Twilight character names belong to Stephenie Meyer. I own Dodge and Burn.
Much love and thanks to Editor Azucena , Pre-readers BtwntheStacks and Lemonmartinis and Beta-MsKathy
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Dodge and Burn / Chapter Seventeen / The Exit Strategy
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"That belongs to me. You need to give it to me," Bella says with a steely voice.
Her hand reaches out further for the bottle of pills; there's a look of extreme frustration on her face.
"We need to talk about this, Isabella."
"No we don't. This doesn't concern you. You don't know anything about this, and you don't need to, either."
His expression falls and he takes a step back.
"Doesn't concern me? How can you say that? I thought we were in a relationship here. Everything about you concerns me."
He almost doesn't recognize her. She has an intense, focused look like a warrior about to go into battle.
"This has nothing to do with you, or even Jacob, or anyone," she says in a firm voice. "This belongs to me, and me alone."
Is this the same woman I held just minutes ago?
He shakes his head. "I don't accept that. I can't accept that."
"You're going to have to. You really don't have a choice," she says.
To hell with that, he thinks, angry. I always have a choice.
"Isabella, why are you being cavalier with me? You're pushing me away, like how I feel about something so significant doesn't mean anything to you. When Jacob and I talked about you…"
He realizes his misstep as soon as the words leave his mouth and he stops mid-sentence. He stands frozen, watching her face get flushed as she realizes the implications of what he said.
"Wait a minute, " she responds, each word louder than the last. Her eyes get wide with disbelief and her jaw tightens. "What do you mean when you and Jacob talked about me?"
"We talked several weeks ago."
He notices her fists clenching. "What? You talked to my son about me and didn't tell me?"
"It was that night you were so upset, and I found you on the darkroom floor. I couldn't understand you saying you'd never get old and end up with someone you loved…I called Jacob that night to try to get help or some understanding about what might have set you off like that. Don't you realize how much that completely freaked me out?"
"Exactly," she says, exasperated. "If that freaked you out, what makes you think you can handle things one day if they get much worse? Furthermore, I'm going to strangle my son for giving you my personal information. I'm calling him as soon as we're done here."
Done here?
He takes another step back and turns the bottle slowly in his hands as he stares at it. He swallows hard and tries to find his voice. "So I'm assuming then that you've done the genetic testing. That you have your answer about the Alzheimer's."
"You assume? You assume?"
She shakes her head violently. "You don't know anything."
He never thought her voice could sound this dark. It's disorienting seeing her like this. Surely this angry woman with the furious expression isn't his Isabella.
He knows he has to reach her somehow, so he takes a deep breath and tries to refocus.
"I know that I love you. Now I also know that from this moment forward, I will live in fear that I'll come over one day and find you dead."
She looks stunned and then tips her head down. "That'll never happen."
"How can I know that? What if you have a horrible couple of days…a horrible week? It happens. You were pretty bad that night in the studio. Do you even know what your limit is?"
She glares at him as he continues on.
"I remember my mom starting to forget everything when she was going through menopause. She got so depressed and acted out in different ways. You can't convince me not to worry about that. What if you start experiencing the normal memory loss that comes with aging and menopause, but you assume the worse?"
She turns and walks to the window. "What I meant was that it won't happen because I wouldn't do it here. You won't find me if I do it."
His morbid curiosity chimes in. "Why, where will you be?"
"I'll be fish food."
"What?" he asks, horrified, not sure what she means until he remembers a comment she made the first night she took him to Hermosa Beach.
"I'll walk into the ocean and swim toward the horizon. You'll never hear of me again."
He fights the urge to throw the pill bottle against the wall.
Shaking his head, he presses his fist on the edge of the mantle. "Listen, I know you can be colorful and dramatic, but this is pissing me off. What in the hell does that mean, Isabella—you're going to swim into the horizon and disappear? Can you quit messing with me?"
"Really?" she responds. "You're getting pissed off? You-the man who called my son and talked about the odds for my future so he could decide if I was worth gambling on or not."
"What?"
"You heard me." Her voice is angry, but her expression says something else entirely. He sees the hurt cracking through her mask of rage.
"Is that what you think? That I've tried to decide if you're worth gambling on, like a poker game or something?"
