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.
Edward Cullen.
There are moments in life that have you stopping in your tracks and question every decision you've ever made. Moments that make you realize, you are a good person or the worst kind of all.
Hurting my own flesh and blood wasn't something I necessarily wanted to do. Hurting Anthony felt as if I was hurting myself; maybe it was because he's my mirror image, yet his pain, the pain I had inflicted on him had brought me great joy.
"Are you planning on keeping me locked up in here forever?" My brother asked from the bed he had made on the dirty blanket in the corner.
"Tempting," I said.
"Kill me, don't kill me. Make up your mind brother, I'm getting bored down here."
"Having you beat half to death is boring to you? I can always liven things up more for you," I said.
My brother struggled to stand to his feet from his corner, but nevertheless he was determined to do so.
He's a fucking mess, bruised, dried old blood combined with fresh drops. His left arm is broken, of that I am certain. He has to be in a world of pain, although he would never show it, not to me at least.
He stood in front of me with his arms opened wide, staring me dead in the eyes.
"Go ahead and do your worst. Play with me, brother," he taunted.
I felt pity for him. He's a mess and in a lot of pain; he needs a doctor for that arm, yet his ego won't let him admit it.
He's on the verge of passing out. He's barely holding himself up. It's been forty-eight hours since I brought him down here. I may have neglected to have him fed.
I pushed him back down onto the floor of his corner and placed the brown paper bag I brought with me on his lap.
"So, this is how you're going to end your own twin, poison him?"
"Shut up and eat, Anthony," I said, reaching into my packet to take out a bottle of painkillers and tossing it at him. He looked at me with a raised bloodied brow.
"Take them, don't take them. I really don't care." I shrugged.
I sat down on the edge of a step as I watched him open the bottle of pills and swallow a few. I watched as he ate the food I bought him, finishing it all in a few short minutes.
"I don't suppose you brought your poor brother something stronger than water to drink?" He asked.
"What the fuck were you thinking?" I asked the question I had wanted answered for past two days.
"You still mad about that?" He smirked. "I got a question for you."
"You're in no position to ask me anything."
"What pissed you off the most? The fact I took your wife out from under your nose? Or was it the fact that she enjoyed herself with me?"
I wasn't about to fall for my brother's game. I knew what he was trying to do, and I knew Isabella did not enjoy any of the time she spent with him. The look of relief on her face when they returned home said it all; not even Anthony could deny that.
If he had done anything to her during their brief escape she didn't say a word about it, nor did she appear to be physically harmed in anyway. However, that didn't mean nothing had happened.
"Lighten up, brother," Anthony said. "I brought her back didn't I? I didn't hurt her did I?"
"You put her in danger. You put yourself in danger. Hell, you put Garrett in danger," I said, as I stood up. "My wife, Anthony, my wife. You put her life in danger. You took her out there, knowing there's a target on our fucking backs, and for what? To play a fucking game."
"She was never in any danger. I'm not stupid," he said.
"Laurent is dead!" I yelled.
My brother's head snapped up. "Fuck! How?"
"One to the back of the head. Whoever it was, cut his tongue out and sent it to my door. So, you can understand why I am so fucking mad. When I needed you, you were nowhere to be found."
My brother said nothing. He stared blankly back at me. Maybe, just maybe, he was starting to realize that this threat was bigger than he thought. No one knew my brother and I had paid Laurant a visit. We weren't followed and there had been no one watching his place, it hadn't been bugged, which leaves me scratching my head. Whoever this person was sent Laurant's tongue to me because they knew he had spoken with me.
Anthony chuckled, although it held no humor. "That stupid bitch," he mumbled to himself. He was silent for a moment. The wheels were turning in his head, I could see that, as if he was trying to work something out.
"Where's your wife, brother?" He asked with a sick smile on his face.
"I swear to God, Anthony."
"Do you know she has Michael's number?" He asked.
"Bullshit," I said. I would have known if Isabella would have had any contact with Michael. She hadn't, not since there run-in and that was well over a month ago.
"Is it?" My brother asked. "You've given her free regin around here. You even gave her the code to your office door. Exactly how many untraceable cells are in there? Have you counted them all? Are you missing anything? You sure she doesn't have one hidden away with her in her underwear?"
I swallowed a lump I hadn't realized had formed in my throat. Anthony was right, I had given Isabella free reign down here, but that was because she was not my prisoner and I didn't want her to feel as such. I was working so hard on gaining her trust again that it never crossed my mind that she might be the one to betray mine.
"Can you even check, brother? Is she even letting you in-between her legs?" He smirked. "She let Michael."
I crouched down in front of him, grabbing him by the collar of his filthy shirt. I could tell, I could always tell when my brother was lying.
"My my, brother. I never thought I'd see the day when a woman would have you this wound up. It's just a shame she prefers the Irish," he said.
I lost it; my fist became acquainted with Anthony's jaw, causing one of his wounds to reopen and start bleeding again.
"What the fuck do you know that I don't?"
He chuckled lightly, spitting out blood across my face as he did.
"Your 'dolcezza' and our very secretive Irish national, shared a rather... sweet moment back in Ragusa before you were all shot at at the ball."
"How do you know that?" I asked.
"The perks of being a ghost for so long brother."
"That's... impossible," I said.
Maybe I was just being stupid and refused to believe it. Maybe deep down I thought Isabella - in her own way - did in fact, feel something for me. However, if what Anthony was saying happened to be the honest truth then... I didn't want to think of what I would be capable of doing to her.
"You don't believe me," he said. "Go ahead and ask her. Ask her about the lake. Ask her about how she swam with him in nothing but her underwear. Ask her how he kissed her, your wife, and how much she'd enjoyed it. Better yet, ask her how his hand ventured down below the water. You're a smart man brother, I'm sure you can figure out what they were doing."
