Early chapter, because I sure pissed a lot of you off. Yikes. I'm sorry, okay?
Thank you to SarcasticBimbo for cleaning this up.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN—BELLA
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I cannot believe he did that to me.
Did he really just do that?
How can you break up with someone for their own good?
He's an idiot, that's how.
A stupid, moronic, obtuse, stubborn, boneheaded idiot.
I should have had Jake bite him. Not like he would've, since the big doofus loves Edward just as much as I do. Did. Ugh. If I ever see him again, I'm going to find a way to cover his jeans in hamburger and laugh while Jake bites him in the ass. Not sure how I'll make that one work, but I'm resourceful. Just not realistic.
After taking Jake out and feeding him, I flop down on the couch and kick my shoes across the room. One of them hits something breakable, but I don't even care enough to see what. The tears I held back while Edward stomped on my heart begin to leak from the corners of my eyes.
As I lay there feeling sorry for myself, a sinister voice creeps into the back of my mind. Maybe this is what he does—he gets what he wants and takes off. Maybe I fell for the pretty lies he tells every other girl. Maybe Emmett was right.
It would be easier if I could write him off as a douchebag. But the thing is—I know Edward loves me. He was hurting too; I could see it. The tone of his voice, the dimmed light in his eyes, the slight trembling of his lips when he kissed me goodbye.
On the damn forehead.
Jake's claws tap on the hardwood as he comes to sniff at my face. He bumps his nose against my cheek and whimpers when I don't move. I can't even bring myself to pet him. I'm never leaving this couch. The same thoughts keep swirling in my head as I try to make sense of Edward's fucked up logic. Eventually, Jake curls up right under me, watching the door for someone who won't show.
My phone chirps somewhere in my bag, but I don't answer. Right now, talking to someone is last on the list of things I want to do. It rings again, then sounds off in a flurry of texts. It's probably Emmett, and I don't want to talk to him. The one I want is gone.
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x
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Early the next morning, I wake up with a crick in my neck and an aching back. I also wake with a sense of resolve. If Edward wants to throw away the best thing that's ever happened to him, it's his loss. No matter how much it hurts, I won't let that pain run my life. That's what I tell myself, anyway. Knowing is half the battle, right? That's what GI Joe says. And who doesn't trust GI Joe?
So I refuse to mope. I refuse to wallow. I'm utterly, completely, and totally pissed off. And that's all I'm going to let myself feel. I'm going to keep going and let that anger fuel me until I can deal with the other stuff.
Right after I find a voodoo doll on Amazon.
Armed with my shaky determination, I roll off the couch, greet Jake and do his morning routine. Afterward, I head for a hot shower, then dress in my most comfy, loose fitting clothes. I plan to eat my feelings today, and I need some Thanksgiving pants (thank you, Joey Tribbiani). Luckily, there's ice cream in my freezer and the makings for sea salt chocolate chip cookies in my pantry. Ice cream, cookie dough, and cookies. Perfect for a day of emotional eating. But I'm not wallowing. I'm not.
As I head into the kitchen, my phone rings, reminding me of the calls and texts from last night. I dig the phone out of my purse to see what was so important. My jaw drops when I see two voicemails, a bunch of missed calls, and several texts from Edward. The strong, independent woman inside of me insists I delete them. The heartbroken fool wants to read them all a million times and play the voicemails over and over just to hear his voice. There goes my Stay Angry plan. Shit.
I do manage, however, to ignore the messages. Edward can wait—he's not getting any more of my time today. My need for coffee, however, cannot.
I've just sat down with a huge, fragrant, steaming mug when my doorbell rings. I'm not taking visitors today, so I don't even bother to check who it is on the video feed. I have a sneaking suspicion it's my asshole brother.
"Go away, Emmett," I yell down the steps. I'm not dealing with him today. I take a healthy sip of the heavenly, super sweet, cream-laden coffee.
The bell keeps ringing. Dammit, I'm trying to get my caffeine fix here. I need the energy—it's hard to scoop ice cream when it's straight out of the freezer.
"I'll call the police. A trespassing charge wouldn't look good, Detective Swan!"
More doorbell. Jake starts barking.
I pat him on the head. "Good boy, Jake." Then, louder, "Don't make me sic him on you."
