Edited by Stilldreaming85 and Banshee69
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Isabella Cullen.
Why did I agree to go anywhere with Anthony? I should've known better by now; he was and always would be up to no good.
He took us to some club, God knows where. I didn't see much as Garrett drove us around to the back entrance.
Speaking of Garrett, I had no idea where he was, or better yet, where Anthony had sent him off to.
Anthony had me cornered in a booth at the very back of this club. The music did not seem so loud back here, allowing us to be able to hear each other speak.
Anthony had always made me uncomfortable, but more so now because he was sitting flush against my side with one arm draped around my shoulders. He slid another drink in front of me. I downed it gladly. I needed all the help I could get to deal with him.
"Admit it, you like me touching you," he said.
"I would rather be bitten by a poisonous snake," I said, the brave side of me coming out, although I believe the alcohol's liquid courage played a part in that. "Although, you could very easily pass for one."
He chuckled, not fazed at all by my insult. He only poured me another drink.
"Where's Garrett? Where did you send him?" I asked.
"He's around."
"Where did you send him, Anthony?" I asked again. Garrett made me feel safe, which is a lot more than I can say for this snake.
"Why are you so concerned about him?" He asked with a raised brow.
"Edward made everyone go into hiding and yet the three of us are sitting here - out in the open. So yes, Anthony, I'm concerned."
"Edward is prone to overreacting, that's why he's hiding you all away," he said.
"And you aren't as worried as he is because...?"
He shrugged, taking another sip from his glass.
"Someone shot your father, Anthony. Someone tried to kill your family and you're sitting here talking about it as if it's not big deal."
"What happened to my father, was... unfortunate for him."
"He may die," I said, staring at him in disbelief. Carlisle, no matter my feelings towards him, was still his father. If I didn't know better, I would think from Anthony's insouciant tone he sounded as if he wanted his father to die.
"And that would bother you?" He asked with a smirk. I opened and closed my mouth a few times, trying to come up with something but it was pointless. I had nothing to say, he had me there.
"Here," he said, filling my glass again. "How about we just layoff the family business and heavy stuff, and enjoy the few hours of freedom we have."
He could not be serious.
"So what's going to happen now?" I asked.
"Now, we are going to get wasted and party."
"I'm serious Anthony. Edward won't say anything to me, especially after what happened down at the precinct. He just threw me down there as if somehow it might make everything all go away," I said.
I wasn't stupid. I knew no matter how much Edward and Anthony, or even Rosalie tried to downplay it, the detective knew something about me. He knew something he shouldn't. He'd recognized me, I was certain of it. He tried so hard to find a reason to not let me walk out of there.
It would have been so easy to throw in the towel, admitting he was right. That I wasn't - in fact - who they claimed I was. There wouldn't have been a damn thing Edward, nor Anthony, could have done about it. I don't know why I didn't do it though. My mind went blank.
"Now we find the son of a bitch who tried to kill my father," Anthony said, downing another shot.
"Do you know who it is?"
He shook his head and took a swig straight from the bottle this time.
"I'll take that as no," I mumbled.
"Didn't I say to lay off the heavy?"
"This isn't heavy, Anthony. This is just my curiosity in how this is all going to play out."
"You know," he slurred his words slightly. The amount of alcohol he had consumed was slowly catching up with him. "I think I liked you better when you didn't ask so many questions and listened to what you were told."
I narrowed my eyes at him, resisting the urge to pick the glass bottle off the table up and hit him with it.
"You mean you liked me better when I was locked up in your basement, frightened and abused by you," I said.
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to say it out loud. You were thinking it."
He scoffed, removing his arm from around my shoulders. "You don't know anything. You don't know what I'm thinking. We aren't supposed to talk about this shit. We are supposed to sit here and drink and get drunk like friends."
"Don't delude yourself, Anthony. We aren't friends," I said.
"Why won't you give me a chance?" He asked as he brought the bottle to his lips again, only to find it empty. He whistled at a waitress and held the bottle out to her as he waited for her to return with another.
I opened my mouth to answer him, but he cut me off.
"And don't give me that same bullshit of, 'oh, you kidnapped me', Anthony." He mimicked me perfectly, as the waitress returned with another bottle for him.
"Isn't that enough?" I asked. What more reason did I need to have? "You hurt me, Anthony, both physically and emotionally. How can you honestly expect me to move on from that? Pretend like it never happened?"
He sighed deeply. For the first time since I have known Anthony, he looked lost. Dare I say sorry, even.
"I am only going to say this once," he slurred as he finally managed to open his new bottle, "so you better be listening really good, little lamb."
I stared at him waiting for him to continue, not knowing if what was about to come out of his mouth would be him or the effects of the alcohol he had consumed.
