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Today's the day. The divorce is final. I won't ever have to look at Jake's face again, if I choose not to, and that feels good. I feel like celebrating.
I contemplate calling someone to go with me, but most of the people I know have either joined Team Jake or have claimed they're Switzerland and refused to choose sides, which means they're on Jake's team—the few people who actually are on my team would never be caught dead in a bar.
I'm more than certain my mama and daddy would frown on this choice of celebration, but one thing I've learned since all this shit went down is that from here on out, I'm doing things my way. Operation: Make Bella Happy. If I don't, who will? I've let my happiness reside in Jake for the last ten years, since I was fifteen years old, but not anymore. This is the first time in my life where I truly feel like I don't have to answer to anybody—not my mama, or my daddy, or Jake. It's liberating.
So, I'm going to Old Town. It's not usually my scene, but it's exactly what I need tonight—drinks, music, and low-lighting, so I don't have to see any of the looks I get when I walk in and sit down at the bar.
I go to pick up my keys off the counter as I'm heading out the door, but I know good and well that I won't be in any shape to drive home. Standing in the kitchen, I weigh my options for a minute. I could drive and just risk it, but that would be really irresponsible, and might just land me in jail for good this time. My daddy does not fool around when it comes to drinking and driving. I could walk there, but I know I'd be stumbling home, and who knows what could happen in the mile from there to here. I pick up the phone and dial my only logical option.
"Is this Bella the Burner, or is this Bella the Ball Buster, or . . ." he asks, pausing for dramatic effect, "is it possible that I'm talkin' to the one and only Bella the Beautiful?"
"Always the charmer, Em," I reply, rolling my eyes.
"Well, well, well. I hear congratulations are in order," he says, his voice depicting his pleasure in my current marital status. "Proud of you, Bells. Really."
"Thanks, Em. I'm not sure everyone feels the same, but—"
"It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks. It's not your fault and you did the right thing. Don't doubt that. So, to what do I owe this pleasure?"
"You remember that favor you promised me?"
"Of course, what's up, buttercup?"
"I was wonderin' if I could get a ride?"
"Is somethin' wrong with your truck? Don't tell me you parked it in Mr. Miller's pond, too? Just 'cause Jake paid for it doesn't mean you gotta go ruinin' a perfectly good pickup."
"I didn't . . . the truck's fine," I answer, breathing out deeply, realizing I'm never going to live down most of the shit I've done in the last six months. "I just need a ride to Old Town."
"Ah, Bella. I don't feel good about this," he whines. "Rose'll kick my ass when she finds out, and she will find out! Nobody gossips like the barflies and the baptists."
"I'd do it for you! Besides, if you don't take me, I'll just drive myself."
"And wind yer ass up in jail!" I can almost hear him from here pacing the floor, and I feel bad for putting him in this situation—really I do, but I have no other choice.
"Why you wanna go there anyway?"
"I feel like celebratin'. Besides, I'm a free woman! I can go and do as I please!"
"I'll be there in five minutes," he says, giving in and hanging up.
Ten minutes later, Emmett drops me off in front of Old Town. Fortunately for me and him, it's dark, but he's still scoping out the perimeter, making sure nobody sees him.
"Em, just tell Rose. You'll worry yourself sick over her findin' out, if you don't." I reach over and squeeze his big, burly arm. For such a big guy, he sure is a pussy sometimes. "Tell her it's my fault and she can come over tomorrow and pray over me or give me shit or whatever, OK?"
His eyes grow big and he gives me a look, as if he can't believe I just gave Rosalie McCarty permission to unleash her wrath on me . . . it's almost worse than God's.
"Promise me you'll call when you're ready to leave," he says.
"OK, I will. Thanks, again," I say, leaning over to kiss his cheek. "And, I'm sorry if I get you in trouble."
"Wouldn't be the first time," he says, laughing and shaking his head.
Nope, it wouldn't' be the first time and I'm pretty sure it won't be the last. Emmett and I are known for getting each other in and out of trouble.
"You know I'd go in with you, if it weren't for . . ." His words trail off, as he makes hand gestures of the ways Rosalie would kill him, if he did.
"I know," I tell him, smiling as I shut the door.
When I sit down at the bar, the old man working behind the counter gives me the once-over, until he realizes who I am. I see the hesitation on his face and I wonder if Charlie's put out some sort of warning or some shit like that.
