Chapter 3 - Second First Time Seeing You Again

BPOV

I wanted to believe in all the words that I was speaking

As we moved together in the dark

And all the friends that I was telling, all the playful misspellings

And every bite I gave that left a mark

When tiny vessels oozed into your neck and formed the bruises

That you said you didn't want to fade

But they did, and so did I that day

Tiny Vessels, Death Cab For Cutie

The first thing I see when I walk into the room we're interviewing the band in is the pure white backdrop that's already been set up. For some reason, that stands out to me. I haven't photographed anything using a backdrop since college, back in my still life section of coursework. Mike moves further into the room and I follow, heading straight to the backdrop. I drop my camera bag, refusing to look up and using my hair as a curtain between me and the men I can sense in the room.

"Hey guys, this is our photographer for today." Mike says casually, his voice far more confident than it ever is when he talks to me. "Normally she's actually a staff photojournalist, so she's more at ease taking pictures in war zones than backstage at Barclays, but she's doing us a favor today."

I sense the gazes on me, and I look up, squaring my shoulder and lifting my chin as I face the group before me.

The second thing I notice is that Edward isn't in the room. A part of me is relieved, and a very small part is disappointed. If he's not here, where is he?

"Bella?" The first person to say anything is Jacob, and he steps forward. He looks good, and I realize it's been over a year since we last saw each other. His long black hair is tied back in a high bun, and he's wearing plaid trousers, a tight black t-shirt, and battered chucks.

"Hey, Black," I smile wryly, and he rushes forward, wrapping me in a hug.

"What are you doing here?" He says into my ear.

"Didn't have a choice. Boss pulled rank. No one else was available."

He pulls back, looking me up and down. I can tell he's about to say something, but he's interrupted by Jasper, the guitarist.

"Bella fucking Swan. As I live and breathe." I step back from Black, and face the blonde haired man looking at me with regret on his face. To anyone else, he might appear stoic, but I could always see right through him.

Jasper had been like a brother to me. We grew close on that first tour together, especially after a catastrophic break up with his ex-girlfriend Maria. He faked that he was fine, but I could see right through him. We bonded together on nights over cheap whiskey while Edward was too high to leave his bunk except to throw up whatever shit he ate that didn't settle in his stomach when he was crossfaded.

Unfortunately, I trusted Jasper. And just like Edward, Jasper hid some stuff from me. When I confronted him about it, he claimed to be trying to keep me from getting my feelings hurt. Jasper's lies were like the icing on the shitty cake that was my marriage. Once the divorce papers went through, I stopped responding to his messages. Eventually, he took the hint and the messages stopped too. At times I missed Jasper. I missed the camaraderie, the quiet understanding, the late nights he sat with me while I felt like my life was falling apart and helped me forget with some southern colloquialism and gentle smile. But then the sting of betrayal would seep in, and I'd remember that he'd inevitably chosen sides in our divorce, and he chose Edward.

"Hey, Jas," I responded quietly. I could see him working on something to say, but suddenly I was being aggressively hugged by the bear of a man that was the band's drummer, and my former brother-in-law.

"Girl, you are a sight for sore eyes. Where the fuck have you been?" Emmett is loud and holds me at arms length, looking me intently in the eyes.

I shrug, but find an easy smile coming to my face.

"Here and there, Em. It's really good to see you," I told him, and was surprised to find that I wasn't lying. I missed these boys. At one point, they had been my family. I had always wanted siblings when I was growing up. It was quite lonely living in a house with a heartbroken, workaholic dad. My mother left us when I was 3, and neither I nor my father recovered from that abandonment. So, when I suddenly had Emmett and Jasper looking over me in a way that I had only known with Jacob, it made me feel good. Small. Loved. Protected. But maybe I'm more like my mother than I realize, if I could leave it all behind so easily.

"I had heard you were with the Times, but I never could remember to pick up a damn paper and look for your pictures," Emmett continues on, shaking his head in a way that's almost comical.

"There's this thing called the internet, dickhead," Jacob ribs good naturedly, waving his phone at Emmett.

A scoff from the back corner of the room grabs my attention, and I look past all the people who ran up to greet me. In a back corner, nursing a water bottle, is James, bassist for the band.

