his baby gym. He was hesitant to leave my arms at first, but as soon as he started bouncing around, I became invisible to him. When he became engrossed in the cartoon, I left the room and moved down the hallway to Edward. He was stripping when I walked in, and I hovered in the doorway and watched him.
The muscles in his back rippled as he pulled off his shirt, revealing the inked wings that were still healing on his back. I leaned against the doorframe, watching him silently as he unbuckled his jeans and slid them off, kicking them toward the sneakers at his side. I bit down on my bottom lip as his pulled down his boxers and kicked them aside. He bent over to turn on the water and held his hand out as he waited for it to warm. On the backs of his thighs were tattoos that I had never had much of a chance to pay attention to.
The back of his right thigh was decorated with a black and gray hyper-realistic ship that was directed toward the tattoo on the back of his left thigh, a black and gray hyper-realistic lighthouse. The ship was gorgeous, with four sails and a mermaid figurehead. The lighthouse was stripped with its light directed toward the ship. Both tattoos blended into an entire sea theme going down the backs of his legs. The art styles were different throughout but they all blended intricately together. The only place that wasn't tattooed was his ass, but I already had ideas for possibilities. Who knew this would become such a fetish? I want to lick every inch of him.
As the tub began to fill, he finally noticed me. His eyes widened at first, and then he smirked, noticing my gaze. I stepped into the bathroom, swaying my hips as my cheeks began to blush. Usually, he never noticed me gawking at him.
"Need some help?"
He smiled before turning around to turn the water off.
"Whatever you want to give me."
My eyes were glued as he stepped into the tub and lowered himself into the water. Without bubbles, the water revealed every inch of his flesh. He was too tall for the tub and brought his knees up, revealing the rose American traditional tattoos on his knees, which contrasted the black and gray ink that covered the rest of his legs. He laid his arms over his knees as he leaned back and rested his head against the tile. I moved to kneel beside the tub and watched as he closed his eyes and exhaled. Then, he lowered his legs, stretching them out as much as he could before bending down and dunking the top of his head in the water. As soon as it was wet, he pulled up and ran his hands through his locks, pushing it back away from his face. I reached for the body wash and squirted some in the palm of my hand.
"Want me to wash you?"
He smiled as he relaxed against the tile behind him.
"Thanks, babe."
My cheeks flushed—regardless of the times I had seen him naked, I reacted to his body as if it were the first. His skin was warm from the water and silky beneath my palms. My fingertips ghosted over his skin, and whether I was imagining it or not, he seemed to vibrate against me. He bottled so much up that it could be felt in his body. There was no hiding from me. In my eyes, his emotions were completely transparent.
I scrubbed over his skin as I waited for him to release whatever he held back. Suds began to form along his tanned skin and he watched with hazy eyes. The look he gave seemed almost intoxicated, but I knew the void in his gaze was due to his mind being somewhere else. Despite what occupied his mind, his gaze seemed tender.
My hands went lower, descending beneath the now bubbly water. The hair along his upper thighs tickled my palm, and despite no longer having body wash on my hands, I continued to touch him. My fingers were tender. Whenever he was naked, my touches had been sexual. Now, however, I touched him with comforting hands. If he wanted to take things further than that, it was up to him. He needed to know just how loved he was. My fingertips worked to express that love as I massaged the muscles that were tight and overworked.
His eyelids fluttered and his head dropped back against the tile. He let go of a breath and the tension in his body began to evaporate. The energy in the room changed as his shoulders rolled back and relaxed, making his neck appear twice as long. The veins, which had been protruding along his throat moments before, began to soften. His jaw still moved as he subconsciously ground his teeth. The sound was disturbing—it was something he did whenever he was overwhelmed. The tips of his ears became flushed as he reached for my hand and moved it from his upper thighs to his cock. He wasn't hard yet but began to pulse against my palm. He needs this, I thought as his erection grew.
I grasped him, beginning to pump beneath the water as his cock became needy. A vein that extended from the base of his cock to the head thumped against my palm. My tongue darted out and I licked my lips at the feel of it. Something about that vein always turned me on. Truly, every part of his cock turned me on—it's length, girth, and pierced tip.
He bit out a moan and opened his eyes, peering down at me with a hazy gaze. His eyes fluttered for a moment as he sat up and brought his head to rest against mine. I inhaled the scent of his Nautica cologne mixed with the peppermint body wash I lathered over his chest. My eyes drooped and then closed as I focused on the feel of him. Every sense was heightened without vision, and quickly, I found myself entranced by the feel of his cock against my palm.