"Yes, I do," she says.
"Well you're wrong. And you should feel lousy for even accusing me of that. When I learned about what you could be facing and I processed what that meant, I thought about it…what I could handle, if I'd be able to stay by your side..."
She stands silently, watching him wide-eyed, the blood pounding in her head.
"And I knew in my heart I loved you too much to not stay with you, by your side, no matter what happens. But tonight I've learned that you aren't willing to stay by mine."
She curls over like he punched her in the stomach and he hears a broken sob. Moments later, she lifts her face up and there are tears streaming down her cheeks.
"You have no idea, Edward," she says.
"No idea of what? You know that I took care of my dad through his illness."
"With all due respect, did you change his diapers and spoon feed him until he couldn't remember how to swallow? Did you bandage up your heart so it wouldn't break apart when he no longer knew who you were?"
"Isabella…" His insides ache at the thought of it.
"I'm not taking away from the pain you went through watching your dad deteriorate and die, but it's much different when someone loses their mind, their very essence. When you can't even have a lucid conversation with them anymore."
He drops down into the nearby chair and twists his hands as he thinks.
"I can't bear the idea of ending up like that, Edward. This is my insurance plan that I won't. A wise friend of mine once told me that it's always good to have an exit strategy."
"Does Jacob know about the exit strategy?"
"No. As you can imagine now…it's better not to know."
"You have to tell him."
"Don't tell me what I have to tell my son. And you better not tell him."
Edward gets a defiant look on his face. "Don't you think he deserves to know? He worries about you as it is."
"What do you mean he worries about me?" she asks, her expression even more distraught.
"Maybe that's the wrong term. He's protective of you. But when we met, he asked for us to exchange phone numbers. He wanted us to have each other's numbers just in case anything ever happened to you."
"Really?" she says quietly, sadness painted all over her features.
"Even if you don't see the future of our relationship the way I do, Jacob is your family. He needs to be part of your decision."
Bella closes her eyes and pictures her son from the last time they were together. As they dined on his favorite home-cooked meal, he excitedly told her about his graduate work and the latest news with his friends. She could feel how full of promise things were for him at this stage in his life.
What if she got sick and could no longer take care of herself? How would he cope with the slow death of her mind and personality? He's an only child with an absent father and no other family around. Who will he go to for help, to lean on when things get too hard?
She allows herself to imagine for a moment how he'd deal with her suddenly being gone. The feeling's so overwhelming she pushes it out of her like a gush of air before opening her eyes and looking back at Edward.
"Is anyone truly that selfless, to be willing to give up someone that they love?" she asks him. "No. We want to hold on, often not letting go until the bitter end….even if it's that person's deepest desire to not continue on when there's no quality of life."
She shakes her head and twists her fingers together as she continues. "No one wants to be a burden to the people they love the most."
She walks to the couch across from Edward and sinks down into the cushions.
"I couldn't give up my mom, Edward. And I've always regretted it."'
He gives her a long look before he turns away. "I know regret too, Isabella."
She studies him for a minute before she replies. He seems to be holding something very painful of his own deep inside. She can see it in his eyes, but he remains silent so she continues.
"My grandmother started getting ill in her early fifties. At that time they weren't sure what it was. She was too young to be senile, but she starting doing weird stuff and forgetting a lot. As time went on she just got more and more confused. My mom took care of her until the end. I was too young to remember a lot of it, but I know it got really bad."
Edward looks grim. "So your grandmother had it, too?"
Bella nods. "What I do remember is my mom telling me over and over that she never wanted to end up like that, and that she'd make sure that she didn't."
"What did she do to make sure?" Edward asks.
"Mom was diligent about all the legal stuff: the power of attorneys, the refusal to be resuscitated, stuff like that. Really though, none of that paperwork protects you from Alzheimer's. Maybe she hoped she wouldn't get it. Maybe she had plans I never knew about and she waited too long—waited until she was too confused to act on them."
"Maybe she changed her mind and decided to let her life be God's will," Edward says quietly.
"Maybe. But if so that contradicted everything she ever told me before her illness, before Alzheimer's fogged and then obliterated her every thought."
