Please don't leave
Don't leave me in the shape you left me
Please don't leave
Just leave me in the place you found me safe and soundly
~ Halsey, 1121
EPOV
Everyone had a breaking point. A point that should be respected, no matter how thin or thick of a line it was. Some people never hit that point; had the privilege that most longed for whether it be their money or health or family. Some people hit it so early they were broken for the rest of their lives. Others fought their entire goddamn lives until the weight of decades of repression and trauma became too much.
The blaring of the house security system still rang in my ears as I replayed the memory of my wife finally hitting hers. Her eyes, glassy and unfocused darted between the wall of awards in front of her. The broken window let in the freezing wind that broke me out of my own shocked daze before she could toss another award out the window.
I tried so hard to be good enough.
She was. More than enough. But as I sat her on the couch and tried to get her to take even one full breath I watched decades of hard work and dedication melt away as the sixteen-year-old who just wanted to be enough realized it was never going to happen. She would never be enough, no matter how hard she pushed herself. It wasn't enough for Lawrence, for the fans, for the tabloids, for her peers. Never enough.
She was always the one who married into the mob. The one who ended up in jail and rehab. She would always be the scapegoat or the name someone uttered whenever they wanted a few extra minutes with the mic.
Rolling my neck against the plush couch, I let the rage settle into my bones. Every single night that I spent listening to my wife cry would be added to the number of nights I listened to Nathan Lawrence beg for mercy. He would repay me for every time I had to see that haunted glaze in her eyes with a broken bone or missing extremity. Whatever I was in the mood for.
Not tonight. But soon. I wasn't known for my patience but Nathan Lawrence would leave my city fully intact this time.
The door opened and I watched as he tossed his key card onto the small table in the entry before flicking on the main light. To his credit, he didn't flinch when he found me lounging on his couch. Or when his eyes settled over the display of… cutlery on the table in front of me.
The fucker smirked. Went over to pour himself a glass of scotch from the minibar before taking a seat across from me. "Tell me, has she completely lost it yet?"
The metallic tang of my own blood filled my mouth as my teeth dug into my tongue to keep from replying. Or tearing him apart.
His lips twitched. "That good, huh? I do wish I had gotten to see it. Getting kicked out of The Academy was a nice twist I hadn't planned–"
"She left," I snapped.
Lawrence shrugged, taking a sip of his scotch before leaning forward. "That girl has craved validation from anyone who would pay her attention since she was sixteen. She didn't leave because she wanted to."
I swallowed back every vile insult that coated my throat. "Why are you doing this to her?"
"Because it's time she was put back in her place. Time she realized that I'm the reason she is where she is."
"That's all it is? Your ego is that fucking fragile that–"
"I found her!" he snapped. "I found her and she went on to win every goddamn award and I got nothing!"
It all clicked into place and I couldn't help but smile at the tiny, insignificant man across from me. "Never for any of your films, though."
A snarl rumbled in his throat.
I knew Bella's list of achievements backwards and forwards. She had won about every possible acting accolade there was, but the highest honors were never when she was working with Lawrence. Bella had an Academy Award named after her and Lawrence had a closet full of People's Choice Awards.
"There was never any bribe," I deduced, watching him squirm. He just needed a good headline to start his era of butchering Bella in the media. If his whole hang up was that he deserved the credit for discovering her, there couldn't have been a bribe.
Lawrence didn't answer, but he didn't have to. He was a petty, vindictive, shell of a man who couldn't accept that he wasn't good enough. Who was going to destroy the one good thing he had done in an effort to get the recognition he thought he deserved.
His eyes fell to the display of a few of my favorite recreational torture devices. An array of knives and plyers that could give me hours of entertainment with the right motivation. "She would never let you touch me."
I smiled over at him. Lawrence thought he knew her better than anyone, thought that documentary of his would be a success because of it. Nobody knew Bella like I did, though, and they never would. "Not yet."
Lawrence had the sense to swallow back his nerves as I stood and nodded down to the tools. "They're yours. As a reminder."
