Okay guys. Time to fasten the seatbelts…
oOo
For a moment, Edward just stared at her, his green eyes wide, reminding her of a deer in headlights.
"Edward?"
"I…" He rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea, Bella," he finally said.
Her heart sank.
"You… you think it's too early?"
She tried to mask the tremble in her voice.
Edward was silent. He finished his glass of champagne and poured another one.
"Don't." She reached out for him and, gently, placed her hand on his forearm.
"Don't what?" He looked up.
"Don't get drunk," she whispered tonelessly.
"You think it's that easy, Bella? You think that's the solution? Don't get drunk? Seriously?"
He stood up and crossed the room, downing another glass and placing it on the mantelpiece. He reminded her of a tiger pacing in its cage.
"Because I know that's not the solution. I know that this," he pointed at the empty glass, "is the only thing that makes it stop."
"Makes what stop?" she asked in a low, bland voice.
She'd never seen him like that.
"The thoughts. The pain. The memories."
"Edward." She got up as well, and took a few steps in his direction. "There are people… People who can help…"
"You know I went into therapy. Yes, it helped. But no therapist in the world can make that night unhappen."
She swallowed.
If only she could take some of the pain from him.
She took another step toward him. She stretched out her hand.
"Please, Edward. Please."
"Please what?"
His voice was sharp now.
"What do you know, Bella? What is your experience of life? Of death?"
"I don't know a lot about death," she said, "but I know a few things about life."
He was shaking his head, crossing the room again to get back to the bottle, refilling his glass.
And slowly but surely, Bella was getting angry.
He was a grown man of forty, for fuck's sake, not an immature teenager, and his self-pity was pissing her off. Still, she tried to remain calm.
"Oh, you do?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He drank the champagne as if it were water.
"Yes. I do. And I can understand how hurt and scared and sad you are. But you know what? I'm not even sure that you want to get better. I think you quite enjoy wallowing. Or maybe you believe that it helps your art. I don't know."
Her words seemed to have touched a nerve, because his face changed from half-drunken cynicism to hopeless fatigue.
"I thought you were my friend."
And that was the breaking point for Bella. She'd been patient for the longest time.
"Am I, Edward? Am I your friend? Because I don't know anymore what we are. Friends go to family Christmas parties of their friends. Friends don't insult each other. Friends let their friends help them. They open up. They talk." By now, angry tears were coursing down her cheeks. "I can tell you what friends do not do, Edward: they don't kiss the way we do. They don't hold hands, and they don't whisper sweet words."
"Bella…"
Her words had clearly hit home.
He was practically crumbling in front of her.
"I can't do this anymore, Edward."
oOo
Um, yeah… But they had it coming? See you tomorrow!
xoxo