Bella turns toward the window and wipes the tears out of her eyes.
"One night we were sitting in the living room. I used to take her in there every evening and play her favorite records. At that point she still seemed to enjoy the music even though she couldn't speak clearly anymore."
Edward leans forward, with his elbows on his knees giving her his full attention.
"I got up to turn over the record and when I got back to where we were sitting, I noticed she was slumped over. I rushed over to her and when I held her head up, she was losing her color and turning blue."
She looks over at Edward and shakes her head. "For a moment I realized that I had a choice. She didn't look distressed. I could've leaned her back and held her hand while nature took it's course. For that moment, I knew that was the right thing, but the longer I watched her the more I started to panic. I lost my nerve, ran to the phone, and called 911."
"You loved her so you saved her," Edward says quietly.
Bella nods bitterly. "But a lot of good that did. They revived her at the house then took her in an ambulance to the hospital. Oh my God, I will never forget that night. They ran every test known to man on her and she didn't understand what was going on, so she completely freaked out. I kept insisting that there was to be no more tests, but they ignored me."
"Well, it's their job to save people," Edward states.
"Yes, they saved her. But two days later when they finally released her, she was worse than ever and it was the beginning of the final years of hell."
Bella's tears are flowing freely now and Edward gets up to find some Kleenex. He hands her the box when he steps back into the room.
"Do you understand how much I regret what I did that night? I had my chance to free her from the cage, but instead I just locked her in."
Edward pauses, but then gets up and sits down on the couch next to her. When she instinctively shifts toward him, he slowly pulls her in his arms. He's relieved when she doesn't pull away.
"You can't torture yourself about that, Isabella. You operated on instincts. I bet your mom would've done the same."
She settles into him and his nurturing slowly calms her. As they sit quietly, her mind and heart try to catch up with all of the words that have just been spoken.
She looks up at him and notices his sad eyes. "You said you have regrets too, Edward. Is it about your dad?"
He nods slowly.
She gives him a sympathetic look. "Do you want to talk about it? I promise to be a good listener."
He rubs his chin on the top of her head, relieved to see that she's not as upset with him as she was. The last thing he wants to do is fight with her about all this.
She can feel him internally debate something before he finally speaks.
"My dad made the same decision you have…and I was the one who found him after he'd taken the pills."
She sits up, startled, and pulls back to look at him. "Oh, no. I had no idea. Why didn't you tell me that earlier?"
"I wasn't hiding it. It's just something that's very hard for me to talk about."
"I'm so sorry," she says quietly, as she rests her hand on his knee.
"My dad was like your mom, very clear on how he felt about the situation if he was ever in an irreversible decline. He didn't see the point in remaining burdened with something that permanently took away his quality of life."
Bella nods reverently. "Yes, quality of life. That's the crux of it," she says. "I think it's easier for people to question the idea that if you're in a horrific accident and on life support, would you want to be kept alive artificially?" Bella explains. "But people don't think about the grey areas. What about illnesses where you're in constant pain, where you can't take care of yourself and you're a burden to others? What if you no longer know who you are and what you're doing? Why should someone be able to say no to euthanasia for illnesses where there's no hope—when all that's left is the knowledge that things will get worse?"
"It's very complicated," Edward says solemnly. "Near the end when Dad talked about life not being worth living, I thought it was part of his depression. I also knew that some things still made him happy: visits from his grandkids, watching John Wayne movies, listening to big band music. Yet, still he seemed to be getting more and more hopeless."
"Can you blame him?" Bella asks.
"No, but then to my surprise, one week he seemed to be getting better, he was happier…even joked with me a few times. He started telling me how much he appreciated me, and what kind of man I was. It made me feel so optimistic," Edward says sadly.
Edward reaches for Bella's hand and feels great relief when she lets him hold it. He notices how cold her skin feels as he continues.
"Early in the week he presented me with tickets to a concert at the Disney Concert Hall. He told me he wanted me to take Lauren on a special date—that I had spent too much time taking care of him and neglecting her. He wanted me to change all of that."
"At first, I didn't know what to say. Lauren had left me over a month before but I hadn't told Dad because he'd been having such a rough time and I knew it would only make him worse. I knew he would blame himself so I just didn't talk about her when I was with him. I got into this pattern where I'd ask him to tell me stories about when he was young, or what it was like when he and mom first married."
