A/N
Some light and fluffy Sunday reading?
Yeah, you won't find that here.
Also, for those leaving guest reviews voicing your disgust of bisexuality? Don't bother, I will delete them. Find something else to do with your time.
Thankfully, the vast majority of you are open-minded and on side. Thank you for that.
Now that THAT'S out of the way ... Enjoy!
—
"You need to tell me."
We're sitting in my car, the engine off, my dark house looming and empty before us. Same as before, yet different.
"Tell you what?" he asks, his voice barely audible, his tone blank. I don't think he's paying any attention.
Turning to him, I watching him for a while, chewing the inside of my cheek, waiting for him to acknowledge anything outside of his own mind.
He won't look at me.
"The need to lash out, physically. I need to know where that comes from."
Inhaling deeply, I watch his chest deflate with a breath through his nose. His eyes move to meet mine briefly, though his head doesn't turn. I worry that he's closing himself off, pushing me away … again.
"Can we go inside?" he asks calmly, surprising me.
I nod and shift to open my door. He follows silently.
The house is cold, dark. Like always.
I grab two bottles of water from the fridge, handing him one and passing him to make my way to the living room.
When I sit on the sofa, he keeps his distance, sitting on the other side, a few feet of space between us. I watch his every move.
I don't push, knowing he'll speak when he's ready. Instead, I play with the bottle cap, watching him, waiting. Trying to be patient.
"Why did your mom leave?" he asks eventually, staring intently at the wall in front of him. He's deflecting, I know he is. I do the same.
I take a deep breath, not expecting this change of direction.
"I don't know," I answer truthfully. "One minute, everything is fine and then next? She's packing her bags, telling my dad she hates him and she can't stay here." I shrug. "I guess she always wanted more than Forks, you know?"
I don't blame her for that; this town is stifling.
"Why didn't she take you?" Turning to face me, he searches my face for answers I don't have.
I've asked the same question over and over again in my head.
"She didn't even say goodbye to me. I doubt I was high on her list of priorities once she decided she was leaving … I was the main reason she had felt trapped for so long ..."
"You think she resented you?"
I smirk. "Now who's playing the shrink?"
Rolling his eyes, he sits back, looking up at the ceiling. He recognises my deflection for what it is. "Yeah, well, I've seen enough of them."
His Adams apple bobs, his eyes closing. "I think I'm just as alone as you are."
His quiet admission shocks me. How can he feel that way? He has two parents and a brother.
I don't get the chance to ask.
"Esme and Carlisle adopted me when I was eleven. But … I don't think they were truly prepared for who —what— I was. I've told them constantly over the years to leave me alone and I think … I think I finally broke them."
The only noise in the room is the muted ticking of a clock, and my legs on the sofa as I shift and cross them, to face him fully.
My mind works on overdrive, trying to sort through the questions than stem from his admission.
"What happened to you before Esme and Carlisle?" My voice is quiet, apprehensive. I hate that I don't feel stronger right now, strong enough to assert myself and demand the answers I deserve.
He scoffs, his eyes opening to stare at the ceiling, his face reflecting the memories of life before his adoptive parents. He looks tormented.
"Violence." he answers, taking my breath away. My breath hitches, but he continues. "Nothing but violence and hurt —agony." I think about reaching out to touch him, to comfort him, but I don't know how. It's these little realisations that solidify how little we truly know each other. His jaw clenches, never loosening as he speaks. "My dad … he's in prison now. For life, I hope … Fuck, the thought of him getting out gives me nightmares."
"Edward," I whisper instantly, shifting an inch closer to him. "What did he do?" I don't know if I'm ready for the answers he's sure to give, but I need this.
"To me?" Turning his head on the back of the sofa, he looks at me, green eyes like church windows. Ethereal. I nod. After a minute, he shrugs, eyes on my legs, anywhere but my face. "He got off on inflicting pain. Fucking lived for it."
I take a drink of water to distract myself, compose myself. My heart thuds so hard I'm surprised he can't hear it, but mentally, he's far away right now, no doubt remembering, suffering all over again. "Was it only you he focused on?" I ask. The pain is so evident, radiating from him when his eyes meet mine. Years of torment and abuse breaching the surface. One look from him and my tears brim, threatening to spill.
He snorts, shaking his head. "No. Sadly … no."
My heart breaks, gaping, wide open.
"What happened?" I urge, my voice trembling, not sure I want the answer, but knowing I need it. To understand him. We need this.
"I had a twin." His voice cracks and he clears his throat, trying to hide it. I shift closer, swelling the emotion that rises in my throat. "A sister, Emma. He …" taking a deep breath and realising it, he keeps his eyes away from my face, his voice eerily quiet, detached. "He killed her."
—
A/N
I couldn't do this without Jemster23 and the girls on Facebook who keep my laughing -my little cheerleaders! Thanks for reading!