His breath was hot against my flushed cheeks, and I whimpered as I felt my core begin to throb. My free hand dipped down between my legs. I put pressure on my core with my palm against the fabric of my pants. That wasn't enough, though. As he mewled against me—as the water dripped from his hair and onto my face—I moved my hand away and allowed my fingertips to hover over the waistband of my sweats for a moment before they slipped inside. My fingers moved along the thin strip of pubic hair that led to my core. While I moved my thumb over the slit on the head of his cock, I let my other thumb play with my clit. Stimulation there was all I needed to fall completely apart.
I opened my eyes and watched the waves my hand was causing as I pumped him beneath the water. They splashed against the acrylic of the tub and mixed with the sounds of his moans. The sounds he made seemed desperate, and he leaned forward to grip the tub as I pulled away to watch him. His eyes were closed and his brows were drawn together as his knuckles turned white. As if sensing how close I was, he opened his eyes and dropped his gaze to the hand that had disappeared into my pants. I wanted to pull my sweats down so he could get a better look but didn't want to let go of his cock. His legs were trembling beneath the warm bathwater, and I could taste how close he was.
He mewled again, and I leaned forward to press my lips against his cheek. He tasted like sweat and bathwater as my tongue darted out to lick his warm skin. Everything about him was addictive. I pulled away from him and watched the strain of his muscles stretch the beautiful ink on his skin. My mouth moved across his shoulder, licking him as my pussy began to flutter against my fingers. I fell apart as my lips found his chest and lost balance for a moment, nearly falling into the bathwater. As I cried out, his head dropped back and he released a moan, too.
"Fuck, baby," he said with a labored breath.
His hand let go of the tub to pet my head. He pushed my hair back as he gave me a fond stare. His eyes were dark, and if he weren't so focused on his cock, I imagined he would say, "You're such a good girl, Bella." At least, my imagination suggested that. I bit down on my lip to resist crying out as I watched him come. I didn't know what to focus on—his cock or his expressive face. His brows were drawn together and his jaw was clenched. The vein on his neck had reappeared and was pulsing against his skin, making his lotus tattoo look as if it were breathing. When my gaze did drop to his cock, his cum was mixing with the cooling water. I continued to pump until his body fell limp against the back of the tub. His hands came up to rub his face and he moaned against his palms.
I let go of him and washed my hand off in the bathwater. My other hand slipped out of my pants, and with my eyes on him, I reached forward and smoothed my cum-covered fingers across his leg before washing it off in the water. His gaze was on me and I could feel its heat. I pulled my hand from the water and ran my fingers across his stomach, teasing him as I reached for the body wash again. He was quiet as I began to lather the soap along his frame. With a soft expression, he watched me.
"Thanks for doing that. I needed to get my mind off of shit for a while."
"What's bothering—" I stopped myself. As inquisitive as I was, if he didn't want to talk, he didn't want to talk. I never wanted to be the one to push him. He would open up when he felt ready.
His eyes were fixated on me as I took care of him. Washing him was something that was so simple yet so significant. All of my touches were gentle, and silently, I expressed the tenderness I felt for him in my heart. My hands moved over his thighs and down to his calves. I massaged the muscles as I worked and enjoyed the way his body reacted to the touch. He leaned back and brought his knees up. Slowly, he let his upper body become submerged in the water. He stopped when it had reached just above his chin and flirted with his lip. For a moment, he stayed like that and appreciated the silence. Water was so soothing as it washed away the ugly parts of the day.
"I saw Paul," he said as he peered down at his body submerged in the water. "It was cool even though he looked all fucking skittish. Like he didn't want to associate himself with me or some crap like that. Talking to him was weird as shit. He looked like he wanted to crawl out of his fucking skin—he was so uncomfortable. Like, God forbid he has to talk to some lowlife like me. Does he forget that he's also at a goddamn AA meeting? Why does he feel like he's better than me? His face … Shit, babe, you should've seen it. All twisted and squeamish—low-key kind of insulting, to be honest. We're both at fucking AA, and somehow, he's the one coming out on top. We used to be close, and now I'm like gum stuck to his fucking shoe. Pile this on top of the whole situation with my dad and I just want to"—drink; he didn't have to say it. From where I sat, I could feel his mouth go dry—"run away from everything."
