I do not own Twilight.
Thank you so much for the positive reviews from the last chapter. I hope I did the two justice.
Emmett has already left by the time I make it back out to the parking lot.
"He said he'll call you," Mike says, and his tone and expression are far from friendly. His eyes search my face, I'm sure it's puffy and red, and he looks away pointedly before getting into the passenger side of his own car. He's too angry to drive.
He slams the door.
I take a breath and get into the driver's side and, before I turn the key into the ignition, turn to look at him.
"Do you hate me?" I ask, and he won't look at me, either.
"Please," I beg quietly, staring blindly at the steering wheel. "Don't be like this right now. I need—"
"Just drive to the apartment, Bella," he says, hashing out my forbidden name like a curse.
"I'm sorry, I—"
His head whips around, his eyes glinting blue.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" he yells and I flinch back. He slams his fist against the dashboard and I try to sit as quietly as possible, knowing he has every right to his anger.
"Are you mad because I went back in?" I ask in a whisper after a few seconds. It's a stupid question, but I feel the need to ask it. I need to know what he's so angry about so I can make it right.
"I'm fucking mad because you're still in love with that piece of shit!" he yells, his face turning red with each shout. "I'm fucking mad because you dragged me into this! I'm fucking mad because I got the shit beat out of me over some fucking sloppy seconds!"
My hand flies out of its own accord, moving to slap him but he's faster. My wrist aches in his grip, his face inches from mine, nearly purple and slobbering with bubbles of saliva at the corners of his mouth.
I try to pull back, fear overcoming me, but he holds tighter.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" he repeats, though it's quieter this time; deadlier.
Even with Edward's anger, I never feared for my own safety. Now, it's like this situation could take a million different turns. But we're still here, in the parking lot and I've seen firsthand what happens when violence erupts.
"Mike," I try to say, to warn, but he's past the point of hearing. His fingers have a death grip around my wrist and I cry out when he pushes my hand away from him.
I don't think it's broken, but it feels like it very well could be.
I cradle my wrist as I move to open my door and I'm shocked that tears aren't pouring down my face, but maybe I don't have any left to shed.
"Where the fuck are you going?" Mike sputters as I open the door and step out, slamming it behind me.
"Getting a ride," I state simply.
I hear him huffing behind me as though it's a mere annoyance. He's out of the car, too, now, walking towards me.
"Don't fucking come near me," I hiss, stepping even further from him.
Mike raises his hands in a show of solidarity, but I'm past that point.
"Look, Bells," he starts and then hangs his head. "Shit, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"
"What?" I snap. "Call me 'sloppy seconds?' Hold my wrist that tight?"
"Shit," he mumbles, his hands holding his head. "Shit, shit, shit."
"I'm going to have my dad pick me up," I state simply. "I just want to get my bag."
"You tried to slap me," he says as way of explanation.
"You called me 'sloppy seconds,'" I respond just as quickly.
"Bells," he sighs and closes his eyes tightly. "You know I didn't mean it like that."
But I'm already shaking my head.
"Being around people when they're angry makes you realize something," I say, reaching across the seat to grab my purse and then moving to the far side of the car. "They say things that they regret, but usually what they say has been on their mind for a while."
He has no response so I turn until I hear his car jump to life and drive away.
When I look back, the parking lot is empty. There's not even a phone booth, no simple way into the jail house before me. I feel completely and utterly alone.
And for the first time in my life, I think that I actually am.