A/N Mac beta'd this because she's awesome.
Facebook Status: sometimes it's okay to go ass to mouth.
"I guess it runs in the family," Charlie said, a tremor cracking his voice. He handed the cab driver a messy wad of bills and helped me out of the car.
"Guh?" I squinted, sunlight refracting from the imposing glass building right into my retinas.
Shit fucking burned. I swallowed my nerves, the mess of bile that rose from my esophagus into my throat.
"The metal detectors. You know, in airport security?"
Right. I'd forgotten. Thank god airport security didn't search my underwear this time. I hated the snapping sound of a rubber glove. "Dad, you set them off because of the garden shears in your pocket," I reminded him. "I activated them because I'm like the Bermuda Triangle - some sort of freakish black hole for electromagnetic activity."
Charlie smiled tersely and offered me his hand. I shook my head. My feet were unsteady, but they were my own; I needed to learn how to stand on them. I shuffled beside him, taking several clumsy steps for each one of his strides. "And while we're on the topic, what the fuck is up with those rusty shears? You have a disturbing fixation on cutting off Phil's balls. Get that shit in check before we speak to the detective."
The blood drained from his face at the mention of Phil's name. I grabbed his hand and squeezed, not because I needed it - because he did.
"Besides," I added for my own brand of fucked-up levity. "I think the shears are too fucking nice. Child molesters should be human centipede'd to one another."
"Do I want to know what that means?" he asked, letting go of my hand to hold the door for me.
"Um, you know the saying about going ass to mouth? Imagine that enforced through mad science surgery."
"Nope. Don't wanna know."
"Probably not," I agreed.
I took his hand again and drew in a deep breath, steeling myself for the impending ordeal of documenting several years of abuse. "Relax, Bells," he said, and I sat down in the general waiting area, staring at the cracked vinyl seats. I didn't want to think about the other people waiting, like me - why they were here and what they'd gone through. I occupied my mind by attempting to decipher pictures in the stains on the chairs.
Charlie spoke quietly to one of the officers behind the desk, and I covered my ears, trying to drown out the noise in my head; the sound only amplified.
His tone changed suddenly to that of an angry growl, and he grabbed a bundle of paper off the desk and marched back to me.
"We'll have to wait a bit," Charlie apologized, handing me a clipboard and a pen. "Officer Dumbass over there said you need to fill this junk out before anyone will speak to us."
I cocked my head and squinted at Officer Dumas' nametag. "I think it's pronounced do-mah . . . you know, like Alexandre Dumas."
"Nope, it's Dumbass. I really wanted to get this over with."
"I don't mind waiting, Dad. Calm down, okay?" I motioned for him to sit beside me, but he stomped his heavy boots impatiently again the linoleum. I really fucking hated linoleum. "Hey, do you think they'll bring me a doll to demonstrate where the bad man touched me?" I quipped, clicking the pen.
"Not funny, Bella."
"Because I'd kinda like a Smurf if I'm offered a choice."
"Enough."
"You're no fun."
I bit my nails and got to work. The first several minutes were spent filling out forms and waiting, which made it easy to pretend I was getting my license renewed or some shit. Charlie finally sat beside me but shifted uncomfortably in his seat, getting up every few minutes to pace a circle around the bank of chairs.
My phone buzzed suddenly in my pocket, and I squealed in surprise.
"You alright there?"
"Yeppers."
The screen indicated a call coming in from E. Cullen.
"I'm gonna take this call, okay?"
"Can't it wait? They could call you in any second."
"Relax, Dad," I said gently. "Get yourself a coffee."
He grunted in acquiescence, and I slid my thumb along the screen to answer the call. "Edward?" I said, walking away from the main reception for a bit of privacy.
"Uh, no," a deep voice replied. "This is Emmett."
Riiiiiight. Well, shit. "Um, hey." I bit my lip. Answering my phone was clearly a lapse in judgement. I didn't have time to deal with this. "Yeah, so, hi . . . look, I know you don't know me but-"
"I know you." Emmett laughed, a booming, infectious sound that made me smile. "You've got my little brother spun. Dude, you must be a hot piece of ass. Wanna send me a pic?"
I rolled my eyes. "Yeah. I have monster tits and a pencil-thin waist. Not to mention an ass that won't quit . . . doing whatever it is that asses do. Hey, you'd know about what asses do, being one yourself."
"Bitch, that's cold. What did I ever do to you?"
"Nothing, buddy, but you hurt a friend of mine. Which we totally need to talk about, but now isn't a good time."
"Fuck that shit," Emmett replied, his voice friendly despite his words. "Ask Eddie - I've never hurt a fly. If anything, I should be pissed off at you for messing with my brother."
"I love your brother, asshole. This isn't about him. We need to talk about Rosalie."