Even more doorbell. God, he's a persistent bastard. "Fine," I mutter, setting aside my precious coffee and giving it a longing look. If Emmett is hankering for an ass-kicking, he can have one. Jake follows me down the steps, tongue lolling out and tail wagging like he's looking forward to seeing who's behind the door. "Traitor," I mutter as I hook him up to the leash.
I yank open the door, my best scowl firmly in place. "Emmett, I told you…" My voice deserts me as I take in the man on my front porch.
Edward.
My body goes hot, especially my cheeks, but it's an angry flush. Really, it is, I promise. It's not because I'm happy to see him. Not at all.
Half of his face is obscured by a giant bouquet of neon daisies. The flowers are hideous, but they're something I can focus on other than his stupid, pretty face.
"What is that?" I cross my arms over my chest. Jake rushes past my legs and fawns all over Edward, snuffling around and wagging that unwieldy tail. Every swipe slaps me in the leg. He's such a Benedict Arnold. No more table scraps for him!
"It's all they had at the store—"
"You brought me grocery store flowers? Wow. Don't try too hard, Edward."
"I'm sorry. I wanted to get here as soon as I could." He holds the bouquet out for me to take, but I don't move.
I do, however, make the mistake of looking him in the eyes. His left eye boasts one hell of a shiner, but the stark blue and purple bruise only serves to accent his gorgeous eyes. They're pleading, shining green and earnest. I remember the way he used to look at me, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. That wide, happy smile … No. I will not be fooled by that face, that smile, ever again.
"What are you doing here?" I cross my arms over my chest, as if the feeble gesture will protect my wounded heart.
He sighs, looking miserable, which gives me a smidge of satisfaction. "Bella, I made a huge mistake."
I shake my head, trying to wrap my mind around this development. Talk about mood swings.
"You dumped me. Pretty sure that means we don't give each other flowers."
"Love, I—"
"I don't want to see you, Edward. It hurts too much. You … you should go." To my utter mortification, my throat gets tight and tears well up. I try to blink them away, but one rogue spills down my cheek. I can't look at him right now. "I need you to go." I start to push the door closed, but he sticks a foot in at the last minute. Briefly, I contemplate slamming it right on his stupid, dirty, black Nike.
Taking advantage of my hesitation, Edward drops the flowers and shoulders his way inside. One warm hand comes up to cup my cheek, a gentle thumb smoothing the wetness away. My eyes flutter closed and I drink in his touch. Just for a moment, I promise myself.
"Don't cry," he says, whisper soft. "Please, Bella. I love you."
Though I'm melting inside, I manage to back away. "Don't touch me." I'm not sure I can say anything else without sounding like a crying mess. Or, maybe I'm afraid I'll give in and take him back just so I can feel his arms around me again. Jake looks back and forth between us, his face a perfect mask of canine confusion.
Edward doesn't give up, following my every backward step, until I hit the stairs. He leaves about a foot between us, and I'm both thankful for and disappointed by the distance. I fix my gaze somewhere in the center of his chest, right on the logo for some 10K race put on by the hospital. Stupid, athletic, persistent bastard. Anyone crazy enough to run six plus miles at one time—for fun—has to be missing a few books from the stack, right?
"I made a mistake. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I … I did the worst thing."
"Yeah, you did. How could you do it?" More tears, angry tears, betray my inner turmoil. My body and half of my head is drawn to him like a magnet. But then I remember last night's words. The blank look on his face, the way he looked me right in the eyes and ripped my soul in half. "You hurt me, Edward. You won't get a chance to do it again."
I take a peek at his face. His eyes are closed, brows drawn. Jaw tense, lips almost trembling. Those lids lift and he catches me watching, his eyes luminous and intense. "I don't need another chance, because I'll never do it again. Bella, I was so stupid. I thought I could make things better if I stepped back. There's a rift between you and Emmett because of me, and I didn't know any other way to fix it."
"It's not your place to fix it, Edward. We both knew he would throw a shit fit if he found out about us, and neither one of us cared! And why the fuck does it matter if my brother doesn't approve? He'll come around. All he really wants is for someone to respect me, to treat me right. I thought that was you.
"Yesterday morning, you told Emmett that I'm a big girl and can make my own decisions. That we were equals. Do you know how amazing that made me feel?"