I slap my credit card down on the table. "Start me a tab, keep your mouth shut, and I'll make sure you get a nice tip at the end of the night, OK?"
Four Shiner Bocks and three shots of whiskey later, I'm feeling no pain as I belt out the words to "Me and Bobby McGee" from my barstool. I know my rhythm is off and my words are slurred but I'm on a roll, and don't plan on stopping any time soon. I try my best to mimic Janis' gravelly ramblings at the end of the song, waving my arms and gyrating my hips so wildly that I end up falling flat on my ass.
I'm not sure how long I stay down but, eventually, my drunken stupor clears long enough for me to register that I no longer want to be on the filthy floor of a bar. Of course, nobody helps me up, but they all make sure to watch me as I slowly pull both myself and my toppled barstool upright. The snickers and whispers don't penetrate the wall around my heart, but since I'm feeling ten feet tall and bulletproof, I spin around to face my audience, both of my middle fingers high in the air.
"Fuck all of you—you inbred, hick cock-suckers!"
"All right, that's enough, Mrs. Black! I think it's time I take you home."
Spinning around too quickly, I stumble right into my daddy's new deputy.
"Oh, this is just great! Does my daddy have you watchin' me 24/7 or somethin'?"
"No, Ma'am. I was called out to escort an unruly patron home, so if you'd please grab your things, we'll be on our way."
I'm still feeling a little dizzy but I'm not sure if it's from all the booze in my system or Mr. Deputy's pretty green eyes. Either way, I'm not leaving this bar with him. When he holds out his hand, I immediately swat it away.
"I'm not going anywhere with you! Besides, my name isn't 'Mrs. Black' anymore, it's 'Ms. Swan' again. As of today, I'm officially divorced!" I yell out to anyone who cares, which I know is none.
I see Mr. Deputy giving me a small frown, pity written all over his gorgeous face, and I hate him. Rolling my eyes, I turn to the bartender and motion for another beer.
"I don't think so, Ms. Swan. It's time to go."
"Piss off!"
"Ma'am, it's my job to get you home safely. Please, be civil about this. Otherwise, I'm gonna have to cuff you."
"Ha! It wouldn't be the first time I've been cuffed!"
"Yes, I'm aware of your criminal history and I really don't want to add to it, so be a good girl and let's go."
I look at him with fire in my eyes as I slowly walk up to him. I can feel heat radiating from his body, but I ignore it. I do not want this kind of distraction right now so, instead, I start poking his chest.
"Don't you ever tell me to be a good girl! I was always the good girl and look where it got me! I don't need your condescending attitude, Mr. Deputy Man! I get that from everyone else in this hell-hole, so you can just kiss my ass!" I've poked him about twenty times by now and he's taken every one of them, only showing his frustration by clenching his jaw. For some reason, I want more of a reaction from him, so what do I do? I shove him. Hard. Once he's over the initial shock of my actions, he quickly spins me around and shackles my wrists together in his handy-dandy handcuffs, before picking me up and throwing me over his shoulder.
Needing someone else to lash out at, my upside-down eyes find the old coot of a bartender and yell, "This is all your fault, you rotten dirt-bag! You're not ever gettin' a tip from me!" He just shrugs his shoulders, before handing my credit card and purse over to my captor.
Chicken shit.
I'm unceremoniously dumped into the front seat of the deputy's patrol car before my handcuffs are removed. Knowing I need to keep my trap shut and just accept the ride home, I fold my arms across my chest, slumping down into full-on tantrum mode.
When Officer Goody Two-Shoes takes his place behind the wheel, he turns to me with a serious face. "Look, Ms. Swan, I know you're upset because of your divorce being finalized today, but I can't, in good conscience, let you keep drowning your sorrows. At the rate you were going, you'd just end up back in that jail cell, and I know you don't want that."
"For your information, I'm not drownin' my sorrows, I'm celebratin'! I'm glad to be rid of that pencil-dicked asshole! It's a shame that no one around here knows how to have fun, Mr—what the hell is your name anyway?"
"Edward. My name's Edward Cullen."
"Hmpf, 'Edward'? Not Ed or Eddie or any other kind of nickname? Every good southerner has a nickname, you know?"
He gives me a quiet laugh and seeing his eyes crinkle when he smiles makes my heart race.
