Thanks to my betas, Sherry and Paige, because you know I couldn't do this without you! Any mistakes are my own.

"I wear this crown of shit

Upon my liar's chair

Full of broken thoughts

I cannot repair.

Beneath the stains of time

The feelings disappear

You are someone else

I am still right here.

What have I become?

My sweetest friend

Everyone I know

Goes away in the end."

-Nine Inch Nails-

EPOV:

My fists slam against his face in a rapid succession. I can't stop. I don't know if I want to stop. Fuck, I can't even slow down. I feel him put his hands in front of his face, but nothing can help him during my violent, red haze. I'm fucking lost in the moment, waiting for the hate surging through me to release so I can feel better. Will I ever feel better after this? Will I ever find peace again?

Those questions are fleeting, disappearing in the chaos of my mind before I throw another punch. I hear a crunch, as my fist makes contact with his nose. His head slams against the wall, before his body slides to the ground. I hear screams in the background, but everything is a giant blur. The only thing that's clear is Paul, who is slumped on the ground with his hands over his head crying uncontrollably, like the fucking coward he is. He didn't even have the nerve to fight back. I want to fucking spit on him, but before I get the chance, a pair of strong arms yanks me away from him and throws me on the floor.

My eyes shoot wide open and all my emotions come crashing down, and my heart begins to beat so rapidly I feel as though it could explode at any moment. I'm fucking dizzy, I'm fucking nauseous, and my mind feels so fucking numb it scares me. I stare at all the nameless faces in the crowd, too distressed to recognize a single one, as they stare down at me in absolute horror. Fuck them, they don't know what this is about.

I don't wait for my panic attack to subside, I don't reach out to Paul to make sure he's alright, because it's not like he did that shit with my brother, all I do is jump up, wipe the blood off my hands and onto my shirt and head for the door. I hear Paul crying out to me, but I don't turn around. Fuck him. Fuck that bastard who murdered my brother and sister-in-law and fucking drove away. How the fuck could he drive away!? How could he watch my fucking brother gasp for air, and just fucking run?

I can't decide if Paul is a fucking monster or a fucking coward. The man I once thought I knew is gone. I can't believe he fucking lied to my face all this time. He killed my fucking brother and he didn't have enough fucking courage to tell me about it. I allowed that sick fuck to be in my child's life. I asked him to be my best man in my wedding. He was my fucking friend.

He was my friend…

Hot tears trail down my cheeks as I quickly get into my car. I can't see anything, and I don't fucking want to. This world is so ugly, I never knew how ugly it was until this very moment. I've tried to be good, I've tried to be optimistic, I've tried to tell myself that everything in this world isn't shit. It looks like I was wrong. It's just as fucked up as I once thought it was. I throw my car in reverse and back out of my parking space, before throwing it into drive and speeding down the empty street. I gun it down the road without a second thought. I don't know where I'm going, but I just don't want to fucking be here.

I drive aimlessly, not bothering to look at what I'm passing. Frankly, I'm too fucked up to even care. The world around me is a blur, a meaningless and unforgiving blur. The tears won't stop and my anger won't subside. Horrible thoughts fly through my head, but I'm too fucking numb to make any sense of them. They boil up inside, and I feel as though I'm going to burst at any moment. I punch the steering wheel, hoping the pain in my hand will distract me from the hurt in my heart. I want to fucking destroy something, I want to release my anger until my surroundings are just as wrecked as I am.

I pass by bars and liquor stores and I want more than anything to pull over and drown my sorrows. However, I'm too fucking agitated to turn off the main road, I don't want to get out of my car like this because I know I'll beat the shit out of the very first person I see. I press on the gas and speed down the road without giving the tempting surroundings any attention.

However, my strength doesn't last long. I pass a dive bar and I just can't fucking help myself. It's so dead and so fucking tempting. There's no more than a few cars in sight as I park outside the entrance. I saunter inside, not bothering to even lock my car, simply because I don't give a fuck anymore. The bar is dark and unwelcoming. I smile and walk to the bar top to order a drink.

Throwing a five on the table I say, "Bourbon, straight," before slouching on a barstool.

As soon as the bartender hands me the drink, I down it and ask for another before drifting off to a table in the bar's darkest corner. I just want to be fucking alone. I put the second drink down and stare at it. My body is shaking with anger, but now that anger is directed at myself. You're fucking better than this, Cullen! How can you do this to your family? Fresh tears well up in my eyes and I violently wipe them away, as I continue to stare at the bourbon that seems to be fucking taunting me.

Before I can contain myself, I ball my hand up into a fist and slam it down on the drink. The excruciating pain feels incredible. It makes me feel fucking alive. I watch my blood as it pours out of my wounded palm and seems to seep into the wood of the old table, staining it with a beautiful color of dark red. The alcohol burns my open wounds and it feels so fucking cleansing. I hear shouts and look up to see a fuming bartender coming toward me. I'm too far gone to hear what he's saying to me, but by the looks of him it's nothing good.