His shoulders sink and he lets out a breath, then drags a hand through his hair.
"I was so happy, Edward. Even with all the Emmett stuff hanging over our heads, I was fucking ecstatic. You and me, we were out there, no secrets. And what's the first thing you do? Make my fucking decisions for me! Don't I get a say in who I date? Spend time with? Who I love? Apparently not, since you just fucking broke up with me 'for my own good'." That's right. I got out the air quotes.
My chest is heaving like I've just run one of his damned leisure races. I've just dropped more f-bombs than I ever have in a five minute period, and I'm so angry that tears are running down my face, which I don't even bother to stop. "You said you loved me—"
"I do! I do, Bella, please—"
"How could you love me one minute, and leave me the next? Love doesn't do that, Edward."
I dash some tears away, and in the second I have my eyes closed, he sneaks in. I have nowhere to go, other than fall back onto the steps, so I let him take my hand and thread our fingers together. But only because it's better than the alternative of throwing out my back. Jake sits his butt down by the door, staring me down, and I can practically hear his thoughts.
Hug him, Mom. We like him. Then feed me. Food. Food. Food…
Even though he's a dirty traitor, Jake's mere presence is enough to calm me a bit. I meet Edward's eyes, ready to tell him to go to hell.
"Leaving you was the hardest thing I've ever done. It was the absolute wrong thing to do. Because loving you? That's the easiest thing. I'm yours, Bella Swan." He pulls our hands up and kisses my knuckles.
My insides start to melt, but there's no way I'm going to let him know it. "What's your return policy? I've got plenty of reasons, and they start with self-righteous and end with ass. Oh, and my favorite—I'm too young for you. That's a pretty solid reason. You said so yourself."
"I deserve everything you've said, and probably more. But I will never stop trying to win you back, Bella. I'll spend my life making sure you know you're the most important person in it. I'm so, so sorry that I hurt you. It's the last thing I ever wanted to do."
He brushes a lock of hair back from my face and tucks it behind my ear. Warm fingers graze my neck as he cradles my head in his palm. Pleading green eyes beg for another chance, and my heart fairly explodes with the need to give it to him.
But my heart is currently on the DL, so my brain is in charge. And it's feeling biblical. Eye for an eye.
"You did hurt me, Edward. More than anyone ever has. You can't take it back, no matter how much you wish you could. I gave you everything, and you threw it away." I disentangle my hand from his and put it on his chest. "I won't let you hurt me like that again." I push, hard.
It's like trying to move a brick wall, but he takes the hint. His hands drop to his sides as he just stares at me with a resigned expression.
"You need to go." I scoot around him and go to the front door, holding it open wide.
Edward sighs. "Bella—"
"Go."
I'm a surprised when he obeys, but he stops right in front of me, palm on the door. "I love you, and I'll give you whatever you want. Even if it's not me."
I squeeze my eyes shut against the threat of fresh tears. When I open them, he's gone, heading down my front walk to his waiting car. I watch until he drives out of sight and the sound of the engine fades away. Numb, I close the door and trudge up the stairs, where I sink to the floor. Jake trots over to lay at my feet with a soft whimper.
My heart makes the same sound.
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x
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Before I go to bed that evening, I rescue the neon daisies from the porch. Some are wilted and crushed, but a few are salvageable. I trim and arrange them in an old mason jar, and place them on the breakfast bar. They're loud and obnoxious, just like my thoughts, which, no matter how hard I try, I can't silence. Exhaustion begins to wear on my heart and my head, until there's no room for anything else. I don't dream, and I count myself lucky.
A couple days go by, peppered with texts from Edward, which I refuse to read.
There's a box waiting on my porch Thursday morning. Briefly, I wonder if I drunk-ordered something from Amazon (it's been a rough few days, filled with a lot of wine), but there's no telltale logo on the box. It's large and unwieldy, and getting it inside while keeping Jake inside the house is almost more trouble than it's worth. Although, when I see what's inside, my stomach doesn't just flip—it does an entire tumbling pass.
Two dozen vivid, blood-red tulips blaze in a bed of greenery, their blooms brash and impossible to ignore. I don't even have to look at the card to figure out the sender—few people know how much I love tulips, and only one of them is on my shit list.
I look anyway, though I shouldn't if I want to stay strong.