"I'm sorry," he started, taking a swig. "I'm sorry for every time I put my hands on you. I'm sorry for being the cause of your pain... But, I'm not sorry I took you," he said.
I was taken aback. I don't really know what I had expected him to say, certainly not that though. He couldn't be serious. No, he wasn't. He couldn't honestly consider that an apology and expect me to buy it. Surely, he didn't expect us to move on and be a loving family like the past four years had never happened.
Before I could control myself, I started laughing. Although, Anthony, even in his drunken state didn't appreciate my laughter.
"Why are you laughing at me?"
"You're serious aren't you?" I asked as my laughter died down. He looked hurt, almost lost.
"Of course I'm serious," he slurred out. For someone as intoxicated as he was, I was surprised he was able to hold his words so well. "Do you know how many people I've apologized to in my life?"
"Surprise me."
"One," he said, holding up one finger. "You."
"Was that the reason you took me out tonight? To ask for my forgiveness?"
"Not really," he said, scratching the back of his head. "But forgiveness is the aim of an apology, right?"
"They're only words, Anthony. 'Sorry' is just a word, it doesn't mean anything."
"It means something to me," he said.
I took the bottle out of his fingers and took a long gulp myself, welcoming the strong burn down my throat. I hate him for this, for saying that to me because deep down, we both know he didn't mean a single word. Anthony Cullen was 'too good' for apologies. Anthony Cullen never did anything without having an ulterior motive. Drunk or not, he had a reason for this, but it wasn't to gain my forgiveness.
"I said sorry. You have to forgive me," he said.
"They're only empty words. If I take this bottle and shatter it over your head and then apologize, will it take your pain away?"
"I…"
"No, it won't, you would still be in pain."
"Look... Isabella." He sighed, shifting around in his seat to face me. His heavy alcoholic breath washing over me.
"I can't forgive you, Anthony," I said. "I can't forgive you because I can't forget. I still have nights where I can't sleep because every time I close my eyes I can see it all, hear it all. I'll jump out of bed and search myself for blood, for bruises. Saying you're sorry isn't going to make any of it better." I said, hoping that maybe - even in his drunken haze - he would be able to understand that.
"One day, you will forgive me. One day you'll realize I'm better than my brother," he said as he leaned in towards me.
"How about we take your advice and lay off the heavy stuff?"
"That... is a fucking great idea," he said, snatching the bottle out of my hand. "Let's dance."
"Are you sure you can hold your balance?" I asked.
"I'm not as drunk as you think I am," he said.
He stood up and held his hand out toward me. He was serious after all; he wanted me to dance with me.
"We're on borrowed time now, little lamb. I've got to get you back before the big bad brother sobers up and realizes I've stolen his wife."
I bit my lip, thinking about my options. Dancing with Anthony, I didn't even know he could dance.
I took his hand and let him lead me down to the dance floor. It was then and only then that I realized, the entire place was empty.
"Why is there no one here?" I asked.
He shrugged. "I told you, we're on borrowed time. It's late or rather early in the morning," he said.
He turned me around and my body collided into his as he wrapped his arms around my waist, holding me securely to him. The rapid beating music slowed into a ballad as Anthony and I stood in the middle of the dance floor. From the corner of my eye I caught Garrett staring at us from the bar. I waved to him behind Anthony's back, but got no response. I knew he could see me. He looked angry, pissed the fuck off actually. I guess this was the last place he wanted to be. He was probably thinking about what Edward was going to do once he found us all missing. I wouldn't let Garrett be on the receiving end of Edward's wrath. This was all on Anthony, he could deal with his brother.
"Are you sober enough now to tell me why you brought me out here?"
He smirked. His eyes darkened as he leaned down and whispered in my ear very softly.
"You've been a very, very naughty girl, little lamb."
"What the hell are you talking about, Anthony?" I said, pushing away from him, but he was stronger and held me firmly in his grasp.
"Let's just say, I know all about your little friend," he said, as he looked up at Garrett.
"Garrett? Yes, he's my friend. Just because Edward has him following me doesn't mean he can't also be my friend."
"His job isn't to be your friend. His job is to protect you."
"Why are you doing this?"
"He's not the friend I'm talking about Isabella," he said.
"I don't have any friends, Anthony," I said, trying to push him away again.
"Your Irish friend, Michael, Isabella," he said, causing all the color to drain from my face. "You are going to tell me everything about him, or I will tell your husband about the events at a certain Tuscan lake."
If I wasn't pale before, I sure as hell was now. How could he know about something like that? There had been no one there. At that time, everyone still believed Anthony was dead. He wasn't in Ragusa.
"Believe me, little lamb, I will take great joy in breaking that little piece of information to my brother."
And here it was, Anthony's ulterior motive.