Edward stares at the leather satchel on his lap for the entirety of the cab ride back to his home. Inside it sits useless trinkets: a thumb drive packed full of IT innovation and new surveillance software, a hastily updated CV, a portfolio of past success and future promise. It means nothing.
The credit card he swipes for payment means close to nothing as well, but it manages to pay for the ride back from the bar. The sight of his home brings with it a sinking feeling in his gut and Edward closes his eyes and grips the door handle before stepping out of the cab and heading back to realities he'd briefly thought he'd escaped.
Edward's s brother in-law, Emmett, meets him in the foyer with a nod and a cell held to his ear.
"He's right here, Rose… Yeah, I'll stop by on the way. No, no, I got it… Be there in twenty… Love you too." Emmett ends the call and tucks his cell into his pocket.
Edward drops his bag and pulls at his tie. "Thanks for coming, Emm."
"IT emergency, huh?"
"Yeah, something like that. How were things here?"
Emmett's already grabbing for his jacket as he answers. "I gave her those pills at eight like you said. She slept, mostly. And she coughed."
"Bad coughing?"
Emmett has his keys in hand. "She said it wasn't bad."
"She always says that."
Emmett waits expectantly and Edward realizes that he's inadvertently blocking his brother-in-law's exit.
"You're heading out then?" he asks.
"I don't know… Rosalie," Emmett sighs. He won't meet Edward's eyes.
"Everything okay?"
"Really good. I don't know. She just needs something from the store." Emmett eyes the front door wistfully.
"Yeah, okay. Gotcha. Thanks again."
Edward steps aside and Emmett claps him on the back as he leaves. Their eyes meet. Edward wishes he was numb to the pity he sees reflected back at him, but he is not. It cuts into his belly like a knife and he finds himself holding a hand over his gut to guard the wound.
It may as well have been another lifetime when Edward and Emmett would get a beer and watch the game, or meet after work to shoot the shit and unwind, or when he'd drop by Rosalie and Emmett's apartment and help fix up Emm's old Mustang.
The fact remains that although that all happened lifetimes ago, Emmett and Rosalie are still young. Edward and Angela are young as well. All four of them should be too young to be forced to face terminal illness head on. They are young enough that Emmett cannot help being consumed by pity whenever he speaks to Edward.
On the job there was no pity, though. And tonight, seated at a bar across from Isabella Swan there had been no pity. And now, as Edward closes the door on his brother in-law, there is no more pity. There in the foyer of his home there is desperation and loneliness.
He could call his littlest sister, Alice, but she would once again pester him to come clean to the rest of the family. She'd threaten to leave school and come help. As much as he'd love a sincere hug and a helping hand, he doesn't want to ruin her life as well. She has finals coming up. He can manage until her semester is over.
Angela begins coughing and Edward heads for the bedroom. His wife is seated on her bed, doubled over as she struggles for breath between the coughs. He rubs her knees – something that's always helped her to relax – even back when it was about anxiety over term papers instead of anxiety over oxygen. He helps find a little blue baggy when the coughing fit brings up vomit. He holds the hair from her face, and when it's all over he helps her recline and straightens the covers.
It's eight thirty-three on a Tuesday evening. Edward is thirty-three years old. He has never felt more helpless and alone.
One-on-one with his wife he is gripped with fear. He holds Angela's thin fingers in his hand, but they offer no support. He wants to grip her fiercely. He wants to cleave to her sunken chest. He is afraid to touch. Instead silent tears trail down his face.
"I doubted us."
Edward hadn't expected Angela's quiet words and raspy voice. Her free hand reaches out and wipes his cheek.
"What?" he asks.
"I didn't know. I thought maybe… don't think bad of me, okay?"
"What bad is there to think?"
Angela hesitates. Leaves scratch against the windowpane, rattled by the wind. "I didn't know about us, Edward. I thought love was supposed to be dramatic, you know? We were always so… convenient. I thought… I don't know, I thought stupid things."
Edward chances a long look at his wife. Her blonde hair is thin and fluffy, like down on a duckling. Her eyes are pale and her cheekbones prominent. Her lips are cracked. He's forgotten to buy Chapstick again.
"It wasn't fair, what I thought," Angela continues. "It was selfish."
"What do you mean?"