I will love you every single moment of forever.
Well, dammit. How's a girl supposed to stick to her convictions? I clean up the stems, snipping the ends, and arrange them in my only vase, a huge monstrosity I inherited from Great-Granny Swan. I've never had a big enough bouquet to fill it, but these flowers more than fit the bill. I give them a home on my dresser. Where I can see them when the sun comes up.
After coffee and a shower, I tackle my phone. Again, I debate with myself whether or not to delete everything. But I just can't do it. The texts come first, since I need to work up to hearing his voice.
Sunday, 8:49 p.m. I made a mistake. Call me, please.
Sunday, 9:07 p.m. Please call me, Bella. I shouldn't have left.
Sunday, 9:36 p.m. Tell me how I can fix this. I love you.
Sunday, 9:50 p.m. I love you. Please call me.
Sunday, 10:19 p.m. I'm not giving up.
After Sunday, the texts slow down, but the content is pretty much the same. My heart squeezes hard, but I need my resolve to be even harder.
The voicemails are more of the same. I don't know what to think about all of this. Edward has been so hot and cold from the beginning, and I certainly don't know if I can trust him. If I let him in again, and he breaks my heart a second time, I might not survive it. I can't make a decision right now; my brain wants a clean break, but my heart says that's impossible.
I need a second opinion, and there's only one person I can count on to be somewhat objective.
I meet Angela for lunch at Red Mill, ignoring the memories of the time I ate here with Edward. When I fill her in on what happened, she looks ready to smack both my brother and Edward. Angela is not a violent person, so I feel vindicated in my urge to junk punch that handsome bastard. Oh, and my ugly brother, too.
"So, let me get this straight: he broke up with you, for your own good?" A disgusted scowl takes over her normally sweet face.
I nod, picking at my fries.
"Then he texted you all night, showed up the next morning with God-awful fake daisies, and begged you to take him back? What in the actual fuck?"
"Yep." The more I think about it, the more hangry I get. My stomach growls. I'm going to devour this whole place.
"The fluorescent ones? Colors that don't exist in nature?" She looks outraged, as she should be.
"Mmm-hmm." Flowers shouldn't be molested like that.
I take a huge bite of burger, ketchup and mayo dripping out the end, landing on my shirt. Perfect. I'll look as messy on the outside as I feel on the inside. I don't even bother to wipe it up. Instead, I grab a handful of fries and shove them into my mouth. I feel like a savage, eating like Emmett always did back when he was in junior high. Actually, he still eats like that, when Rose isn't there to supervise.
Angela watches me, her expression the perfect combination of pity and shock. A little bit of horror, too.
She waits for me to stop chewing and then puts a hand on my wrist. "Step away from the burger, Swan. It's for your own good."
If I never hear those words again, it will be too soon.
I snap, "Don't you even say that to me." I attack my meal with even more gusto.
"Oh, shit. I'm sorry. Of course that's a sore spot." She gestures toward my food. "Carry on."
We eat silently until I hit my limit, about three-quarters in. I clean up as best I can and gulp down half of my Coke.
"Have you talked to your parents?" Angela finally asks.
I shake my head. "Nope. I have no idea what I'd tell them. I'm sure they know Edward and I had something going on, but I don't want to explain how everything went to hell."
"Fair enough. Charlie might kill him," she laughs.
"Maybe he needs killing," I grumble, wishing he'd appear so I could slap him. Why didn't I do that when I had the chance?
"So … what are you going to do?" Angela asks, tentatively. She's probably afraid I'll bite her head off again.
I'd like to bite someone else's head off. Like a female praying mantis does to the male. Gruesome, yet fitting. Fuck him, then eat his head. But his thick skull might prove a problem…
"Hello? Bella?"
I blink, shaking my head to clear it. "Sorry." I take a deep breath and look up at the ceiling, frustrated tears burning my eyes. Blinking them away, I look at her and shrug. "I have no idea. I really don't. I love him, but how can I trust him?"
"You don't have to decide this minute. Or even this week. Hell, this month. There's no time limit. If he loves you like he says he does, then he'll wait. If he doesn't, then he was never worth it in the first place."
Angela's words resonate within me. She's right. I don't have to decide until I'm ready. I get to make the decisions now, and Edward is on my timeline.
