I do not own Twilight.
The wonderful SunflowerFran beta'ed; remaining mistakes are mine.
On with this rollercoaster...
oOo
Edward felt like shit when he woke.
Which was to be expected after two thirds of a bottle of Grey Goose on an almost empty stomach.
He opened one eye to check the time.
Three-thirty, p.m.
Great.
On coming home last night, Bella had still been out, so he'd taken the bottle of vodka and a glass up to his studio and started to paint.
His painting had become sloppy after the fifth glass, but Edward, feeling angry and empty, had painted on, leaving the canvas, his fingers and forearms blotchy.
Now, he just felt terrible.
He definitely was too old for this kind of shit.
He tried to focus on something. His hands and arms were blue and pink.
Edward groaned.
And then, he thought about Bella.
Dark eyes, knowing and sweet.
The way she felt in his arms, tiny and strong.
That thought made him get out of bed, and into the shower.
He was feeling marginally better afterwards, shuffling down the stairs to make some coffee. He tried to remember what Bella had said about her plans for the day. Ah, yes, she was meeting her sister; which was lucky for him in a way, because she'd have to be blind not to notice his massive hangover.
Sighing, Edward sat down at the kitchen table. After a bottle of Sprite, a Tylenol and two slices of toast, he tottered to the living room and crashed on the sofa, falling asleep to the sounds of asinine daytime television.
When he woke, he was sweaty and muddled, fumbling for his phone on the smooth glass surface of the coffee table. It was shortly after seven. Bella had not called, nor texted, and she wasn't at home.
What had she said again? She was meeting her sister and they wanted to go shopping. Maybe they were having dinner, as well? Still, it was unlike Bella not to contact him at all.
Sitting up with a slight groan, he pressed her number.
It went straight to voicemail.
Odd.
Had she forgotten to charge it?
Or maybe they'd gone to see a movie?
He tried to reason with himself: if anything had happened to her, he would have heard about it by now. He knew that she carried both his and her parents' numbers in her purse, in case of emergency.
Edward went to the kitchen, located a frozen pizza and warmed it while reading the Times. When he'd eaten, he tried Bella again. Voicemail.
He went upstairs and looked over last night's results. He wasn't impressed.
A little alcohol did help his flow of creativity, but probably not the amounts he had been consuming. It was pitiful, really, and for a moment, he hated himself intensely.
He cleared the room a bit while listening to the radio.
He went downstairs and watched The Newsroom, but he was getting antsy, especially when he called Bella again. Nothing.
It was now after ten, and he hadn't heard a word from her all day.
He grabbed his phone again.
oOo
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xoxo
your
harperpitt