They ain't perfect.

Take 'em or leave 'em.

21
- every ugly truth, part 2 -

I feel like the wind has been knocked out of me after Edward says he doesn't think I love him as much as he loves me.

I'm empty.

He doesn't know I'm nothing without him and I've never felt so fucking low.

"You don't really believe that?" I ask, my heart shattering from what I put us through.

"What am I supposed to think? You filed for divorce. You left your ring behind. Do you even know what your leaving did to me?" he asks, genuine, raw agony on his handsome face.

"No," I whisper, shaking my head.

"I slept on the couch for months because I couldn't be in our bed without you. It wasn't until you fucking texted hi on Christmas Eve that I even knew you were alive and okay and safe," he says bitterly. "Do you know what that does to a person? Not even knowing where the fuck your wife is?"

I'm crying so hard I feel like I can't breathe. I try to stand, but he wraps his arms around me, firm and tight, keeping me on his lap.

He's not letting me run.

I wasn't going to leave, not really, I just thought he'd want space for this conversation, but it's the opposite, I guess.

He wants us to be immersed in this. To see my every tear, hear every sobbing, aching gasp. He's not a masochist, though.

He's a broken man who needs to see that I'm vulnerable and hurting and that I do love him.

I do.

He needs to know this more than anything so he can heal.

So we both can.

Squeezing me harder, I realize that maybe he's not trying to keep me from running. I think he's trying to physically hold me together. To give me the strength I'm lacking for this conversation.

"No. No, I don't know what my leaving did to you," I finally choke out. "I couldn't have known what it would do to you because if I truly did, I wouldn't have done it."

"But you did," he says, simple and sad.

I think about the motives of why I did so many awful things, but the excuses are locked up tight in my chest.

Logic didn't guide any of my decisions over this last year.

My battered heart is to blame.

I inhale a shaky breath, an attempt to collect myself. "I was prideful. I was mad at myself for getting us into this situation. I was mad at you for allowing it to happen, too. For both of us being so fucking stupid and naïve," I cry. "I was hurting. I wanted you to hurt, too. It's fucked up, I know."

He accepts this, but I can tell he doesn't like hearing any of it because what it boils down to is bad communication.

There is no scandal on either of our parts.

No falling out of love.

No shift in priorities or seeking greener grass.

Our marriage is failing because of miscommunication and pride.

"Leaving you made sense at the time when rage was fueling my decisions, but now I just… I hate myself," I mumble through my tears.

"I don't want you to hate yourself, baby."

"Well… I do."

"Don't, Bella. I'm not telling you any of this to place all of the blame on you," he admits. "But for the longest time, I didn't understand how you could be so upset with me. I slept with Maria because you wanted me to."

"It's not that simple," I stress. "I was upset because you chose her, Edward. Because you knew her and still had to see her and work with her. I was mad because we didn't fully think it through."

"That's exactly why I chose her—because I knew her. I wasn't trying to manipulate you or be nefarious about my decision. Choosing a stranger would've been risky because how would we know they're not going to run and spew bullshit about me online? You and I both knew she found me attractive. And yes, objectively speaking, I found her attractive too. I'll admit I should've made that clear before we got into all of that, and I'm sorry I didn't," he says gently. "There was never a part of me that thought about sleeping with her before you expressed that the idea turned you on. And there was zero fucking part of me that wanted to do it again after."

"But when she suggested we stay longer at the hotel, you wanted to," I remind him because if we're going to hash this out, I need to bring up everything.

"Yeah, but I said I'd take care of only you," he clarifies. "I had no urge to touch her again. I actually felt kind of sick after I had sex with her, that's why I rushed into the bathroom so quickly. I needed a fucking minute to get my head straight. In a weird way, I felt like I'd… fucking betrayed you, even though we talked about it beforehand. I wanted to make you happy, though. And I truly thought I had."

"But…" I clench my eyes closed, letting images that haunt me appear behind my lids. When the sight becomes too painful to replay, I look at him, my gaze watery. "It seemed like you wanted her so fucking bad. You didn't even look at me when you started having sex with her," I cry harder. "It's like… it's like I wasn't even there. Like I was a bystander and you used my kink as an excuse to fuck someone else."

His face falls, concern creasing his features. "That wasn't it at all. I did look at you, but you wouldn't meet my eyes. And I stupidly fucking thought you were just taking it all in, wanted to watch our bodies… I don't know." He sighs. "It wasn't because I was dying to fuck her. I swear to God."

"But… you were touching her and… your face… your eyes were closed," I remind him, because yeah, I fucking remember it all.

"Because I was thinking of you the entire time," he stresses. "If I hadn't closed my eyes, right now you'd be sitting here and accusing me of checking out her body, Bella. It's a lose-lose situation for me. I closed my eyes, and you were all I saw. When I touched her, I was thinking about what you like. What turns you on. And I honestly thought watching me fuck her did just that for you," he says, sincerity dripping from his tone. "You spent two years getting off on the idea of me and someone else. I really thought it was okay. I thought it was what you wanted. I trusted that, baby."

It's slowly adding up. The desire I saw on his face was for me. The connection I thought I felt between them wasn't actually there. He was turning his love and lust for me into passion for her. To make me happy. To give me what he thought I wanted.

"I know I was being unfair and insecure, but… I wasn't even touching myself when you fucked her," I mumble. "How did you not notice I was dying inside?"