"I'm just Edward and I'm from Chicago, so no nickname for me."
"Well, I guess I'll have to give you one myself," I slur, just before leaning against the door and passing out.
-CG-
The incessant banging in my head reminds me of why you don't mix beer and liquor. What's that saying?
Beer before liquor, never sicker?
Liquor before beer, you're in the clear?
Oh, God, I can't remember, but whatever it is, I need this banging to stop! Please God, I'll never drink again, if you'll just make the banging stop!
God must still be talking to me, because out of the blue, the banging goes away only to be replaced with a high-pitch yell that sounds a lot like Rosalie . . . hell. Fucking hell! I must be in hell.
"Isabella Swan!"
I would rather my mama be here right now instead of Rosalie. She's mean and bossy and she hates drunk people.
Two seconds later, the blinds of my two bedroom windows are ripped open and I peek out of one eye to see perfectly-coiffed blonde hair sitting on top of a sasquatch that looks like it swallowed a basketball.
"What the hell, Rose?" I whine, my voice coming out gritty. Somehow it sounds exactly like it tastes—thick and hairy. I need to brush my teeth and scrape the fur off my tongue.
"Language!" Rose exclaims, holding the sides of her protruding stomach, like her unborn child just heard me say "hell", which is in the Bible, so it doesn't even count.
"Fuck!" I moan, rolling over and covering my eyes.
"Bella! Are you trying to send me into early labor?" she gasps. "What has gotten into you?"
"Nobody, lately," I answer.
"Lord, she does not mean the things she says," Rose says, praying on my behalf. "Tell Him you don't mean the things you say!"
"Stop it, Rose! You sound like my mama!"
"Why on earth were you at . . . the bar?" she asks, whispering the last part like someone's going to overhear. "Bella, if you need someone to talk to—or better yet, pray with you—I'm always here," she says, sitting down beside me on the bed. "No judging or anything," she says solemnly.
She softly brushes the hair off my forehead. She really does mean well.
"I know. And, I'm sorry if I got Emmett into trouble. It wasn't his fault that I went to the bar. I woulda gone regardless."
"I know. You've always been so stubborn and pig-headed, but it's one of the things I've always admired about you."
I sit straight up in bed and manage to open both eyes. "Did you just say you admired something about me?" Rosalie doesn't envy anyone; she's the envy of everyone. If it weren't for her being in so tight with the Big Guy, she'd probably flaunt that fact a lot more, but pride comes before the fall and all that shit.
"Hush. There are many things I admire about you," she says, swatting at me.
"Do tell!" I say, eagerly.
"No, I'm still mad at you," she says, turning to the side and crossing her arms over her belly.
"I'm sorry, Rose. How can I make it up to you?" I ask, knowing it's better to pay my penance now than to have Rose mad at me for the next month.
Turning back around, her face is glowing, as she smiles from ear to ear. "Say you'll come to the church picnic with me!"
"Not the church picnic! Anything besides that! Please!" I beg.
"You wouldn't deny a pregnant woman this one simple wish, would you? Besides, you just asked how you can make things up to me and that's my answer—church picnic." Her arms cross and her face goes back to the pout from a moment earlier. Damn, she's good.
"Fine."
She squeals and hugs me so tightly that I'm afraid I'm going to throw up all over her pretty pink dress.
"OK," she says, standing up, "I'll see you tomorrow!" She barely makes it out of my bedroom, before she pops her head back in. "Oh and you really should think about coming to church. I know your mama would love to see you there."
I roll my eyes and it only makes my head hurt worse.
"Oh, and wear a dress!" she yells back, as she's heading out the front door.
Looking down, I take inventory and realize that my shoes are off, but other than that, I'm still wearing the clothes I wore to the bar. I know my daddy worked last night, and there's no way my mama could carry me to bed, so that leaves . . . what's his name? Edgar? Shit! I'm really going to have a hard time facing him now. You'd think I'd be used to embarrassing myself, but apparently, I'm not.
A/Ns:
What was his name? Edgar? Edwin? ;)
Some of you have some very strong opinions already of our little story. We've had suggestions of killing off Jake and burying the body, and someone already flounced us because they can't even stand the thought of Bella being with Jake. In Bella's defense, Edwin or Edgar, or whatever his name is, has only been around for a short time. So, it's not like she chose Jake over Edward or anything like that.
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