With tears running down my emotionless face and my bloody hand clenched under my leather jacket, I leave the bar without an apology and head back to my car. I'm sobbing in my front seat and I don't know why. My hand is bleeding and I make no attempt to contain it. My mind is so mixed up with unwelcome emotions I don't know what to do.

I mindlessly reach for my phone and dial the number of the person I know will help. He picks up on the third ring.

"Hello?" He asks, in a tired but concerned voice.

I suppose house calls are never fucking good if you're a therapist.

"Dr. Howell, it's Edward," I stuttered out, "I need to see you."

I wonder if he can hear the pain in my voice, because even in my haze I definitely can.

I hear fumbling around on his end, before he finally states, "Meet me at my office. I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

"Thank you," I say quietly before ending the call.

I find a rag from work in my backseat and wrap it around my hand, pulling the cloth tight to stop the flow of blood. I know it's dirty as fuck, but I can't seem to care. I cover up my wound before placing both hands on my dented steering wheel. Everything in my life is fucked now. Of course, the moment I thought things were going well, something comes along to mess it up. Just like it always does. I don't know why I hoped for anything different, I guess it was just wishful fucking thinking.

I turn the key in the ignition and listen as my car engine roars to life. I rub my hand roughly against my face to wake myself up, before quickly backing out of the parking lot and heading toward Howell's office. I drive over, still reeling with disbelief, almost driving through stop signs since my mind is somewhere else completely. As I drive, staring at the dark road ahead, my mind begins to wander. I try to stop it, not wanting it to travel to the dark places that it easily could, but I'm just too fucking tired to do so.

I think of my brother, just the way Paul described him. Sitting in the front seat of his car next to his dead wife, gasping for breath as he looks at the man who he called his friend for the very last time. Although I wasn't there, I can vividly imagine the look in my brother's eyes. The sad look of his disappointment fleets through my mind and I gasp for air as my chest tightens as I think of the many times he'd given me that look as we were growing up. I can imagine him looking at Paul that way, as if to say, 'What have you done, my friend?'. The thought is sickening, but I can't dismiss it. I imagine the blood on his face and the shock in his eyes as he looks at his wife, the woman who was his everything. I can imagine Paul's face as well, as he stares into Seth's car and sees exactly what he's done. I hope what he saw has fucking stuck with him. I want him to carry the pain of my brother's death for the rest of his life. I want him to know exactly what he's done.

How could he just drive away and leave them there? How could he not fucking care enough to call for help? My brother could have fucking survived if Paul had called for help the second it happened! Seth would've had a fighting chance, but instead, by the time someone drove past their car and called the police, it was too late for my brother. He went to the hospital in critical condition, knowing that his wife was already dead. Charlie was at home with Elizabeth, waiting for his parents to return from their date, having no notion of what his godfather had done to them. A sob escapes my lips and I violently wipe away the tears that stream down my face. Stop crying you fucking bastard!

I know it's completely illogical, but I should've fucking been there. I should've been here to help my brother in some way. I would've done anything for him. Fuck, I'd gladly take his place right now. Like I've said to myself so many times, if anyone deserved to die young, it was me. My sadness slowly turns back into uncontrollable anger.

How the fuck could my friend rip my brother away from me? Didn't he think about anyone else as he drunkenly drove away? Didn't he even think of Charlie, the baby he made an orphan by taking his parents' lives? Didn't he think of me? I was his friend too, and he'd just destroyed everything in my life. How could he look me in the fucking eye after all of that shit? How dare he even try to talk to me again! Hadn't he done enough damage?

I'm fuming by the time I arrive at Howell's office. I see his car parked outside, the only car in the entire parking lot besides mine. I find him waiting for me at the office's entrance, bundled in a huge winter coat and a hat to protect his face from the freezing January night. It's then I realize how fucking absurd I look in my leather jacket in this weather. However, the anger and adrenaline that feels like it's coursing through my fucking veins warms me up. I walk to Howell and stand next to him, antsy as he fumbles with his keys as he tries to open the front door.

"Wait, Edward. Wait," He says in a commanding voice, and his tone ushers me back, so I'm not crowding him as he works on getting the key into the lock.

I give him space and try to calm myself. I don't know what the fuck I want to do, but I want to do something. I have to do something! The sting of betrayal is too much for me to fucking bear. I run my hands through my hair and yank on it until I feel my roots sting. Howell takes one look at me, sees my bloodied wrapped up hand, and frowns. He looks sad, but even in my distressed state I can tell his look is not judgmental. He ushers me inside and follows me as I barrel down the hallway toward his office. He quickly unlocks and opens his door and flips on the lights. I don't look at him, I merely walk straight to my usual seat and put my head in my hands.

"What happened?" He asks, pulling his chair close to mine before taking his seat.

I shake my head, unable to speak. I wipe my face with my good hand and try to keep the tears that are pricking my eyes from rolling down my cheeks.

"Something happened," I gasp, unable to meet his gaze. "Something bad happened. I just don't know what to do. I don't know what to do," I say, on the verge of hysteria.

I'm so scared that I'll lose myself all over again. What if I do? What if I forget the man I've worked so hard to become?

