Lol not me chugging a fucking White Claw to post this.
let the record show that I'm only updating because it's still technically JentheBaker's birthday and I want to thank her for her constant support! Happy Birthday, Jennifer!
And to y'all... thanks for reading.
Some mistakes are mine. The rest are Edward and Bella's.
26
- deep cuts -
Edward POV
Bella leaves the bathroom.
I don't go after her because I'm fucking scared.
She's not going to forgive me.
I barely fucking forgive myself.
I hear her opening and slamming drawers in her bedroom, so I follow the sound. She doesn't look at me. She's pulling on a shirt and her towel is on the bed, so I grab it and wrap it around my waist to cover myself.
"Bella," I whisper as she grabs a pair of shorts. "I'm so—"
She slams the drawer so fucking hard that everything on top of the dresser rattles, and a few items fall to the floor.
Silence.
She doesn't say a single fucking word, but she's crying, even as she pulls on her shorts. Tears stream down her cheeks but she keeps frantically wiping them like they're frustrating. Like she doesn't want to cry. Like she doesn't want to break down.
"Say something," I beg.
She turns to face me, her expression dark and fragile. "Okay. Get the fuck out."
"No."
A mixture of surprise and hatred flashes over her face at my resistance. But I know if I leave, she'll run. I know if I go and we don't talk about this right the fuck now, it'll be over.
Our marriage will be over.
"Go," she urges. "I don't want you here anymore. I don't even want to look at you."
"I'll tell you everything. Whatever you want to know."
I don't know if this will make things better or worse, but I'm willing to be honest about this part now.
Her eyes narrow but she doesn't tell me to get the fuck out again.
I step closer to her. I'm pushing her boundaries, I know. But I need to touch her. Hold her. Maybe it's risky because she looks so fucking sad and mad, but I don't care if she hurts me physically. She can hit me. Slap me. She did it once and I took it because I knew I fucking deserved it.
For everything she knew about.
And for everything she didn't.
If she hits me again, I'd accept it.
She could hurt me back emotionally, too. Deceive me. Fuck someone else. Make me watch, or do it behind my back. Both would fucking kill me, but I'd accept that as well. My fucking punishment. My penance.
When I reach for her, she steps back and shakes her head.
"Baby, I'm so, so fucking sorry." My voice breaks. More silence. "What do you want to know? Say something."
"I don't think you want to hear what I have to fucking say to you right now, Edward."
"You're wrong," I tell her. "I want to know everything. What you think. How you feel. What—"
"I think you're a lying fucking bastard," she interrupts, her features creasing with more pain. Pain that I fucking brought her. "And I feel like…" Her tears come faster now. "I feel like you never loved me."
"I do fucking love you," I confess, voice low and fierce.
"I feel like… like the last day with you was so healing. It wasn't perfect but it was perfect for us, and we were supposedly honest and vulnerable and now it just…" Her gaze grows distant. "It feels like I was naive and desperate. We were impulsive. It doesn't feel real. None of this is real."
I open my mouth to speak but she doesn't stay to listen to excuses or apologies.
She tries to walk out of the room.
I reach for her arm, fingers grasping her elbow.
She pulls out of my grip and spins around, glaring at me.
"No," she says firmly, shoving my chest with both hands. "You don't get to call the shots right now or put your hands on me or make me listen to your bullshit. Not anymore."
"It's not bullshit, Bella. I do love you. It's been you since the day we met," I stress, feeling that truth in my fucking bones. There's nothing in her eyes or in her expression that lets me think she believes me. "I've had your ring in my pocket for the last day waiting for the right moment to give it back to you. Waiting for the right moment to ask you to wear it again."
Her chin trembles as she stares at the floor. "Don't tell me that. Don't fucking tell me that. I don't want to hear it."
"It's true. It's all I want."
She looks at me like she doesn't know me when she says, "Put your fucking clothes on and meet me in the kitchen."
Without another word, she walks down the hall.
I stay where I am. I can't think straight. I don't know what the fuck is about to happen to us.
A minute later, I hear a crash.
I start to go see what it was, but she walks back into the room, throws my clothes at me, and leaves again.
I quickly get dressed and find her at the kitchen table with wet eyes, one tumbler, and my favorite bottle of whiskey. I scan the area for destruction and see the peonies I left on her doorstep are now on the floor—broken glass and flowers drowning in a puddle of water.
I go to clean it up but she stops me.
"Leave it," she demands. "Sit." She pours a little whiskey into the tumbler and shoots it back, wincing. "You're going to tell me everything."
I sit across from her, ready to do what she wants.
She fills the bottom of her glass with more amber liquid and slides it toward me. Some whiskey sloshes over the side because she pushed it so hard.
"Everything," she says again, firmer.
I can see the way her chin trembles. I notice the slight shake in her hands. She's breaking, trying so hard to hold it together. I want to pull her into my lap and breathe her in and tell her it didn't mean shit to me. No one means anything to me but her.
I wasn't lying when I said she's my life.
It's true.
She left and my world was wrecked.
She left and nothing mattered.
She left and nothing brought her back.
