Shit Chic

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Fuck. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Holy fuck. Holy fuck. Holy fuck.

That was not the way it was supposed to go.

I'm sitting in my hotel room in D.C., shaking, freaking the hell out, wishing for a million-and-a-half do-overs. I laugh at my stupidity. Laugh! So hard it becomes a strangled cry of panic. How could I have made such a mess of my life?

I'm really a piece of work.

I just treated Edward the way Jake treated me. For years. The way I saw Mom treat Dad, and the way all the people in this fake life I lead treat each other.

I snapped. Fucking snapped like a rubber band. Ever since I peed on that first stick, took that first of twenty tests to confirm Reny's existence, I've been in fight or flight mode. Edward took a shot, so I threw back as hard as I could.

Years, years, I've spent melding the metals inside me to become titanium, but I'm ripping apart like aluminum foil, and I did it to myself. Not Jake. Not Mom. Not Edward. Me. Because I chose wrong. Because I was scared. Because I learned to ignore problems by shoving cash at them. Because ... Because there are no excuses for what I've done, I'll shut the fuck up.

I tend to react without thinking. No shit, right? And this is one of those moments.

I pick up the receiver of the hotel phone and dial the number I've come to know by heart - not because I've called it over and over, but because it's his.

"Whatever your selling, shove it up your ass," he says. The words are hoarse and a little slurred, and it hurts that I've done yet another thing to hurt him.

"Eddie," I say softly, speaking gently as to a skittish animal who might rear up and rip me to pieces at any moment. I wouldn't blame him. "It's Bella."

"No shit, Sherlock." I close my eyes and take a labored breath. "You can direct all calls to my attorney."

Shit. "Um, I just wanted to speak to you again. Things didn't ... I didn't say what I meant to."

"Yeah, sucks to be you. Again," he continues, "questions can be directed to my attorney."

That was fast. An attorney on hand already? Maybe he came in with one and way just testing me. This is going to blow up in my face. "Okay, I understand. We can exchange information." Suddenly our old life and daughter is treated like a fender-bender on a street in suburbia. I did this. "What's your attorney's name?"

I hear shuffling and someone snort and muffled voices as Edward's hand obviously covers the speaker. "Uh ... McCarty. Emmett McCarty," he says. Someone laughs in the background, but I'm already typing the name into Google.

"Edward, I'm sorry, I can't seem to find him. Can you tell me the law firm he's with?"

More background noise.

"Edward?"

"Mrs. Black?" a man's voice asks.

I swallow hard and rub the bridge of my nose between my fingers. "Yeah, speaking."

"This is Corporal Emmett McCarty. I'm no attorney, but a word of advice," he says. "Edward is on his way up to hash a few things out. I'd be ready if I were you. Don't fuck this one up. It took me a couple of hours to convince him to speak to you ever again."

A knock at the door confirms everything this Emmett guy just said. I hang up the phone without taking my eyes off the door. Time creeps by as I move toward it, stopping for a moment to check the redness of my eyes and the flush of anger in my cheeks. I'm a mess. Like everything else.

I open the door to equally bloodshot eyes, though I doubt his are a result of crying the way mine are.

"Edwa-" I don't get to finish his name because his mouth covers mine. In the splitting of a second, a decade crumbles and I'm back there with him; before the mess, before I destroyed worlds, before it all. Back to where it's him and me and nothing else.

I've missed the taste of his tongue and the sounds he makes into my mouth when he loses himself in kissing me. I thought I'd forgotten all about them; thought I put them all out of my mind, but there's no way that happened. He's the drug I remember fleetingly, but so much more potent.

And then he's gone, backed against one wall while I'm pushed against another by an invisible hand.

He speaks. Hushed. Firm. "I'm going to be in her life. I'm going to be in your life. Just wait and see, and don't you dare fuck me over this time. I call the shots."

I'm nodding and agreeing before I think.

And then he leaves, and I know suddenly what that feels like.

xxxxx

A/N:

Thank you all for the passion you have. Love or hate them (read: her), they're bringing out the fire in you. That is the greatest gift to me.