"As much as I bet you're glad you heard those stories, that must have been very awkward for you," Bella commiserates. "What happened with the concert?"
Edward dips his head. "I gave the tickets to Jasper and Alice and of course, didn't tell Dad."
Bella squeezes his hand. "That was the kind thing to do."
"Well, I'm not sure how I feel about all of that now. You see, the whole thing was a set-up."
"What do you mean?" Bella asks.
"I waited until eleven that night to go check on him so he wouldn't know I didn't use the tickets. It's actually weird I went to see him that late. I don't know how to explain it, but I just had a bad feeling all evening, and I couldn't keep myself away."
"Was he gone already when you got there?" Bella asks, stumbling on the last words.
"No, just sleeping heavily. I adjusted the blankets around him and right before I shut off his lights, I noticed the bottle of pills on the bedside table. They weren't anything I recognized. When I got closer, I realized the bottle was empty and that there was an envelope addressed to me next to where the pills had been."
Bella lifts her hand and presses it over her mouth.
"I instantly knew he'd set the whole thing up…everything had been planned. I was so angry about that. The first reaction I had was to yell at him as he laid there in the grip of death. He even flinched in his sleep."
"Oh, no," Bella says.
"Yeah, I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for that. I was just so damn mad. He'd shut me out of the most important decision and I never even got a chance to say goodbye."
Bella bows her head silently.
"Like you, I called 911 but rather than stopping the tests like you did, I was begging everyone at the hospital to do whatever it took to save him. I was devastated to have no say in what happened, no control. First Mom dies, then Lauren leaves, and then dad pulls the emergency exit cord to eject himself right out of our world. Fuck it all. Just fuck-it was so wrong."
"I'm sorry, Edward," Bella says quietly.
"And you know what?" he asks, the level of frustration in his voice growing. "After hours at the hospital with doctors pumping his stomach, technicians running tests, working him over…he died anyway. He died not the way he'd planned, peacefully on his own. He died surrounded by faceless workers in a cold hospital while I was outside on my cell phone trying to reach Rose again."
"Oh, Edward," Bella sighs as she presses a Kleenex against her wet cheeks.
Edward leans back into the couch and lets his head drop back. He can feel the tears burn in the edges of his eyes before they slide down his temples.
"It killed me, Isabella. When the doctor came outside to find me and tell me that he died, I was inconsolable. I could barely stand up and couldn't drive. Rose had to come get me and take me home. She stayed the night with me, she was so worried."
"Some days I would wake up angry at him, others I would be overcome with guilt for not respecting his decision and dragging him to the hospital. I felt sorry for myself more days than I want to admit. I hoped, knowing what happened, that Lauren would come back and try to work on things just out of respect for our marriage and the loss we'd all suffered through."
"I can imagine," Bella says sadly.
"It's been a very dark time…until I met you, really."
"And here I am, Edward."
He looks at her as she sits quietly calm, her heart open to hear anything he needs to say to her.
She turns her hands so that her palms face up as if she's making an offering.
"Here I am."
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He watches her slowly rise off the couch and turn to him. "I think we need some wine and good chocolate. Would you like some music?" She doesn't wait to hear his answer.
Edward closes his eyes and listens to her bustle about the kitchen, then the click of her iPod snapping into the player.
"What's this?" he asks as the first notes of the music fill the air.
"The Best of Cole Porter," she says happily. She returns to the living room and sets the tray on the coffee table, next to the bottle of pills.
She pours the wine and hands him his glass. He's grateful for the burn as he takes a large sip. The numbing starts right away and he looks over at her just as she drops a chocolate into her open mouth.
"Mmmm," she sighs. "Want some?"
He doesn't really, but he nods to be agreeable. They both take another long sip of wine before she delicately picks up a chocolate and holds it close to tease him.
"Are you ready?"
"Never," he says, their eyes locked.
He smiles at her. "Always."
She gently places the sweet against his lips, and when they part she slides the chocolate inside then slowly drags her fingers across his lips as she pulls them away.
He closes both his mouth and his eyes as the square slowly melts. He feels her press her lips against his, then pull away.