To say James and I didn't get along would be an understatement.

The prick hit on me for the first five months that Edward and I were together. It wasn't even Edward that warned him off either - no, he was too faded to even bother. It was Jacob who punched James square in the jaw and told him to quit it or he'd be cut from the tour. Finally, the overt flirting stopped - but it wasn't the end of my problems with James.

Edward and James were long time friends - dating back to their early days in a fucking Swiss boarding school. Edward would never say it outright, but I got the gist of their story and figured out that James introduced him to binge drinking and drugs. But, he also introduced Edward to Radiohead and Nirvana. So he did at least a few things right in his life.

Edward's progression into drinking and drug abuse followed James's downhill spiral. I later saw when James went to rehab when it was reported in a British tabloid I saw in the airport - too bad it took a nearly fatal car crash for him to see the errors of his ways.

My natural instinct was to blame James for what happened with Edward. To blame him for introducing Edward to the cocaine he used the night he found out he scored a string of tour dates in North America, when he missed the opening of my first post-college gallery show. Or for showing Edward how much he liked Jack Daniels straight out of the bottle, which is what he had drunk the night that he pushed me down the stairs at that party, which lead to his first rehab visit.

But none of it was James's fault. That lay entirely on Edward and the choices that he made. The sickness in his own head.

"James," I nod with a slight forced smile. Surprisingly, James seems more nervous than me, and he smiles briefly. It wasn't even the smarmy smile that I was used to from him, but what seemed to be a truly kind smile.

"Bella," He greeted back, glancing down at the water in his hands.

I glanced at all the boys, and clapped my hands together. "Well, boys, it's good to see you all again. I can get set up, if one of you wants to go find anyone we may be missing."

My smile feels thin as I turn back to the set up. I'm sure the boys also didn't miss my vague illusion to the person they knew I knew was missing from the room. I hear some muttered words behind me between the band members, and I catch out of the corner of my eye Jacob, Jasper, and Emmett doing rock, paper, scissors. Emmett groans when he loses, and turns to the door, surely to look for Edward. I almost laugh at the look on his face, despite the growing anxiety in my belly. While our reuniting had been delayed, it was still inevitably about to happen.

Before Emmett could leave, however, the door swung inward and Edward walked in with a coffee from a place I knew wasn't too far of a walk from Barclays. His eyes were down on his phone, until he glanced up, seeming to sense me automatically, his eyes landing directly on me. The double take he did was almost comical, his eyes widening and his head tilting to the side in what seemed to be confusion as he took a look at me. His eyes bounced around at all the people in the room, then fell back on me. His lips pressed together and his brow furrowed. Meanwhile, I felt flushed with nerves, butterflies exploding in my stomach to the point that I feared I may throw up all over the pristine white backdrop next to me. I stood stock still, staring back at Edward. Taking him in for the first time in years. Not counting all those times you stalked his instagram, my subconscious reminds me.

He looks good. More than good. He looks fucking great. Gone were the wild blown-out eyes and sallow cheeks. His face looked healthy, his skin slightly flushed from the heat outside. His eyes were clear and vividly green, brought out by the dark green leather jacket he wore - one that I bought him many, many years ago.

He no longer looked fragile and skinny, but seemed to have a layer of thin muscles that had him filling out that jacket in a way that was entirely new. Paired with the jacket was a black button-down and a pair of black jeans. The only thing that looked new in his ensemble was the shiny black boots he wore.

I could feel everyone's eyes on us, and I kept my eyes locked with Edward's to avoid seeing the looks of the others.

Of all people, Mike was the one to step forward to break up the awkward silence.

"Masen, Bella is here to help us out. She's one of our staff photojournalists. I hope that's okay with you." His hand comes to rest on my shoulder, and Edward hones in on that touch, eyes narrowed before he shakes his head, seeming dazed.

"Um, yeah," he mutters, "Of course. If you'll excuse me, I just have a call…" Before anyone can say anything, Edward is back out the door. Jasper and I lock eyes, sharing a knowing look, and he and Emmett quickly follow Edward out of the room. Just like old times.