In that moment my vision changed. I saw black. Anger, pure raw, unadulterated anger engulfed me. It pulled me under and drowned me in it. There was no sense, no rational judgment left in me. Before I had any control, the back of Anthony's head collided with the brick wall. He slumped in a heap, covered in blood. There was every possibility that I had caused some irreversible damage, quiet possibly his death. I did not care. I turned on my heel and left him in that cold, dark room.
~MINY~
I imagined what I would do when I saw her. I thought what it would feel like to put my hands on her with the intent to hurt her. I wondered if I would be capable of causing her physical pain. I thought about it as I made my way to our room.
I believed my brother, as much as I didn't want to, I knew he was speaking the truth. Something had happened between Isabella and Michael. Maybe Anthony exaggerated what he saw or maybe he didn't. Maybe he downplayed what it was he had actually witnessed, but that's not my brother's style.
I stood outside our door with my fingers hovering over the keypad. I was stalling and I knew it. Even in my anger, I knew that if I went in there and attacked her there would be no coming back from that. But my anger, that raging beast inside of me screamed out, 'she betrayed you.'
I pushed the door open ready to do, I don't know what to her. I stopped in my tracks when I found her curled up on the bed fast asleep.
I stood next to her, brushing a strand of hair off of her face. She appeared so pure, so innocent, yet the only vision in my mind was of her with Michael, His hands on her skin, on her body. She had let him touch her, yet she'd recoil from me.
She must have felt my presence. She stirred under my touch and her eyes slowly fluttered open. Her soft dark eyes stared up at my cold ones. I can't imagine what my face must have looked like to her in this moment, but it had her frightened enough to move out of my reach.
"Are... are you okay?" She asked, her voice soft, just above a whisper.
I didn't trust my voice so I didn't answer her. I saw her swallow the lump in her throat as her body began to physically shake. She was afraid. Good, I thought she should fear me right now because I feared myself.
"Edward…" she whispered.
For a brief moment I closed my eyes and saw it all. I saw me hurting her. I saw her blood on my hands, her eyes lifeless and it scared me. It scared me because I knew that I was capable of doing far worse. It scared me because I was out of control, and it scared me there was no one here to help her, to save her from me.
"We need to talk," I finally said.
I wanted to move towards her. I wanted to grab her, put my hands on her, yet my feet refused to move from there spot.
"What's going on?" She asked.
"That is a good question, dolcezza. What is going on?"
"I don't know what…" she trailed off as my hands balled up into fists and I cracked my neck.
"I am trying very hard to hold it together right now, Isabella. If I were, I wouldn't test my limits," I said. I prayed that my own darkness wouldn't overtake me. Not now, not with her.
"Edwar-"
"Here's how this is going to work, I ask the questions and you answer them. Don't fucking lie to me, dolcezza, don't. Do you understand?"
She nodded her head slowly, never taking her eyes off of me. She watched - with cautious and alert eyes - every move I made.
"In Sicilia, did you…" I trailed off finding it almost impossible to say the words. I stared back at her, observing how helpless she looked. Scared, like a lamb knowing it was about to be slaughtered.
"You betrayed me," I finally managed to get out.
"What are you talking about?" She asked, her face scrunched up in confusion.
"Don't play dumb with me, dolcezza!" I yelled. "Michael. You remember your friend Michael, don't you?"
My feet finally became unglued from their spot. The beast, the monster in me, finally took complete control. He circled her, enjoying her fear and feeding off of it. I had her trapped now; there was no escape. She was out of the bed trying to make her way around me and towards the door, but I couldn't have that. With her back pinned against the wall, I trapped her there.
"Did you only fuck him in Italy, or was it here as well? Is that why you've tried so hard to outsmart Garrett, so you can run off and spread your legs like a whore?" I said, bringing our foreheads together.
She kept shaking her head. She opened and closed her mouth a few times like a gasping fish out of water, whatever she wanted to say got caught in her throat.
"I never thought you had it in you," I said, as I skimmed my nose across her cheek. "So innocent, yet you aren't."
"Please," she begged.
"Are you begging me?" I chuckled darkly. "Did you beg him too?"
"I didn't do anything, Edward," she cried.
"Don't fucking lie to me!" I yelled, slamming my hand on the wall beside her face.
She jumped at the loud bang beside her head. She covered her face with her hands and slid down the wall onto the floor, curling up like an injured puppy. I should have felt something now but there was too much emotion and too much anger to stop me.
"Tell me the truth," I said, crouching next to her. "Just tell me the fucking truth."
She wasn't giving me anything. She stayed there with her hands covering her face, a sobbing mess. I pried her hands off of her face and forced her to look at me.
"I didn't do anything," she cried. "Please, believe me."
"What does he want with you then?"
"I don't know."
"You do know, Isabella. Tell me."
But she stayed quiet.
"Fucking tell me!" I yelled.
We stayed like this for a long time, her staring at me, me staring at her. Neither one of us saying a word. Then reality hit me like a ton of bricks. I was no better than Anthony right now, in fact, I was worse. I let go of her and stood up. I moved to the other side of the room putting as much distance between us as I possibly could. I never took my eyes off of her, nor did she take hers off of me.
"Michael was only a friend," she said softly. "If I can even call him that."
I closed my eyes. Rubbing my forehead, I let out a frustrated sigh.
"I... What…" I couldn't think of what I wanted to say.
"I never slept with him, Edward, or fucked, as you put it. I'm not a whore."
"I'm sorry," I said. She only nodded.
"No, you're not," she said, standing up with caution; she made a move for the door.
I watched her walk out and close the door behind her. I should be going after her. I should be demanding my answers, but all I could do was watch her leave.