"Better?" she asks, whispering.
"Much." He nods before sipping the wine again. "Are you trying to distract me?"
"Perhaps," she says, smiling. "I want to make you feel good again."
"That's going to take more than chocolate," he says sadly.
"I know," she admits, as she runs her fingers through his hair and touches his face with reverence. "I love you, beautiful man."
He nods, his heart aching for this woman he fears will slip between his fingers.
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With each sip of wine, their tentativeness between each other softens. When the wine bottle's almost empty and she's sitting in his lap, he shares a secret.
"Remember the night I was so sick? The night I had that horrible fever?"
"Yes," she says, setting her empty glass down and pressing her cheek against his neck.
"I saw my parents that night. They came to me."
She nods her head as she recollects. "I remember you telling me that."
"Did I tell you that they said you were on your way?"
Chills run up her spine. "No," she whispers.
"It was like a dream and we were standing on a bank edging a body of water. They were on one side and I on the other. Even though we were apart I could still hear their voices, still feel their love.
"They said Isabella's on her way, Edward. She's the one you need to wait for. Hold on, she will come."
"No," she gasps, swaying a bit from the wine. "Did they really say that?"
He nods. "When I first woke up the next morning I thought it was a dream, but when I saw you asleep on my couch next to me, I knew it was real. I believe that they were with me, Isabella. I really do."
"I do too," she says quietly.
He sets his glass down. "So that's how I know this was meant to be. What if they sent you to me in the very beginning?"
"That's a lovely thought. Maybe they did."
They let the thick haze of drunkenness pull over them like a blanket, sheltering them from the foreboding air.
He pulls her tight against him and sighs. "And I'm never letting you go. I love you so much…if you only knew."
She turns to face him. The wine has left his face flushed and his hair wild, but she feels the passion and truth in his expression. "I do know. I love you so much, too."
He pulls her into an embrace, so raw and overflowing with emotion that she's swept up in it.
He tenderly kisses her cheeks and her neck, then her hands, shoulders, and breasts. His strong arms hold her, his hands touching every part of her. She feels worshiped, each wave of love hitting her one after another until she feels one with him, like she's washed right into his heart from the swirling tide.
Their passion builds, and he pulls her clothes open needing skin, her scent, her taste. Her eyes close when he eases off the couch and kneels before her, spreading her legs apart to love her with his mouth. He pleasures her, the sensation so overwhelming she knows nothing ever will compare to the way he loves her. It's a thrill to surrender to him as he leads her through the brilliant build-up, then shattering release.
He rises up, stroking her thighs as she tries to catch her breath. Eyes wild and composure crumbling, he shoves the colorful pillows off the couch and then quickly undoes his jeans. She lies back on the cushions, opening her legs wide as he crawls over her. He fills her so briskly, so forcefully, that it takes both their breaths away.
"Isabella," he groans as his hips rise and fall hard.
"Yes," she chants, her body pushing up to welcome his feverish need.
"Good God," he groans, his hand cupping her breast as he thrusts in long strokes. He can't seem to get enough of her.
She skims her fingertips over his strong, broad shoulders and pulls him closer. "Take me, I'm yours," she whispers, her voice raw.
He embraces her over and over with desperate kisses. It's the kind of passion that happens when a man has to spread out his hunger so he doesn't ravage her all at once. He revels in the glory, the feeling of filling her completely, every part of her wrapped around him. They make love with no restraint, her nails on his back as his teeth graze her neck, the wildfire of their love burning over them.
They reach their climax as if every painful step of their conflict tonight has led to this moment-the chance for their bodies to express what words can't. It's a moment that doesn't feel like an ending, but shines a light on what can be. With the sensuous caress of relief, he feels hope again.
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Completely spent, they settle back and lie in each other's arms for a long while until she has to wiggle out from under him to head to the bathroom. When she returns, she picks up the pill bottle and starts to return it to the mantle before rejoining him on the couch.
"What are you doing?" he asks, confused.
"Putting this back where it belongs," she answers simply.
"But I thought…" he says.
"You thought what?"
"That we resolved that. I thought we agreed you didn't need those."
She looks back at him, surprised, and tips her head.