I reached out and brushed his hair away from his face, petting him gently as he had done to me minutes before. You're doing so well. He was his harshest critic. With everything that was going on, he could easily go to a bar and drown his sorrows as quickly as he drained a glass. However, he didn't. He managed to prioritize us before his desire to drink. In the back of my mind, I knew that might someday change. This was more than a bad habit—it was a disease that lurked and waited for a moment of vulnerability; it was a disease that stole all control. There was this beast inside of him, waiting for a full moon or something extraordinary to finally tear through his skin.
"Let's have a lot of adventures this summer," he said quietly as he stared at the tiled wall ahead. "I need something to look forward to. Everything is becoming too much."
"We'll have plenty of adventures. We have our whole life ahead of us. Even if things are tough now, they won't always be that way. We're just climbing up a hill together, Edward. As soon as we reach the top, it'll get easier."
"I've been running up this hill for a while. It's never-fucking-ending. Every time I feel like I'm getting close—feeling like there's going to be some sort of relief—all I find is more miles to cover. When has shit ever been easy for me? I don't want to sound like I fucking pity myself, but it's been like this since I can remember. Everyone around me has shit work out for them while I just have to watch and wonder when I'm going to get so fucking lucky. I try to make shit happen for myself. I mean, you see me try. Every day, I'm busting my ass and it just leads to nothing. I'm still getting screwed in the end. I'm just … I just need some relief."
I leaned forward and rested my forehead against his. "I feel you. Edward, I understand more than you realize."
"See, that's why I hate saying this shit because I know everyone has shit to deal with. I know I'm just being unfair. It's just frustrating. I have all this anger inside me and I try to ignore it, but it just nags at me. Ever since he died, I feel nothing but fucking anger all the time." He stopped speaking for a moment and pulled away from me, shaking his head as he leaned back against the tile behind him. His jaw clenched as he dropped his gaze. "That's why seeing my dad bugged me so fucking much. Why should he be so happy? After everything that happened, he's smiling as if it doesn't affect him at all. My fucking brother died—his fucking son—and he has the gall to walk around smiling like that. Every time I think about it, I get fucking pissed. It's not like I want him to walk around miserable for the rest of his fucking life, but he could at least mourn my brother."
"What do you want, Isabella? Do you want to see your father walk around like a zombie for the rest of his life? Your mother wouldn't have wanted that. She wanted me to be happy. Can't I—"
"Don't. Don't act as if my mother would have wanted you to forget about her as soon as she died."
"As soon as she died? Bella, it's been—"
"It hasn't even been a year. Not even one year and you're already dating as if the past never happened. How do you think I feel watching that?"
"I … I … I don't know what the right move is. She came into my life and—"
"I don't want to hear it. Why do you even care what I think about it anyway? Why do you need my support so desperately? Every time I see you two together, I feel physically ill. You just want my blessing so you can go out and fuck whoever without having to feel guilty about it."
"Isabella." His voice was sharp. "Even if you're angry, I'm still your father. You can't talk to me like—"
"I don't see you like that anymore. I don't think of you as my father. My father wouldn't have done this. The man I grew up with would have put his daughters first. He wouldn't be out there screwing around to make himself—"
"Go to your room. I'm not going to talk to you when you're being hysterical"
His voice shook. He seemed to look right past me.
"I'm being hysterical? I thought you wanted my opinion."
"So, I'm not your dad anymore? All the memories we have together … those are just meaningless now."
"You decided that. Stop acting like I'm the one who messed everything up."
"Sweetheart, I know you're hurting but—"
"At least, one of us hurts. Smile if you want, date if you want, but stop acting as if I should feel happy about it. Do it without thinking of me. You barely think of me as it is. Why not stop completely?"
"He's—" I stopped as I almost defended his father. My memories still ached today—I would never forget the hurt in my father's eyes and the joy I received from it. I was certain he wasn't feeling enough pain, but every night, he would cry himself to sleep. He had just wanted to display a shred of normalcy for us. Inside, he was dead for a long time. When he buried my mother, a significant part of him was trapped beneath that soil with her. "What are you going to say to your dad?"
With my question, I wanted Edward to let go of his emotions here. If he could purge them, maybe he would be better off than I was. I hadn't had friends—I had scared them all away with my self-deprecation—and threw every emotion at my father. If I had known then what I knew now, I would have never opened my mouth. Just because a person's pain wasn't visible didn't mean that it wasn't real.