I attempt to ignore the band, turning again to my bags and unpacking my camera. I try to envision how to set up the guys in front of the backdrop, but it just seems too - stiff. Still, I start to set up Jacob and James, taking a few practice shots of them as we wait for the rest of the band - if they even decide to come back. Jacob keeps shooting me these knowing looks, which I ignore. He was there to witness the way I fell apart after the divorce - the therapy, the constant working (which still hasn't stopped), the depression, the avoidance of anything related to Edward. I wanted to show him that I was stronger than that - even if I was about to vomit.

Meanwhile, Mike looks on, staring at me with a searching gaze as if I can't see him. I could see him pondering me, this life that I used to live, the way that it must appear to him now. Edward didn't even want to be in the same room as me, and I guess that was to be expected. I mean, I did leave him.

"Edward, I know. Okay? I know you're using again. Just stop lying to me!" My voice was bordering on hysterical as I faced off against Edward in the sitting space of the hotel suite he was staying in. I flung the magazine at him so he could see the evidence himself - the way he was pressed up against that woman backstage, even though he knew that there were photographers there for an article they were writing about the band. I had been back in New York, unable to be there as I was still in school. On my way to class I had gone into a bodega for some coffee and saw the picture on the cover of the magazine - a trashy gossip rag, but still. I ditched classes and got on a flight to Chicago, where he was tonight.

"You're imagining things, Bella. You know how those magazines are, they make everything look bad." Edward doesn't even bother looking at the magazine, instead kicking it away from where it had landed at his feet.

"That doesn't change the fact that you were actually kissing her, Edward. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me? What's wrong with you, eh? You're acting fucking crazy, Bella. Even the guys said so. You really flew out here over fucking OK Magazine? What sane person does that?"

His skin is grey, his eyes dull, but his expression is downright arrogant as he speaks. The confidence of the alcohol I can smell on him, or the coke I'm sure is working it's way through his bloodstream. I'm actually shaking with the rage coursing through me, irritated with the fact that he relapsed, and the way that he belittles me. I feel a sinking feeling in my stomach. It's been a few weeks since he must've relapsed. I just can't believe I didn't know until now. I figured he had just been busy and we couldn't catch each other on the phone, but I apparently was wrong. Idly, I wondered why I hadn't heard from Jasper or Jacob regarding his using again. Slowly, I walk toward him, lowering my voice and trying to soothe, rather than instigate.

"Edward, I love you, honey. We can get you help again. You're strong enough to work past this, I promise. I'm here for you, you know I am."

"I don't know shit," he spits, jerking away when I reach out to touch his arm. My heart splits in two when he does. "You can't even go on tour with me! You're still in bloody school." He sneers the word, as if it's dirty. "You can't even be here for me when it should be easy. How can I count on you if things get tough, eh?"

I can feel tears starting to flow. This wasn't supposed to happen again. I thought we had worked past this the last time he went to rehab, but I apparently had underestimated the strength of his addiction, his illness. We were back at square one.

"I've always been there for you, honey. Why can't you see that?" I cry, watching as he paces, scoffing at the words that I say. I don't recognize the hurtful man in front of me. Not at all.

"You're so fucking dramatic, Bella. I forget how much of a fucking child you still are."

I shake my head in disbelief. "I'm a child? Edward, you can't even admit when you've done something wrong! I'm just trying to help you. I'm your wife!" I yell the last part, desperate for a part of the Edward I love to come forward. Instead, the devil in him stays.

"Who cares about any of that? It's just a piece of paper, Bella. You sure as hell don't act like my wife. You're never even here."

Absorbing the blows of his words, the realization comes to me that I've had enough. I can't do this right now. Once he comes down, maybe he'll see more clearly.

"I'm leaving, Edward." I tell him, wiping the tears from my face in a last show of defiance. "Don't bother calling until you're ready to talk about getting better." I move past him towards the door, expecting a shift in his moods. But he doesn't call after me, or grab my hand as I pass to keep me from leaving. He doesn't even acknowledge what I said. I leave without much fanfare from him, and make my way back to the airport to return to New York, resolved in my decision to wait for him.

But it seemed that Edward didn't want me to wait.

A week later, I received the divorce papers.