"I don't understand. If anything our stories we shared just made my point of view more clear about my position. I still need to control how my life ends if and when I get sick. Nothing has changed, Edward."
He's stunned.
"What?" he asks bewildered.
"Nothing has changed."
Hope is a fickle mistress that walks out of the room as soon as it starts to tilt.
He wonders if they're just testing each other's limits. If she truly loves him, wouldn't she look at this decision with him again? Aren't they supposed to be a team? His anger fires up.
"What about me? Didn't I make myself clear? One day, if you're in the early stages, will you be even lucid enough to recognize what's happening? I don't understand how any of this will work. It paralyzes me to think that you'll make a sudden decision on your own. After everything I've gone through, that isn't a fear I can live with, Isabella."
She stands still and watches him, resisting the urge to crawl back in his lap and convince him to reconsider. She wonders if he listened from his heart to anything she said tonight. She feels betrayed by his challenge. "Are you sure about that?" she asks him sadly.
"I'm sure. I can't just pretend that none of this has happened. This is a deal-breaker," he says with complete conviction. He's terrified, knowing he has just drawn a hard line in the ever-shifting sand.
He desperately hopes she will back down rather than lose him. The thought of it makes him feel unimportant…expendable. He's already felt that way in a relationship; he can't bear to feel that way again. He holds his breath waiting for her to speak.
"Then we are broken." The finality in her tone guts him.
"Come on…" he insists.
"I've been very clear."
"Yes, but…"
"This resolution is engrained in me, Edward. It's my religion, the thing that gets me through each day. I can't bear the idea of the alternative. Don't make me choose. You won't win."
She could have slapped him hard across the face and it would have stung less than her words. He stands and pulls up his jeans, fastening them quickly. If he doesn't get out of this house soon, he's sure he'll say things he'll regret. He quickly gathers his jacket and guitar. She silently follows him.
As he heads for the front door, she finds her voice.
"Don't leave, Edward. Please. Not like this."
"Not like this?" he asks angrily. "You just broke me, and what? You want me to hang out?"
She steps back, stunned.
"I'm not a dollhouse you can take out and play with then put back on the shelf, Isabella. I thought we were building a future here."
"We were. We are," she says, quickly correcting herself.
He grimaces. "You know, it just never occurred to me that I hadn't carefully looked to see when the expiration date was."
"That's not fair," she responds, angry and hurt.
"Not fair?" he asks, his face hardening with rage. He thinks about her college affair with Leo. She'd seemed madly in love, but never questioned the fact that it would have an abrupt ending. After he left she just moved on when she clearly could have had other choices.
"Why did you let me fall in love with you? Surely you understand the kind of man I am-what I'm about. I'm losing my heart all over again."
"I fell in love with you too, Edward," she says, the tears now streaming down her face. "Did we have a choice? Do we ever have a choice when it comes to our hearts?"
"And that's it—isn't it. You have a choice. You're choosing to walk into the future without me. You're choosing to break me."
"Don't say that. You're making that decision. We could choose to live in the moment and make the most of every day we have together. As it is there's no way to know how much time any of us have…"
He holds his hand up to stop her.
She shakes her head. "It doesn't have to be this way."
He pulls open the front door and turns back toward her.
"Every single decision we make, whether large or smaller, leads us down a path. My dad always warned me to pay attention, as some decisions take us somewhere we shouldn't be, where there's no turning back."
Bella turns away from him.
"You know what?" he asks, his tone getting harder. "This fucking pain and rage I'm feeling makes me regret the decision I made months ago when my phone rang late at night."
"You don't mean that," she says, her voice almost unrecognizable.
"I do. Right now, I wish I'd never picked up the call."
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As she stumbles through the house blinded by tears, she searches for a place to huddle before the darkness comes. She doesn't hear the sound as he slams his car door and starts the ignition. She doesn't hear the squeal of his tires against the asphalt as he guns the engine and speeds away.
All she can hear is the sound of her thundering heart as it gradually slows until she isn't sure if it's beating at all.
.
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I know this is hard, a lot of complicated issues but sometimes you've got to walk through fire to get where you want to be.
Talk to me...I really hope to hear from you...
xoxo
abbie
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