"Yeah, but you were touching yourself before that. I thought you'd speak up if you didn't like it. We both agreed we would. I honestly thought you were into it, and I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry I didn't pick up on those vibes or look at you the whole time. I should've kept that connection between us. But I swear, when it started I was just… beside myself with shock that it was happening, and shame that we'd let this happen at all. If I could go back, I wouldn't have done it. It wasn't fucking worth it. I regret it more than anything."

I hear his honesty.

See his sincerity.

Feel his faithfulness.

And I believe him.

I do.

"I regret it, too." I wipe my cheeks and inhale shakily, shrugging. "It was a fantasy that never should've been a reality."

Even if he looks slightly relieved by my words, I can tell he knows this is far from over.

We sit silently in our mutual shame.

Our shared guilt.

I rest my head on his shoulder. "Will you tell me exactly what you told Maria that night at the bar?" I whisper.

"I told her we'd been fighting for a couple of months and you left me. That you were too hurt after everything, and that you thought I was into her. She felt like shit, and admitted that she only agreed to let that night happen because she assumed it would turn into a threesome. Apparently, she was more interested in being with you than me…"

"Oh," I say, slightly embarrassed. "You never told me that. Maybe I would've felt less threatened by her if you had."

He laughs humorlessly. "She came onto you. I thought it was obvious. And I would've told you, but you were avoiding my calls and texts. When was I supposed to tell you? And would it have really changed your mind?"

"Probably not," I admit, lifting my head.

He looks appreciative of my honesty.

"She also said I was a dumbass, which wasn't a lie," he says with a self-deprecating smile before turning deadly serious. "I shouldn't have let you go. And she's right. I should've fought harder to make you understand that I didn't do any of that for her, but I did it for you. She could've been anyone, and the experience wouldn't have changed for me. Please understand that."

He says it so easily, so truthfully. His honest words and explanations are like a balm to my heart.

Before now, I wasn't able to see his side or hear his reasoning because I was so far gone, too insecure, too rattled from my mistake of sharing my husband with another.

It's still gray, but at the end of the day, it was my fantasy. That doesn't mean Edward's reactions and lack of understanding didn't play into all of this, too. But I have to own up to the fact that we wouldn't be here—in this devastating place in our marriage—if it weren't for me.

So yeah, I hate myself but for some strange reason, there's a sense of healing present, too.

Edward kisses my shoulder and watches me intently, his eyes soft and somber when fresh tears stream down my cheeks.

"Hey," he murmurs. "Baby, it's okay."

I look at him through my blurred gaze. "Is it? Do you even know why all of this started?"

"Why what started?"

"This stupid fucking kink of mine."

"I don't know. Because… because you enjoyed the idea of me with another woman?"

I sniffle and shake my head. "I think it started because I was too insecure over not getting pregnant. That brought up so many feelings of failure and… and I thought you were going to leave me one day. I thought… I thought if I controlled the situation and let you have a free pass with someone, you'd have a reason to stay instead of eventually stray."

He looks confused like it's the most ridiculous thing he's heard. "Bella, what?"

"The idea of you choosing someone else over me did turn me on in a weird, sick way that I didn't want to fully try to understand, but… I don't know." I hiccup. "I don't know. Maybe I'm fucked up."

The genuine concern on his expression breaks me, and I press my face against his neck and cry. He runs a soothing hand over the back of my head.

"I'm fucked up," I say again.

"Shhh. You're not fucked up," he reassures me.

"But I'm not normal?" I mumble against his skin. "I didn't really want you to fuck someone, but I didn't know that until I made you do it."

He gently grabs the back of my neck and pulls me away so he can look at me. "First of all, you didn't make me do anything. But… were you testing me? Offering the chance to fuck someone to see if I'd take it? Or what?"

I wipe my cheeks. "No? Maybe subconsciously? I just wanted some control. I thought if you were going to eventually stray, the least I could do was be in charge of it. But when it all started, I realized I had no control. I was… powerless. Alone," I admit. He still looks concerned, but I also see some spark of realization in his eyes. Like it's finally adding up for him. "I need to talk to someone. Go to therapy. I know I do."

"Yeah, you need to work through some stuff, sure. We both do. But this isn't your fault. You aren't the way you are just because. There are reasons. And you're recognizing it, and you're going to work through it. It's a start," he says, tender and supportive. "Regardless of what you thought, you're not alone, Bella. You have me. You always will, in whatever capacity you need."

I think his words were meant to be comforting but they do the opposite.

They spark dread in me.

"In whatever capacity I need?" I echo, fear guiding me now. "I need you as my person. My husband. My partner. I need you for life, but now… now I'm scared there's too much damage to be us again." His gaze falls, and he doesn't answer me right away. "I know I ruined you. I turned you into this shell of a person because I'm a coward and I'm selfish and—" I can feel my chin tremble when I say, "I'm so fucking sorry, Edward. For everything."

If he accepts this, he doesn't tell me. So I go on, confessing my own series of apologies the same way he did.

"I'm sorry for leaving you like that. For thinking you had your own agenda with Maria. I'm sorry for making you feel like you had to choose between me and your career," I sniffle, my face hot and sticky, remorse and shame helping me open up. "I'm sorry for pushing you away. God, that really backfired because it hurt me, too. I don't sleep. I barely eat, and drink too much to numb the pain. I'm a shell of a person too, but right now, I feel fucking whole." I grab his face so he truly hears me. "Despite how heartbroken I am right now, I feel whole because I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you. I always have. And the thing I'm the sorriest about—the thing I'll never forgive myself for—is making you ever believe I stopped."

He stares back at me, searching my face. Searching for truth.

Sadness and forgiveness and uncertainty all war on his expression.

Forgiveness wins out.

And then his lips crash against mine.