It didn't matter how many times I called her. How many times I texted that I missed her and wanted her to come home.
It didn't matter that I looked for her. That I reached out to everyone we knew to find out where she was.
No one had a clue.
I spent night after night after night after night thinking about her. Missing her. Loving her. Fucking crying over her.
But I was also pissed at what was happening to us. There was an underlying rage.
Fuck her fuck her fuck her.
Despite my anger, I just wanted her home. Wanted her to reach out to me. Wanted us to put this all behind us.
If I tell her any of that, I doubt she'd believe me. And that's my fucking fault for not trying harder when it mattered.
But I drink the whiskey in one go, and my words come out in a rush.
Apologies and explanations.
It was one time.
One stupid, fucked-up time.
It was after she sent the divorce papers.
I was drunk.
Fucking heartbroken.
Confused.
I didn't know what was going on with us. Didn't know how she could leave me and file for divorce without so much as a word.
To me, sending the papers was her way of telling me it was over. That she didn't want me. She wasn't even giving me a chance to respond or fight for us.
But that was her way of asking me to fight. That was her way of begging me to come find her.
I didn't realize that until after I had already fucked up.
I had the divorce papers for a week before I told Maria about them. She was the only person who knew about what was really going on with Bella and me.
I went to her place and drank too much. I was wallowing. Dying inside.
Maria didn't have any words of advice. She just let me vent. Let me feel shitty and sorry for myself.
I didn't want to go home to an empty house, so she offered to let me crash on her couch for the night.
She went to bed.
I couldn't sleep.
And then her roommate Kim came home.
The two of us drank more.
She was making me laugh.
Distracting me.
She made me feel like my life wasn't crumbling for one fucking minute.
She—
"Stop," Bella cries.
Her head is in her hands and her shoulders shake.
Tears burn my eyes and I crouch beside her, trying to pull her hands away from her face even though I fucking hate seeing her like this.
She recoils from my touch and drops her hands, looking at me with disgust.
"I want to know everything… nothing," she sniffles.
I solemnly nod, waiting for her to decide. "Okay."
"Did you stay the night with her? Sleep in her bed?"
I swallow. "No. I left. I went home after that. I didn't want to stay."
"You got what you wanted and left. Convenient," she says flatly.
"It wasn't like that…"
"Then what the fuck was it like, Edward? Huh?"
"I don't know. It wasn't planned. It was a stupid, impulsive decision to make myself feel better for, like, a fucking minute. I hated myself during and after," I admit. "I still do."
"Oh, you poor fucking thing," she snaps. "Believe it or not, I just can't find it in me to feel sorry for you."
"I know," I agree seriously. "I don't expect or want you to."
"So you supposedly left, but did she want you to stay the night? Did she think… like… it was a thing?" Some tears slip down her cheeks again. "Did you get her number?"
"No, to all of that. I never saw or talked to her again."
"Uh-huh," she says sarcastically.
She doesn't believe me, but I don't expect her to. "That was the first and last time I ever went to Maria's house."
"I'm surprised good ole Maria didn't try to join y'all for a threesome," Bella says with a disgusted frown. "Or maybe she did. What else are you keeping from me?"
"Nothing, baby," I say as soft and earnest and truthful as I can. "I'm keeping nothing else from you."
She shakes her head and drinks more whiskey. "When did Maria find out about all of this?"
"A few days later. Kim told her. And Maria was pissed at me."
"Why the fuck would she care? Because she wants you all for herself?"
"No. It's not like that at all. She knew it was a mistake. She said I'd fucked up and that it wasn't who I was and she knew I didn't want to be that person."
Bella scoffs a laugh. "Because Maria knows you so fucking well."
"She knew I was fucked up over you. And that I still loved and missed you more than anything. So yeah, doing that was out of character for me and she called me on that."
"Whatever," Bella mutters. "Just… stop. Stop for a second."
We fall silent.
I wait for her to speak, and when she does, her sadness shifts to anger again.
"Did you even wear a fucking condom?" she hisses. "Should I be worried about STDs or that you might have a kid out there now?"
"I wore one," I say with unwavering certainty. "Please, please, please don't worry about any of that…"
"Was it yours or hers?" she asks.
"What?"
"Did you have the fucking condom on you, Edward, or did Kim provide it?" she clarifies, and I hate hearing Kim's name come out of my wife's mouth.
"It wasn't mine. I didn't have condoms. I never bought any... I didn't need—"
"And why would I believe that? Believe any of this? After you fucking lied?" she spits. "You had the chance to tell me the truth last night. I asked you point fucking blank if you could say you hadn't slept with anyone either, and you chose not to tell me. Why? Why the fuck did you do that to me? To us?"
The truth: "It's awful, but I was scared. I regretted that night and it meant nothing," I murmur. "I knew I'd fucked up, but I didn't want another mistake to define us. I didn't want you to leave me again."
She pours more; drinks more. "You were so… adamant. Sickeningly adamant. No one else, no one else…" She repeats and dissolves into more tears. "A blip? This is more than a fucking blip. But I guess now I know why you were so adamant to move on. To forgive me."