"Try to calm yourself and explain to me what happened," Howell firmly suggests, his voice is like a slap to the face and just what I needed.

"Paul…" I begin taking a shuddering breath. "Paul was the one."

"The one what?"

"The one who killed them," I gasp, finding it devastating to say the words aloud. "I heard him confess to the whole thing."

Howell's eyes widen for a moment and he sits back in his chair. I watch him as he runs a hand through his hair, and looks at me for a second, as if he were assessing my mental state or some shit like that. I'm sure whatever he sees isn't good.

"How did you feel once you heard this?"

I shrug my shoulders. How the fuck does he expect me to feel? Fucking peachy? My entire life has been fucking dragged through the mud in a few short hours. I thought I wanted to know the truth, I thought any truth would be better than not knowing, but I was fucking wrong. I wish I were still ignorant to the whole thing. How fucking blissful would that be? I could walk blindly through life and the truth could never harm me.

"I wish I didn't know," I answer honestly, jumping up from my seat. I began to pace around the room, clenching my fucked-up hand to my chest. "I don't know how that man could've lied to me. I don't know how he could've looked me in the eye, knowing he killed my brother and sister-in-law, and not said anything. How the fuck could he look at Charlie? Knowing he killed both of his parents and did nothing to help."

I stop pacing and sit back down, running my good hand through my hair before smacking myself in the face.

"Stop that," Howell immediately commanded. "So, your friend betrayed your trust. What do you plan to do about it?"

"I'm going to fucking kill him." The venom in my tone is muffled by the sob that escapes my mouth.

Before I know it, I'm sobbing and rocking in my seat. The image my mind has created of my brother gasping for breath is all I see. Suddenly, I hate everything. I hate Paul for murdering two members of my family, I hate Seth for not being strong enough to survive the crash, and I hate myself for being alive. Howell reaches out and puts a hand on my shoulder. The comforting gesture only makes me fall to pieces further and when I finally do regain my self-control, I'm too fucking exhausted to speak. Howell gives me all the time I need. I sit in silence, watching the light from cars outside shin through the window's blinds and dance around the room. Finally, I relax just enough to continue.

"He said that he looked into my brother's car and could see that he was dying. He said Seth was gasping for breath. He looked at Kate in the passenger seat and saw that she wasn't moving. He didn't call anyone, he didn't try to help either of them, he simply drove away. How can he live with himself?"

"Will you be able to live with this?" Howell asks me, with his hand still on my shoulder.

I contemplate his question, finding that it's harder to answer than I thought. I'm so lost, but at the same time I realize I have so much to live for. I have Bella and Charlie. Fuck, I have two parents who love me as well. I can't just lay down and die now, not when I'm at the start of a new chapter in my life. I can't just throw everything away now. Paul has destroyed so much in my fucking life already, I can't allow that fucker to destroy my future as well.

"Yes," I say quietly, wiping the tears off my face with my unbandaged hand.

I'll be able to fucking live with this, but who knows when I'll be healed. This will be a scar I'll wear for the rest of my life. There's nothing left for me to do but move forward, but before I can do that, I need some fucking answers. I want to know why Paul acted the way he did, why he killed two amazing people without a second thought. I won't be able to move forward unless I can fucking understand. Paul needs to make me understand! Until then, I'll be fucking lost in limbo.

"I believe you," Howell says, pulling me from my frantic thoughts.

My eyes shoot up to meet his and I find nothing but sincerity. He does believe I'll overcome this, and that alone gives me some peace of mind. I need to find Paul, I need to find some answers. I close my eyes and try to remember what it felt like before I knew all this. I can't and that's fucking terrifying.

"You'll pull through this, Edward," Howell assures me, although it feels more like he's commanding me to do so. "I'm not only your therapist, but I'm also your friend, Edward. I'll always be here for you."

Before I know what I'm doing, I throw my good arm around Howell's shoulder and let the few tears I have left fall down my face. An emergency therapy session was just what I fucking needed. As much as I want to return home to Bella and Charlie, just to remember my two reasons for living, I know there's someplace else I have to go to first. I have to go to Paul's, I have to talk to him and figure out what the fuck he's done. Now that the truth has already poisoned my life, I want to know every detail.

I leave Howell's office with the promise of meeting as scheduled later in the week. He locks up and we walk to our cars in a comfortable silence. I thank Howell and try to pull myself together as I slide into the driver's seat of my car. I turn on the ignition of the car and blast the radio, wanting the sound of heavy metal to drown out my thoughts. Halfway to Paul's something inside of me beckons me to drive faster. As if there were a little voice in my head telling me if I don't get there soon, I'll arrive to an empty apartment. I step on the gas and zoom down the dark and empty street, with images of my dying brother plaguing my mind.

A/N: I know these are dark chapters, but stick with me! I'll have another teaser for the next chapter up tomorrow in my facebook group (The Highlander Princess's Clan). Hopefully I'll have it up for you guys to read in the afternoon!

Thoughts? Please review! I seriously love reading what you guys have to say about all of this!

Song- "Hurt" Nine Inch Nails. I know I've used this one before…but it's just so perfect for this story!

Until next time! **Waves**