"I don't know. I'm just going to come out and ask him about it, I guess. If I don't do it straight-out, I don't think I'll do it at all. I just don't want him to feed me a bunch of bullshit." He paused and moved his hands around in the water, staring off into space for a moment. A bitter laugh escaped him and his eyes softened as they grew melancholy. "I used to really look up to him, you know? Like really looked up to him like he was a fucking superhero or some shit. Now, I feel embarrassed. It's like I've been fucking fooled all this time."
"Edward, you don't even know for sure yet."
"Don't I? I know my father, Bella. He never once smiled at my mom like that. Not fucking once. A smile like that … I recognize it because I think it's the way I smile at you. I can't just fucking ignore something like that. When he looks at my mom, it's like he's holding back. With her, everything was out in the open. I can't describe it. It's just a gut feeling sort of thing. I'm just afraid."
"Afraid of what?"
I asked, but I knew what he was going to say. I had too much experience with disappointment not to.
"If this is true—if he's really fucking around on my mom—I know I won't be able to look at him the same way. I'll never be able to look at him the same way again."
"He's not a superhero, though," I said quietly, not knowing if I should speak up at all. "He's just a man, Edward."
"I know, I know." He reached up and pulled on his hair. "That doesn't give him a free pass to be an asshole. People fuck up but this is something different. This isn't a little mistake. It's a betrayal."
"I guess the truth has a habit of exposing itself. Just try to keep an open mind until you hear the truth from him."
"I will." A heartbeat passed and he looked at me. "I'm sorry. Right now is just so stressful. I don't want to see something else fall apart. This barely feels like my life anymore." He leaned forward and pressed his lips against my hair. "I don't want to fight with you. Sorry if I've seemed so fucking lost. Since Dean died, I've been so fucking paranoid. We fought so fucking much growing up. I know it's fucking natural or whatever, but I wish it never happened at all. Memories are all I have left of him now, and because of that, I wish they could all be fucking good. There was so much petty, useless shit we fought over … I hate fighting. I hate messing shit up. Part of me doesn't even want to confront my dad because of it. Is the truth really that freeing? Do I really need to know whom he's fucking behind my mom's back? Can't I just let it fucking go?"
He stopped and leaned forward to rest his arms over his knees.
"Sometimes being ignorant seems like the best thing to fucking be. Like, am I really going to feel better? And if something were to happen to him tomorrow, would I really be happy I brought this shit up? After Dean … Fuck, I feel like I just don't know anymore. Every day feels like it could be the last fucking day. Do I want to spend a last day arguing with him? I want to know everything, but I don't want him to become a stranger. That's what he'll be when I find out—a fucking stranger. Maybe I built him up too much. Gave him too much credit. It's just … I never had anyone else defend me like him. When shit got rough with my mom, he was always there batting for me. He would set me aside and tell me that he believed in me, and let me tell you, he's not a super emotional guy. He's quiet like me. Always has been. Still, he opened up to me every now and then. He wanted me to know that I'm not shit. Do I really want to call a person out like that? Why can't I just let it go?"
"If you ask him—if you know the truth—you can work through it with him. You two could come out even stronger than you are today."
"God, I'm fucking paranoid. I'm acting as if he's going to die soon or something. He's still young. He's still healthy. I'm just being a pussy—I don't want to confront him because I'm afraid to. You said you fought with your dad." Edward leaned forward and pulled the plug in the tub, releasing the cold bathwater. He watched as more and more of his skin became exposed to the cool air in the room. "Do you regret it?"
I rested my head on the tub and dipped my hand in the water as it drifted toward the drain. "When my mom died, I wanted to be dead, too. I couldn't wrap my mind around the fact that my dad didn't feel that way. He would smile and go out and pretend as if the past didn't exist. The whole world seemed to move on while I was still stuck in that hospice room with my mom. I thought I hated him. He wasn't the man I had created in my head. When my perception of him changed … he felt like a total stranger. He didn't tell me that he was crying himself to sleep or wondering how he was going to deal with being a single father. Since we only communicated by fighting, I never really understood him. I know I was a kid at the time, but I do regret it. The shit I said … the nasty words … I would take them all back if I could."
Edward watched me as he sat in the now empty tub. He stretched out his legs as much as he could and quietly considered what I had said. His fingers moved over his thighs as he traced the shapes of his tattoos. It was impossible to know which decision was the right one. A choice led to so many possibilities and some of those were ones Edward didn't want to face. His jaw twitched as he ground his teeth together.
"Do you want to know the truth, Edward? Do you feel like you should ask him?"
"I just want to know the truth. Whatever it is, I want to know. He's always been a hero to me but now I'm starting to think maybe I don't really know him much at all."