"A reminder of what?"
I stopped beside his chair and looked down at him. At the gray hair and surgically enhanced face, the cockiness that he would come out of this unscathed written all over him. "A reminder that you will not die a peaceful death. There will be no falling asleep and not waking up. There will be blood and agony that will last for days on end. And I will be there for every second of it."
I didn't bother waiting for his answer.
–Love|Power–
Aiden materialized beside me as soon as I walked in the front door, following me over to the minibar and refusing my offer of a glass of scotch. He drank on occasion, but never in excess. Not with his history.
"How is she?"
"How is he?" Aiden countered, a surprising amount of hostility in his voice. His integration into the family business had been slow and steady. After his initial reaction I wasn't willing to risk anything else. He had the disposition, the temperament, it was just a game of teaching him how to hone those instincts now.
"Fine."
"Fine?"
I shrugged, taking a sip of scotch. I knew what he was asking. "Alive."
"Why the fuck is he alive?"
If I were my father, I would have shut down his attitude immediately. Told him to mind his business and get back in line. Instead, I downed the rest of my drink and turned toward my son. "Because your mother gets to take the first shot."
"Mom is practically catatonic! He needs to–"
"He'll be taken care of in time. But Bella… she has this marvelous way of making anyone who fucks with her regret it for the rest of their lives. In a way far more public and brutal than what I–we–do."
It was phenomenal to watch. Bella had a way of extracting revenge that was so different from everything I had learned. I grew up under the mindset that bloodshed was the best way to send a message. Bella grew up and learned how to manipulate herself and everyone around her in order to come out on top.
I had done my fair share of exploitation over the years, but manipulating a few families in Chicago was child's play compared to orchestrating a return to the public after nearly going to prison for murder. And coming out on top.
"Dad, she's…"
I nodded. "I know."
She was broken. Trust didn't come easily to her and Lawrence was one of the few who had earned it. His betrayal wasn't going to be easy for her to come to terms with, if she ever did. I knew my wife, though, and I knew she always got the last word.
Still, I did appreciate Aiden's devotion to his mother. Because my son was a better person than I ever was, and this life didn't come easy to him at times. The ferocity with which he seemed to want Lawrence dead was a pleasant surprise.
"Your mother has been through a lot. She'll get through this. She just needs time." Aiden hesitated but nodded, heading home a few minutes later.
I expected Bella to already be asleep, or at least curled up in bed by the time I got to our room. Instead I saw her silhouette out on the patio outside our bedroom. I watched her for a few minutes; the even rise and fall of her shoulders with every breath she took, the puff of her breath in the cool Chicago air.
She was beautiful. The profile of her features against the gray night sky made my chest tighten. I could recognize the woman simply by the slope of her nose or curve of her chin. I could walk into a room and feel she was there before I ever laid eyes on her. I would burn the entire city to the ground to see her smile again.
There would always be a permanent knot of guilt in my chest for Bella. For the trial, for the constant gossip she endured because she proudly stood by my side. For the shooting and the surgeries and every sacrifice she made for me.
Every time she smiled at me, the guilt disappeared. For those few blissful seconds, that smile set everything right in the world. I hadn't seen it in the twelve days since Lawrence started this shit.
After spending a few minutes too long admiring her from afar I joined her on the patio, leaning over the railing beside her. When you had been together as long as we had, been through as much shit as us, words weren't always necessary. As soon as I was at her side, Bella wrapped her arm through mine and intertwined our fingers. We stood out in the cold for a good ten minutes before she spoke.
"I've been terrified of this my entire life," she admitted quietly. "These kinds of documentaries. You reach a certain level and they become inevitable, but I just always hated the idea of someone else telling my story. Twisting my words and making money off of it. It's why I started doing it myself at twenty. I thought if I did it first whoever tried to do it later down the line wouldn't have much else to say. He–Lawrence–he knew that. Knows it.