She wipes his other cheek. Her thin fingertip trails over his face. "Even when you have to leave, you make sure someone's here. Everything I ever wanted, you made sure it was here. You've made everything in my life that much easier. Convenient isn't a bad thing. My life was convenient and I'm lucky it was. I could have fucked it all up, and where would I be now?"
"Is."
"What?"
"Your life is convenient," Edward insists.
"Breast cancer is inconvenient. The first time. The second time. I'm always trying to fuck things up."
Edward cannot force any more words out of his mouth.
"Without you here, Edward, I'd be screwed right now. All of my doubting was wrong. We were right. I'm sorry for that."
Edward kisses his wife's cheek. He makes sure she has a glass of water and another vomit bag by the bed. He tries to smile. He can't say goodnight because he still can't find his voice.
In the living room he falls onto the couch. He eyes stacks of papers on the dining room table that he hadn't thought to hide before calling Emmett over.
The papers stand as proof that he's looking for a way through this mess. He's not without hope. There's a possibility he could get Angela's medication from the drug company for free under a compassionate care program. He is a capable man. He can find employment. As Isabella Swan pointed out, he still has a few shares of random stock he can cash in.
But another thought pokes at the periphery of his conscious mind. Apparently, the only thing that's made Angela appreciate him is how he's handled her illness. She's doubted all the help he's given and every sacrifice he's made. She's second-guessed this house he's worked so hard to keep over their heads. She's doubted the life he's tried so hard to build.
And now, now that doubt has merit. Now that she is settled in her choice, now that she is assured… now there is actually a solid basis for that doubt. Now that she is wasting away in front of his eyes, now she is sure.
He wants to be angry. He closes his eyes and counts to ten. He tries to think of good times.
xXxXx
"Are you sure?" he'd asked.
He could never read Angela's signals, no matter how hard he'd tried. She seemed hot one minute, cold the next. Emmett had said it was all a game; she was just trying to play him – to make Edward want her more. It must have worked like a charm, because Edward wanted her. He'd lay in bed at night and jack off to visions of her naked.
Finally, that summer night between junior and senior year she was naked underneath him, vigorously nodding her head with her eyes closed. She bent her knees, allowing him access.
"I want to feel like you want to touch me, though" he whispered in her ear.
Angela tentatively placed her hands on his shoulders.
"I won't hurt you," he insisted.
She'd been a virgin; of course she was frightened.
"Seriously, Angela, are you sure?"
xXxXx
She'd never been sure.
The memory does not calm Edward's nerves and he tries something different. In his mind he substitutes Bella Swan for Angela Webber-Cullen.
"You should have taken care," Bella Swan snaps at him from the other side of the booth.
"I. Do. Take. Care."
In his mind Edward lunges across the table, pulls Bella Swan out of her seat by her lapels and drags her across the table in front of him. He sits back leaving her on her hands and knees.
"Still not enough," she snarls.
In his mind there's room in the booth for Edward to grab Bella's thighs and pull them toward him, enough room to force her down onto his lap. In his mind her chest heaves and her tits nearly escape her top and he hastily forces her skirt up to her waist. In his mind his dick is effortlessly inside and her back arches as she whimpers. In his mind his hand is on her bare hip guiding her rhythm and her back thumps against the table. In his mind he pounds her with his dick for the entire bar to see. He tugs at her hair, pulling back her head. He snakes a hand underneath her top.
"Is this enough? Is this enough?" he growls.
xXxXx
Immediately afterwards, Edward is embarrassed. He is a responsible man and not inclined to bad, imaginary pornography. His (recently) grateful wife is critically ill in the other room. His life is a mess. His pants are a mess. The only sound in the house is his breathing. He is alone and sad. He is a failure.
He pulls off his pants and Jacob Black's card falls to the ground.
On his way to the washing machine Edward tosses the card on top of the rest of his paperwork. Minutes later he sits down at the dining room table in his shirtsleeves and boxer briefs intent on piecing together what is left of his life.
A/N: To SereneInNC & Obsmama: I couldn't do this without you, chickas! Muchos gracias! To everyone else that's started reading: thanks for your reviews & favorites & love. Thanks for nominating Shame for FoTW! If y'all want to vote for it, get on over to TLS: www . tehlemonadestand . net
Happy Friday & have a fabulous weekend!
Until next Friday, ~BDC