"Nah," he replied, his voice turning cold. "Let's talk about Eddie."
"Hoes before bros," I retorted.
"Ho is right."
"Oh my fucking god, you need to get your head out of your ass for a second and listen to me." And just like that, I thought about the Human Centipede again and cursed Netflix for enticing me to watch crappy torture porn. "She didn't cheat on you."
"Fuck that. She did. Ask her."
"She didn't. That Boyce or Roy guy-"
"Royce," he interrupted, hissing like a kettle.
"Right. Royce." Stupid name. "He raped her. I'm sorry for being so blunt, but I'm kind of in the middle of something, and I needed to tell you before-"
"What? Don't fucking lie to me." Now he growled like a bear. Edward's brother made some really strange noises.
"I'm not. He did. She lied about it because she was ashamed about what happened to her. You need to speak to her. I'm pretty sure she misses your sorry ass."
"Even if it's true . . . she hates me. She won't listen to anything I have to say."
"Well . . . do you still love her?"
"I dunno . . . no. Well, yeah. Shit." He made a pathetic sobbing sound followed by a cough.
"Emmett, I've spoken to you for like three minutes now, and I like you very much. You're a no nonsense fucker, which I totally appreciate. I'm also very blunt. Here's my advice to you: go see Rosalie. Get her to tell you the truth and apologize like a little bitch."
"But-"
I ended the call because Charlie waved his arms at me to come back. An officer stood beside him, both men looking expectantly at me.
To paraphrase the fabulous Tallahassee from Zombieland: it was time to nut up or shut up.
-({})-
"What can I do, baby?" Charlie asked helplessly while I sobbed, a heavy darkness shrouding my head despite the eerie yellow glow from the motel lamp. I curled into a ball on the bed and keened into my arms. I'd lost language. I could only communicate in sorrow.
Charlie patted my back carefully, like I could break if he used too much pressure.
I was already broken.
"You did good, Bells. I'm proud of you."
In what universe did I do well?
"I- I didn't explain it right," I managed between snot-sobs. "They think I wanted it."
"No, baby. They don't. The officer just thinks statutory rape will be easier to prove."
I meant to tell him 'fuck that shit' but instead, I howled - a loud, primal sound.
"Shit," he muttered and grabbed my phone.
On any other day, I would have rochambeau'd a man for touching my precious iPhone.
I closed my eyes, squirming on the bed, a heavy force holding me in place. The weight, the terror, it would never end. I still felt him still. Phil. My albatross. The heft of his rigid limbs, his knees and hands like concrete blocks biting into my flesh.
Bruising. I was still bruising.
"Bella?"
"Go away," I rasped, rolling onto my side and finding some relief as I cuddled a pillow.
Charlie put the phone to my ear.
"Bella?"
"Edward?" I gasped. "How did you find me here in the bowels of this despair?"
"Oh, baby . . . I should've gone with you," he whispered miserably.
"I don't want you to see me like this."
"I can't see you; we're on the phone."
"Right. Well, I don't want you to hear me like this. I'm in the throes of a breakdown. You don't need to know how psychotic I really am."
"You're not psychotic." He took a deep breath, and I pressed the phone fast against my ear, luxuriating in the sound. It reminded me of when we cuddled and his mouth would graze my neck.
"I don't have normal reactions to things," I argued.
"Bullshit. What's normal? All reactions are subjective. How can normal exist when there is no objective reality? We are all the sum of our reactions, and you have every right to feel what you're feeling."
"Guh?"
"I've been spending a lot of time with Dr. Banner." His voice sounded sheepish. "In my quest to become normal he's been challenging me to define it. I can't."
"Edward." I wiped the tears off my cheeks and rolled onto my back. "I don't want you to be anything other than who you are."
"You said you won't be with me until I'm better. I'm trying to be better." Fuck, he sounded so young. Did I do that to him?
"We need to talk. I'll be home tomorrow."
"Don't say that. Please? I love you. We don't need to talk," he insisted, his voice taking on a manic edge that sounded too much like me.
"We do. It's not bad. I promise . . . I love you too."
A/N - I'd like to just say I love you guys for reading this story and having an open mind; the subject matter is a little difficult to deal with at times. It's difficult to write. Thank you for reviewing! My confidence is really crap most of the time, and the encouragement means more than I can express.
Spanking the Monkey! Check my profile for the link to the contest page. There are twenty submissions already in the spank bank! Read them!
Gigglesnort Awards: Stigmata is nominated along with some of my favourite stories.
Shadow will be updated next. It's also on the ballot for Fic of the Week over on The Lemonade Stand. So is Yesternight by Pastiche Pen which you should totally read. Actually, you should just read everything she's ever written and posted.