I sigh in frustration and disgust with myself because I hate hearing my words tossed back at me. "I meant every-fucking-thing I said to you. I knew I handled the aftermath of Maria terribly. And I do forgive you for leaving. I do want us to move on. I didn't say any of that because I was trying to deceive you, but because I missed you and love you and just need us to be okay."
"I just… were you even going to tell me?" she mumbles. "About Kim?"
"I don't know," I say with brutal honesty. "I felt so fucking guilty. I wasn't thinking ahead. I just knew I couldn't tell you last night. It felt too soon. We still had so much to talk about, and I knew you wouldn't hear me out."
"What's there to hear out?" she spits. "That you're a manipulative asshole?"
"I am," I agree. "And I'm so fucking sorry for lying. I am. But I just needed us to get to a good place. For you to remember everything we had first. For you to remember that you do love me."
"Fucking Greece," she mutters, ignoring my words. "It seemed so romantic in that moment. Now it just feels cheap. Last ditch effort to distract me from what's really going on."
I search her face. "What's really going on?" I whisper.
"Our marriage is ending," she says with so much certainty that my chest fucking aches. "Our marriage is ending and we were both too desperate to admit it."
Tears fill my eyes now.
She buries her face in her hands and cries harder.
Still crouched next to her chair, I try to wrap my arms around her.
I want to comfort her.
Comfort me.
She pushes me away and inhales a shaky breath.
"Take it off," she demands, pointing toward my ring.
"No."
"It doesn't mean shit."
"It does to me," I insist, and she rolls her eyes.
"Did you lie about that, too? Last night you said you never took it off. Not even once."
"No, I always kept my ring on," I say truthfully.
"It's ironic. I wasn't wearing my ring, but I was faithful. You never took yours off, and look what you fucking did…" She laughs darkly. "Kim didn't notice you were married? She didn't… I mean… does she even know about me? Did you tell her? Did Maria?"
I scrub a hand over my mouth. "Kim knew I was there because I was upset, and she knew why, to an extent. So... yeah. She definitely knew about you."
"So you confided in yet another woman about us," Bella says with a bitter laugh. "Shocker."
More whiskey goes in the glass.
More whiskey goes down her throat.
I stand and take the bottle and tumbler from her. Not because I want it for myself, but because I want to keep her from having it. The more she drinks, the more hurt and angry she gets. Eventually, this poison will numb her, but not yet. Right now it's making it worse.
"God," she sighs with feigned amazement, letting me take her booze away. "You really are a piece of shit and so much like my father. So much for loyalty, right? Vows? Fuck 'em. Years and years of love and trust… just… gone. In a fucking blip."
I hate myself for it, but anger flares in my chest, and the urge to defend myself rises.
Because I am nothing like her father.
I would have never thought to start any of this if she hadn't brought her kink into the bedroom. I would have never fucking stepped out on her. I would have never put myself in a position to be with another woman. Ever.
We were solid before. We were happy. At least, I thought we were? I just thought she wanted more in the bedroom. She didn't act like it was anything deeper. She didn't tell me it was a test or that it had anything to do with feeling insecure. Not until last night. Why would I assume it would ultimately make her feel like shit when she spent so long getting off on it?
She urged for more so I gave her more. I would've given her everything.
But now my fuck up with Kim is all she's going to rely on. It's all she'll reduce me to.
So, yeah. I'm pissed. It's irrational and unwarranted, but I can't stop my anger.
"You want to talk about loyalty and vows? Years and years of love and trust gone in a blip? That's exactly what fucking happened when I slept with Maria. After I did what you wanted. You blamed me—"
"Yeah, my trust was gone, and with good reason," she drawls. "You're clearly a liar."
I laugh once. "Loyalty? Vows? You were… gone, Bella. You fucking left me! Abandoned me. You filed for divorce."
She stands, looking up at me, enraged, getting in my face. "So that gave you the right to fuck another woman? That's all it took? Being gone for a little while? Radio silence for a couple of months and then bam, you're free to fuck whoever you want?"
I shake my head. "No, I'm not excusing that. You're mad at me for talking to other people about how I felt, but how was I supposed to confide in you? You wouldn't answer my texts or my calls. I didn't know where the fuck you were, and one day I get fucking served divorce papers—at work, by the way, so thanks for that—"
"Are you fucking kidding me?" she snaps. "So now I'm the one who is being blamed for you lying about sticking your dick in another woman?"
"You wanted it to happen before, what's one more time?" I blurt, and she slaps me.
Right across the face.
My cheek stings.
But I deserve it.
I said it out of anger.
To hurt her.
To spite her.
It's all the same reasons I slept with another woman.
It doesn't make it right or easy, but it's the truth.
That night, I wanted to hurt her because she was hurting me.
I succeeded.
I immediately regretted it.
I was sickened and disgusted by my decision.
And I've never felt so fucking low.
"Get the fuck out," she says for the second time today.
There's finality in her tone.
Pain.
I don't want to leave but I know I need to give her space.
We both need it.
I slide my hand into my pocket and pull out her ring. Not because I'm done, but because I want her to have it.
I set it on the table.
And then I do what she says—I get the fuck out.