Whether or not he can accept it, if he's worth it, well … that's up to him.
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x
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Friday comes with a small bouquet of blue hyacinth, lush greens, and sprays of tiny purple blooms; a bright splash of color in a square, white cube vase. There's a card nestled within, and I'm tempted to trash it. However, my curiosity won't allow it—and we all know what curiosity can do.
Shoving the envelope back into the flowers, I set the vase atop the table in my entryway. My apartment is starting to look like a florist threw up in it. Forcing myself to do anything other than open that card, I vacuum the area rugs and sweep the kitchen, then take Jake out for a walk. He scans the block as if he's searching for someone, and I feel the same way, though I'll deny it to anyone who asks. As we turn the corner for home, we meet up with one of Jake's doggie "friends," a standard poodle named Lisette. Jake's had a thing for her since we moved into the neighborhood. Unfortunately, I get the feeling Lisette's owner, Mike, has had a thing for me since then, too.
"Bella! What's up?" he asks, bounding up to me, while Lisette does the same to Jake. They say some dogs and their owners resemble one another, and that's definitely true for Mike and his pet. They both have out of control, curly hair (think 'N Sync Justin Timberlake), bad breath, and both would gladly sniff my crotch if I let them.
"Not much, Mike." I keep it short and hope he'll take the hint. The last thing I want is to stand out here while Mike tries to hit on me, under the guise of some kind of dog playdate.
"We're headed to the dog park, actually. Wanna come? I'm sure the dogs would love it. We could catch up while they play. Plus, I heard a story this morning about some crazy person in scrubs roaming the neighborhood. We should buddy up."
I must be psychic. Judging by the way his gaze rakes up and down my body, letting our dogs hang out isn't all he's after. I'm not exactly the picture of sexiness in my unwashed hair and ratty workout gear, but he's persistent, I'll give him that. Still, it doesn't mean I'm desperate enough to take a ride on that ghost train.
Not when I've had a ride on the bullet train that is Edward Cullen.
Shit. Now he's back in my head. At least when I'm distracted by Mike the Mutt, I don't have to work at keeping Ed— him out of my thoughts.
"Sorry, Mike. Jake is super tired; we've been out walking all morning." Jake takes the opportunity to make me look like a liar by wrestling with Lisette, then bounding around me in circles until I'm tied at the ankles. "Jake! Dammit."
"I'll help." Mike comes at me, grubby paws extended and smiling with glee.
I shove the end of the leash at him in panic. "Here. Take this while I get untangled." Somehow, by the grace of God, I manage to extract my feet from the leash without falling over.
Mike makes sure to graze his fingers with mine when he hands over the leash. I'm so distracted by trying to avoid touching him that Jake seizes the moment and runs off down the street.
"Jake, get back here!"
Shit. The last thing I need is another run-in with the dog catcher. I take off and leave Mike in the dust, hoping I can catch my dumbass dog before he hits a busy street.
Fuck my life.
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x
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After chasing Jake all over the neighborhood—twice—we're both exhausted, and my willpower is gone. I hang Jake's leash on its peg and pull the envelope from its nest of flowers. Just seeing Edward's handwriting wrenches my heart, but it also sparks a few tiny, tattered butterflies in my stomach. With shaky fingers, I slide one beneath the flap and pull out the thick, fancy card stock.
Please, give me your heart. I've left mine with you.
A morbid thought enters my mind, and I picture myself ripping Edward's beating heart right out of his chest, like that evil priest in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. Sometimes it feels like he did that very thing to me.
He already had my heart, and he broke it. Stomped on it.
I focus on the bouquet, hoping the soothing, happy colors will help me calm down, but the pain resurfaces, in spite of the pretty flowers. Anger bubbles to the surface, facilitated by my sadness, and I grit my teeth in frustration.
Does he really think a bunch of dead plants will win me back?
The thing is—it might be working. Even so, I have to take my time and think it all through. What do I want out of all this? Is it really a life without him? I'm starting to realize it isn't, but I can't just take him back like nothing ever happened. I don't know how to rationalize my feelings about Edward with my sense of self-respect.
The fact remains that I don't know if I can trust him again. He told me he loved me, and literally twelve hours later, he broke up with me.