"And he'll use it against me. Say I did it to hide who I really was, hide us. It's true, to an extent. But the world doesn't need to know every fucking thing. I just…"
I watched Bella squeeze her eyes shut, watched her fight against the emotion she let swallow her whole yesterday. There wasn't anything I could say to make her feel better, to make the problem go away, so I settled on giving her hand a tight squeeze.
"I know he's always been… jealous. He hid it well, but I had seen hints of it every now and then. I never thought he would take it this far. He–he threw a little graduation party for me on set when I finished high school. He's sent me flowers for my birthday every year since I turned seventeen. He–"
When her voice cracked I tugged her against my chest, tucking her head underneath my chin. "I know," I sighed, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Say the word, Isabella, and I will destroy him."
It was a purely selfish offer. Because as much as I wanted her to make him pay in her own way, I wanted nothing more than the instant satisfaction that would be getting rid of the bastard tonight. I knew my wife, though. Lawrence thought he knew her, but he had no idea what she was capable of. If he did, he would have begged me to finish the job before she could. "After you're finished with him, that is."
Bella pulled away just enough to frown up at me. "I'm done, Edward. I can't…"
I lifted her chin, brushed my thumb over her lips. "Yes, you can."
"I…"
"I had no idea," I breathed out, not entirely on purpose. My eyes met my wife's though, those big brown eyes that I would follow into a fire, and I held nothing back. "Half of the shit you went through before we met, I had no idea. Everytime I think about you being stuck in a conservatorship…" It was more than that damn conservatorship. It was the long hours and the constant injuries on set and the fact that she did it all with a fucking smile on her face. At sixteen.
"I know you've never wanted everyone to know everything, But if they knew more about what you went through to get to where you are… to become who you are… I don't think anyone would be able to say you didn't earn your place."
Bella was quiet, contemplating what I said before her shoulders fell. "I have nothing left, Edward. No production company, label… if they don't want my name tainting the company they're sure as hell not going to want me to release anything under them."
"Fuck them," I shrugged. "No one wanted you to release any of your films. Peter told me you had a whole EP written and recorded and his label said it was too much before you started on Badlands. Do whatever you want, tell your story however you want, without the constraints of a label or studio."
"That's… not really how it works."
I smiled over at her. "You've never done anything the traditional way."
Bella got quiet again, her fingers twisting my well-worn wedding band around my finger. She still needed time, I knew that. But she also needed that little push to know she wasn't alone. After another few minutes of tranquil silence, Bella squeezed herself between me and the railing. She smiled up at me, a soft timid smile that made everything right again. I cupped her cheek, my thumb brushing along the slope of her cheekbone.
I had spent thirty plus years with the woman, and she still took my breath away. Thanks to whatever expensive creams were always littering our bathroom counter, she didn't look nearly as old as she was. Not in the fake, surgical way Lawrence had halted his aging. But in a naturally beautiful way that she had been graced with. There were a few little wrinkles around her eyes, especially when she smiled. And I had been sworn to secrecy about the subtle highlights she got in her hair to hide the three gray strands she found a few years ago. But she was still the most beautiful fucking woman I had ever laid eyes on.
My palms rubbed up and down her biceps, toned and firm thanks to her inability to ever sit still. She was in an old cardigan of mine, but it wasn't nearly enough to keep her warm out here. Before I could tell her as much, she reached up on her toes and pressed her lips to mine once, twice, three times.
"I love you," she whispered.
I smiled down at her, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose. "I love you."
Bella's arms wrapped around my neck, all of the tension that had been trapped inside seeming to evaporate into the winter night. "I think," she sighed, lips brushing against my jaw. "I think I'd like to stop thinking for a while."
My lips tugged to the side as I leaned down to lift her up by her thighs before she could say another word. She whimpered against my kiss, her legs tightening around my waist as I carried her inside.
We had it down to a fine art, and it was only a matter of moments before I had her naked and decidedly not thinking. My tongue ran over my name, forever etched into her hip. My palm squeezed her ribs, over the forest inked into her side while my tongue traced every tattoo that littered her arms. From the rose on her shoulder to the line of awards on her wrist to the matchstick on her forearm.
