I feel as stressed as Edward lol.
It would be nice if you'd return my calls.
You're so fucking funny, Esme.
My phone dings before I even have time to ignore her.
I don't think you should come to the wedding. That's what I called for this morning.
Oh, Esme, you're so fucking sweet.
She makes me want to take names and kick fucking ass because she's so damn sweet. Why send a goddamn invitation if you want my ass to stay home?
You being there will make things worse. I told Emmett not to send it.
Did this Godforsaken woman actually give birth to me? I know I can be a real dick, but she's just fucking ruthless.
Letting myself into my apartment, I think about throwing my phone across the room and watching it smash against the wall, so I can imagine it's Esme's head, but then I'd have to pay for a new one, and yeah, fuck that noise.
I thought about stopping for a beer on my way home from work, but I just knew if I stepped into the bar tonight, I'd be tripping over my own damn feet at closing time, so I grab one from my own damn fridge not giving a fuck if I trip and fall into bed later.
Digging in the freezer, I pull out a pot pie and then yank a knife out of the knife block and stab a few holes in the frozen dough. I'm sickly satisfied with every thrust in and out, definitely imagining I'm stabbing the real life heartless hearts of three selfish fuckers.
It bothers me that it still bothers me that Emmett did me dirty like that. It's not like I sit here wallowing every damn day, but my own flesh and bloods screwed me over and that shit fucks with my head.
I watch the microwave, the envelope shoved in my utensil drawer haunting the hell out of me.
Just open the fucker already.
Oh, fuck it, I'm not an animal, I need a fork anyway.
I rip into the envelope addressed to Mr. Edward Cullen. What a duo of fuck faces they are. It's as bad as I thought - a couple of grade A assholes staring back at me.
I never realized how ugly Emmett is, and Rosalie, what a dog. They deserve each other.
Throwing the picture on the floor, I scan the details of their big day and…
Wait a goddamn minute.
Saturday.
They're fucking getting married this Saturday. Not tomorrow but the next damn day. Isn't shit like this mailed months in advance?
It looks like my big bro was hoping I'd miss his special day. That sack of shit.
The microwave beeps, but I pick up my phone instead, let my beautiful face unlock the screen and send Esme a text.
I have to work anyway.
Let them think I'm busy - that I don't have time to grace them with my presence. Let them think they're safe. Let them believe they are going to have their beautiful wedding without little bro in attendance.
I haven't seen the two cheating hoes since graduation, and now that I know my invite wasn't even real, well shit just got a whole fuck of a lot more fun.
Whistling - and yeah it's as creepy as it sounds - I grab my dinner from the microwave, a fork, and a couple of beers and head out to the balcony to give Bella the news.
Her balcony is empty, so I take a seat in one of my rickety chairs and eat dinner, sending my boss a text asking for Monday off because I sure as fuck am gonna find myself all kinds of fucked up this weekend.
A new text from Esme pops up.
That's good. I'll tell them you send your congrats.
Now, I know you should respect your elders, but I'm giving myself a free pass.
Please, don't. A nice fuck you and have a miserable life will do just fine.
Real nice, Edward.
I thought so.
This is why I told him not to invite you. You can't hate him forever. It's not healthy.
Dr. Phil, is that you?
I can't talk to you when you're like this.
I don't bother replying, but I grab my pack of smokes and light one up. Bella's just gonna have to deal. She's not even here - her lungs are safe.
She shows up an hour later in tight workout clothes and hard nipples, the fucking tease.
"Still crying I see," she says, hopping up and crawling onto my side.
This is new. We don't cross sides. I stay on my side, and she stays on her side. Her nipples have never been this close to me before. Her ass has never sat in my second rickety chair before. What type of fucking game is she playing at?
Fuck, I can only handle so much shit in one day.
She grabs a beer and cracks it open, taking a swig before looking at me expectantly.
"What?"
"Well, did you open it? Please tell me you didn't bitch out."
"You're very aggressive. I bet you top all your fuck buddies. Is that why your gym rat was so smitten this morning? Did you take it to him and growl in his ear…"
"You must have opened it," she rudely fucking interrupts me. "You're acting out."
I reach for a cigarette, planning to ruin a pair of lungs that aren't mine, but she slaps her hand down on them and tosses them over the edge.
"You just fucking littered." I stand and lean over the balcony edge, watching dirty Harry from downstairs swipe the fuckers up.
"Cry me a river. Come on, when's doom's day?"
"Huh, doom's day?" I say, leaning against the wall. "I like it. Oh, and it's Saturday."
"What the fuck?" She says. "That's two days. I don't even have a fucking dress."
I shrug. "Just wear whatever. They want their guests in blues and greys, so I'll be wearing black."
She smirks. "I'll get something after work tomorrow." She finishes her beer off before getting up and climbing back to her side. "I need food and a shower."
"Hey, you owe me a pack of cigarettes," I call after her, leaning on the divider so I can check out her ass in those little shorts.
"You quit, remember. Fuckhead brothers, dirty whores, and bitch moms are not a reason to slowly kill yourself."
"They take the edge off, Mcjudgy."
"Find another way, Mcbaby. I'll see you at sunrise."
She slides her door open and slips inside, leaving me alone on my balcony, half hard and needing a fucking cigarette.
Who the hell does she think she is prancing over here into my space with that ass and those tits, tossing my cigarettes and throwing sass?
I'm spitting in her coffee tomorrow.
Okay, no I'm not because that's fucking sick, but she will be getting less creamer.
Take that, miss sass with a tight ass.
I swear I'm fucking losing it. Time for another beer and a cold shower before I do something stupid - like fuck my fist to the image of my coffee buddy topping me.
Shit, that's not at all attractive.
Not at all.
She's so annoying, that one.
Draining another beer, I stare at the picture on the floor. I'm not fucking pathetic, I swear, but seeing two of the three faces that royally fucked me over, well it's not sitting right with me.
I'm ready to fuck their shit up.
I want to see Esme cry. I want Rosalie to be fucking jealous when she sees Bella on my arm. Bella may be a bitch straight up but she's a fucking hot one, and honestly, the attitude gives me a raging boner.
Oh, and Emmett, he can fuck right the fuck off. He's just mad because I'm the good looking one, and he looks like Sloth from the Goonies.
After Saturday, I'll be a memory and they'll be dead to me for good - all those fuckers.
I grab the picture and throw it in the trash.
Then I take my ass into the bathroom and take a hot bath. I'm stressed, okay, and the tub has jets. It's not like I put bubbles. It's a manly bath. I don't have a boat, though. That'd make it manlier. Fuck it, nobody will ever know. And so the fuck what. Take my man card. See if I care. My dick knows who the man is.
Shit, I need to get laid.