It's unbelievably, overwhelmingly confusing, and I have no idea what to do about it.
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x
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Saturday comes with a mammoth bunch of sunflowers, another of my favorite blooms, tied with a royal blue ribbon. Looks like I'll need to go shopping for a new vase. They're so big, I might have to put them in the Home Depot bucket I have in the storage closet, and these flowers are way too pretty for a paint bucket. Luckily, I find a large glass pitcher and place them on my kitchen windowsill, where I'll see them often. It'll have to do until I can find a new vase.
Today, I don't even wait to open the card.
I adore you. Please give me a chance to prove it.
Sighing heavily, I return the card to the bouquet, head to the couch, and plop down, head in my hands. I can't stop thinking about his words—all of them. The hurtful words from Sunday night, the apologies on Monday, the texts and voicemails, and the flower messages. I've yet to make up my mind, but the painful ache in my chest has changed.
I miss him, so much.
It's only been a few days, but the need to see him, talk to him, is growing. Longing is slowly outweighing the anger. I miss his smile, his laugh, the way he teases me. I miss our nights on the couch, the quiet dinners. I miss taking care of him when he shows up after a long shift, and the way he's grateful for the simplest things—like a bowl of cereal or a cold beer. I miss his kisses. His touch. I just miss him.
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x
.
Sunday brings a mix of delicate violets and full-blown white roses, again in their own vase. The bouquet reminds me of Rosalie's bridal flowers, which triggers a pang of sadness in my heart, and a smile of happiness for my friend. Even if she is married to my dumbass brother. I remember a conversation I had with Rose when I went with her to pick out her wedding flowers. We talked about the different combinations of blooms, and how each one had a special meaning.
I stare at Edward's gift, and lean back against the counter, mind whirling. I rip the card out of the little envelope and stare like it holds the meaning of life.
My complete and utter devotion is yours. Let me give you a new beginning.
Violets, a prominent flower in Rose's bouquet, convey devotion and faithfulness, if I remember correctly. White roses represent new beginnings and … marriage?
What in the actual fuck?
With purpose, I stalk to my laptop and start Googling. My mouth successively drops open with each search.
Red tulips are a declaration of love. How did I not know this? They're my favorite flower.
Once I narrow down the components of the second bouquet, I learn that Heliotrope represents eternal love. Blue hyacinths symbolize love's constancy.
Sunflowers speak of adoration.
He's trying to communicate with me through flowers. There's no way all this is a coincidence, is it? Or am I giving him too much credit? What guy knows all that shit, anyway?
Before I can mull on the topic further, the doorbell rings. The mere thought that it might be Edward has my heart racing. I head to the stairs, but Jake beats me there, sniffing at the doorframe and whining. Shit, is it him? Do I want to hug him or kick him in the 'nads?
One look at the video feed negates every feeling but annoyance. Putting on my best bitch face, I stomp down the steps and slowly open the door. Jake leaps forward and plants his big paws on Emmett's abs, and I hope he accidentally steps on his balls. My brother loves on my dog, probably hoping it will get him back in my good graces. Fat chance, asshole. I just stand there, stone-faced and silent.
Finally, Jake has enough and trots back up the steps. Without a word, I follow him, scowling at the sounds of Emmett's big Frankenstein feet on the steps behind me.
"Hi, Bella," Emmett says, face contrite.
"What do you want, Emmett?" I'm going to make him work for it.
"I wanted to tell you I'm sorry," he mumbles, looking at his feet. Big jerk never could give me a decent apology. Must be a big brother thing. Even back when we were kids, Edward would always be the first to apologize when the two of them were assholes.
"What was that?" I put a hand up to my ear.
He rolls his eyes. "I'm sorry, okay? I shouldn't have punched Edward."
"That's what you're sorry about? You owe that apology to Edward." I'm fuming. Not only because I have to defend Edward and I'm not sure he deserves it, but because my own brother doesn't have the balls to come out with a real apology for me.
Emmett has the grace to look chagrined. "I shouldn't have treated you like a kid. I know you're an adult, but to me, sometimes I still see that sweet little girl I grew up with. Edward's track record with women hasn't been great, and all I saw was a grown man trying to take advantage of my baby sister."
