EPOV
"Edward, would you at least get up off the couch?"
"No," I moan, rolling deeper into the leather cushions.
"Oh, stop being sorry for yourself. No one cares anymore." Alice's voice floats toward me from the kitchen. Her residence in my house has bordered on constant ever since-shit.
"I care."
"So, you ran out? Your publicity team cleaned it up. The movie's getting great reviews. Leno sent a get well soon basket, for God's sake." Her voice gets closer. I feel the couch sink where she sits down by my legs. Her hand rests atop my knee.
"Hmph," I mumble into the pillow.
"Guess what else," she says, teasing.
"What."
"I said, guess!"
"Go away."
"Fine, grumpy pants. I got you out of the red carpet walk."
I shoot up on the couch.
"What? How?"
"I knew that would get my big brother up." She pinches her nose. "Also, you really need to shower."
"How?" I ask again.
"I have my ways," she says elusively, standing up and smoothing out her pencil skirt. Alice does an impeccable job of being exactly the opposite of me. Always completely put together and prepared, she does at least three times the amount of work that any of my publicists do, while actually keeping my best interests at heart.
She plucks a half-smoked joint from the table and wrinkles her nose.
"Really?" Both hands on her hips.
I shrug.
It's better than the other option. It's better than being crazy.
"You've been wearing these clothes for three days. I'm going to stop doing shit for you if you're just going to be a useless stoner."
"Sorry." My cheeks are hot. I disappoint her.
"Good lord, Edward. You need to get laid."
"Alice," I snap. She rolls her eyes.
"Shower. Now."
Never one to argue, I trudge from the couch to the closest bathroom. My bare feet against the cool marble causes a chill up my spine. I shake and stumble and stare at myself in the mirror. Two days tired, sunken eyes and greasy hair and tangled lashes. My shirt smells of weed and my beard is growing in too thick.
I can't see myself anymore. But that happened years ago.
I turn the water as cold as it goes. I stand in there until my toes go numb, until my lips turn blue. I scrub myself with soap until I'm red and itchy, until every part of me feels washed away down the drain.
Wrapping a towel around my waist, I stick my hand in the butt pocket of my discarded jeans. At the bottom sits a fresh blunt and lighter. I pull them out and light up, perched on the edge of the counter.
Inhale. Hold. I feel my body warm and relax. Unwound.
I'm lit by the time Alice pounds on the door.
"Edward! Out here now!"
I feel myself tighten up, locking back into who I'm supposed to be.
"What's wrong?" I ask through the door.
"Another magazine. I swear to fucking God I'm going to sue this time."
I extinguish the blunt against the counter and stick it back into my jeans. I push the door open a crack.
"Which magazine?"
Alice sniffs.
"Edward Anthony Cullen are you seriously smoking in the bathroom?"
"Which magazine?" I ask again.
She scowls.
"Contraband."