It was the first tattoo she ever got, the matchstick. It was unlit, and she had promised herself that once she reached her full potential, once she made it, she would light it.
There was still no flame.
With a smooth thigh thrown over my shoulder and her nails scratching my scalp, I took my time tasting her. Bringing her to the edge only to slowly pull her back before doing it all over again. The tiny little whimper she let out as I slid inside of her, the same one I had been listening to for thirty years, set everything right. With every whimper and desperate kiss, with each time her nails dug into my back or her legs tightened around my waist, our world fell back into place.
It was hours later that I heard her quietly slink out of bed. I listened to her pull on my discarded button down and felt her press a kiss to my bare shoulder before her feet started padding down the stairs.
I gave her a three minute head start before I followed. I found her in her office, sitting in front of her piano. She sat there for seventeen minutes, fingers sometimes hesitating over the keys. She closed the top over the keys half a dozen times before she finally let her fingers sink down.
You knew the password so I let you in the door
You knew you won so what's the point of keeping score?
You knew it still hurts underneath my scars
From when they pulled me apart
But what you did was just as dark
Darling, this was just as hard
As when they pulled me apart
–Love|Power–
Bella spent the following day sequestered in her office, the soft melodic twinkling of her piano floating through the house. She had told me to soundproof the room a few dozen times, but the noise never bothered me. It was the sound of home to me.
I didn't have a childhood full of comfort or coddling. By the age of twelve I was working with Carlisle and Esme was actively avoiding the subject. I didn't come home from school to fresh baked cookies and we didn't go on family vacations for fun. I came home to Carlisle teaching me how to get away with murder and our vacations were usually business orientated.
There was nothing comforting about my childhood, no homey feeling I could have hoped to recreate in my adult life. But I had a pretty little brunette with a habit of making music at all hours of the night and she was all the comfort I needed.
It was the early afternoon by the time she emerged from her office and silently took a seat on the couch beside me. I tossed my computer onto the coffee table and she immediately pressed herself into my side, her head leaning on my shoulder. Her voice was quiet and resigned when she finally spoke. "I never stood a chance."
"At what?"
"At not turning out as fucked up as I am."
"You're not—"
"I have this uncontrollable need to make everyone happy. Everyone. Even if it means I work myself into the hospital. I try so hard to make people like me it's pathetic. And I—I got it into my head at nineteen that awards meant everything. They meant I was enough. That as long as I had won an Oscar within the last five years I was doing something right." Bella scoffed at herself, turning toward me with glassy, angry eyes. "Do you know how fucked up that is? Some of the most talented actors never even get nominated and I was out there collecting them like baseball cards like an insecure child."
I bit my tongue, keeping my own thoughts on the subject to myself for now. "Do you even like it? Acting, songwriting…Did you ever even like it?"
"I love it," she whispered, her voice cracking.
Grabbing her chin, I lifted it so her eyes met mine. Sad brown eyes I would do anything to see happy. "So do it for yourself. Write what you want. Put out what you want. And show the girl that got thrown to the sharks when she was sixteen that she's always been more than enough."
Hesitation stained her eyes. "I'm not good at…moderation. And I don't think I could handle it if people didn't like what I put out. If they're truly done with me now that Lawrence is ready to pull the trigger."
"Fuck Lawrence. Fuck everyone else. Put it out because you like it. Because it's your story to tell and no one else's."
She still wasn't convinced, her eyes too scared to show any hope. I pressed a kiss to her cheek, leaning back against the couch. "Or we could be on a plane to the island within the hour and never come back."
Bella sighed, returning her head to rest against my shoulder. "That sounds nice."
I pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Had I known what the next day would bring, I would have done just that.
A/N: Italicized lyrics in the middle of the chapter are from Hoax by Taylor Swift. Hope you enjoyed this one, any guesses as to what's coming?