"I grew up with Edward, too, Emmett. You guys were a team, and both of you always took care of me. He's never been anything but kind to me, except when you both were assholes in that big brother sort of way. I always looked up to both of you, but while I idolized you, Emmett, it was always different with Edward. I don't know how else to explain it to you.
"I made my decision, and it was a long time coming. We tried to fight it for a long time, but it happened. We can't take it back. I'm sorry you can't handle it, but it's really not your place." I'm fighting the urge to cry, because all this hurt, all this trouble, might be for nothing. I also don't want Emmett to see me cry, not after the hurtful things he said.
"Bella, I—"
"I can't believe you compared me to some cheap fuck. Like I'd let myself be used like that."
"I was such a fucking asshole, Bella, and I'm so, so sorry. I know you're nothing like that, and now that I've had time to cool off, I know Edward would never treat you like a cheap fling," he says, and it sounds honest, but I don't know if it's enough.
I stay silent, using Charlie's go-to tactic for extracting information. I want to know if he'll say more. Because honestly, he needs to grovel a bit more.
"I really am sorry, Bells. I was an asshole," he says, and I can hear the regret in his voice. "I love you, and I want you to be happy. If that's with Edward, I won't make any more waves. I've never heard him say he's in love before, and if anyone is worthy of being loved, it's you."
"Thanks." I swallow past the knot in my throat and do my best not to let Emmett see my heartache.
He sweeps me up in one of his big bear hugs and I bury my face in his chest, drawing comfort from my big brother's strength in spite of myself. I'm still mad at him, but I can feel my heart softening toward him by the minute. Damn it.
"Holy shit. Did someone die?" His arms drop from around me and he steps into the apartment.
"What?" I don't know how he'd make the jump from our big bro-sis reunion to such a crazy question.
"All these flowers. Looks like you robbed a funeral home. Or a flower shop."
I can feel my face go white as he pulls the card from one of the bouquets. I knew I should've kept those somewhere safe.
He reads it with a frown, then picks the cards out of all the others. I let him, out of some crazy impulse to see if my big brother will defend me. I'm sick, I know. I just made him apologize for something similar, but part of me wants Edward to pay. God, I hate myself.
"What's all this? The only time I give Rose flowers is a birthday, an anniversary, and when I've really fucked up. Your birthday isn't until September, and have you guys even had an anniversary?"
I shake my head, biting my lip.
"So what the hell did Edward do to you?" he all but growls. "These notes sound awfully like begging."
"We broke up." There. That doesn't place blame on either one of us.
"After all the shit that happened, you broke up?"
I nod, unsure what else to say.
"Why? What the fuck did he do?"
"What makes you think I didn't do something?" I shoot back, irked that he assumes I'm the sweet, innocent one. Even though I am.
Emmett grits his teeth. "Can you just be honest with me?"
I give him a dirty look, because I know that comment is a passive aggressive dig. "He broke up with me because of you, okay? He thought being together was ruining my relationship with you, so he decided to step back."
"That crazy motherfucker!"
He's incredulous, much the way I felt when I first heard the words come out of Edward's mouth.
"He's an idiot!" Emmett goes on to say a number of things about Edward's intelligence and his hypothetically questionable parentage, managing to make me laugh in the process.
Once he's done with the imaginative insults, he asks, "So the flowers are an apology? You're not going to toss them?"
"Apology, penance, bribes … I'm not really sure." I shake my head. "I'm sort of wondering how many more he'll send." Plus, I'm looking forward to deciphering any future flower language.
He snorts a laugh. "He's a hard-headed, obstinate bastard. You won't have any room left in this place."
"I guess I'll have to talk to him before it gets that bad." I shrug. Whether or not I'm being truthful is still up for debate.
"Please, if you don't mind, dear sister," Emmett puts a hand on his heart in an exaggerated plea.
I smirk, raising my brows. "Yes?"
"Please, please, please let me talk to him first."
I don't miss the way his fists curl at his sides, but I can't bring myself to say no.
Once Emmett leaves, I pull my phone out of my pocket and select Messages. I choose the name I promised myself I'd never use again, and type one line of text.
Thank you for the flowers.
I don't warn him about Emmett. Edward's a big boy—he can take care of himself.
Also, I've discovered I have a slight vindictive streak.
.
.
.
So… better? Worse? Up next, we'll hear from Edward The Moron.