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30
- voyeur -
Edward POV
Allie calls me after midnight.
"Hey," I answer, the lone word sounding rushed and so fucking desperate.
"Hey. I wasn't sure you'd still be up."
My life is fucking crumbling.
My marriage is on the verge of ending.
So, yeah, I'm wide fucking awake.
After I woke up this morning and found the divorce papers on Bella's pillow, my sister was the first person I called.
I didn't say a single word over the line.
I couldn't.
All she asked was, "What happened?" and then half an hour later we were meeting up for breakfast.
Neither of us ate. We drank coffee and she pushed for information about what the hell was going on, but I didn't tell her everything. I just confessed what a piece of shit I am and how I hurt my wife. I didn't even try to sugarcoat the fucking mess I made. I just told her that Bella found out I slept with someone while we were separated and she was devastated because I'd lied about it.
As much as I wanted to go back to Bella's and wait for her to come home, she told me not to be there when she got back.
I knew she needed someone, but I also knew it couldn't be me.
I wasn't sure how helpful it would be, or how receptive Bella would feel having my sister show up out of the blue. I just needed Bella to know she had some support other than myself.
That's why I sent Allie.
"Did you go to Bella's?" I ask.
"Yeah, I just got back to my hotel," Allie tells me. "I would've called you on my way here but my phone died in the Uber."
"It's fine. Was she there?" I ask because a huge part of my stress has been tied to not knowing if Bella was going to go back home at all. For all I knew, she wasn't working that wedding all day and was halfway to somewhere new. The only thing offering the smallest amount of fucking hope was that she didn't take any clothes or a suitcase with her. Not like last time.
"Yeah, she was home," Allie confirms. "We talked for a little bit. She's still really hurt and heartbroken. We drank some, too, and…" She pauses. "Look, it was really good to see her, but I honestly feel like I made things worse by going over."
"Worse, how? What happened?"
"I mean… nothing? But she told me everything. And I mean everything, Edward. I think she assumes I'm on your side. I guess I was trying to stick up for you in a way, but—"
I swallow, cutting her off. "So, she told you about Maria?"
There's too long of a pause before she says, "Yeaaaaah. I know about that."
As ashamed as I am that it happened, part of me is glad Bella told someone. As far as I know, she hasn't had anyone to confide in and this was her first opportunity.
I get out of bed and throw on my jeans. "You think she's still awake? I'm gonna head over there."
"Actually…" Allie says, sounding nervous. "When I was leaving, we shared my Uber. She was drunk and asked if we could drop her off at some diner near her house."
"A diner?" I turn on the speakerphone and pull on a hoodie over my T-shirt.
"Yeah. She didn't say what she was doing. I offered to stay with her but she like… really, really didn't want me there. Again, I pissed her off and hurt her but that wasn't my intention. This is just a mess."
I open Google Maps and search for diners near her house.
"North Star Diner?" I ask Allie, stepping into my Adidas.
"I think so, yeah. I figured she was going to order food or something to sober up, but I don't know," Allie mumbles. "Again, I feel so bad. I don't want her to think—"
"It's okay. I'll head there now."
"Okay. Please let me know how it goes."
"I will," I tell her.
"Hey."
"Yeah?"
"I was going to extend my stay like a week or so. Just hang out in case either of y'all need me."
"Al, you don't have to do that. Seriously."
"I want to."
"Go back home with Jasper."
"Edward. I'm not taking no for an answer," she says firmly. And then, "I love and miss her, too."
Gratitude overwhelms me.
The line is silent until I say, "Thank you."
XXX
I think about texting Bella on the way to the diner, then decide against it.
If she's there, I don't want to scare her off.
And if she's not… well, then I'll head to her place after.
When I walk in, there are so few people seated at tables, it's easy to notice she's not there.
I duck back outside, pull out my phone, and call Allie.
"Hey… everything okay?" she asks.
"Yeah." I move further up the sidewalk, staring at the diner. "You sure you dropped Bella off at North Star?"
"Pretty sure, yeah. Blue building, red roof. A lit-up sign above the door that says cocktails?"
"Yeah," I confirm. Then realize. "Cocktails?"
Allie starts to talk but I hang up on her.
I walk back inside and realize when I stand in the small entryway of the building, there are two doors.
On the left, one leads to a diner.
On the right, the other leads to a dive bar.
I turn to my right and walk through the swinging door and into the dim space.
It's glowing.
Red walls, red carpet.
Red candles.
Red lanterns kissing the ceiling.
Low music and hushed conversations fill the air.
No one IDs me.
No one cares I'm here.
I walk in and glance around.
There's a bar in the middle of the room, with tables and booths surrounding it.
I scan the area.
Search for my wife.
A group of people walks past me, loud and laughing and drunk.
I ignore them.
When they're gone and their laughter fades, Bella's is all I hear.
I move further inside.
Follow the sound.
And then I spot her on the other side of the bar.
She's sitting on a stool next to some guy.
She's… laughing.
Head tipped back.
Drink in hand.
It looks like she knows him. But maybe he's a stranger. All I know is that I haven't seen her this at ease in so fucking long.
I realize that despite the ring on my finger and our shared last name, maybe I'm the stranger to her.
The guy is talking to her, though, and she's just… I don't know. Fucking eating up his attention and attraction, I guess.
She's watching him. She's present. Blatantly interested and engaging.
It seems easy with him.
It's harder with me.
He leans closer to her ear to whisper something.
My hand curls into a fist and I feel my forearm flex when she laughs.
He pulls back.
Another laugh.
He clinks his glass against the one she's holding.
Now they're both laughing.
I don't fucking like it. The sound of his laughter mixed with hers.
But maybe I don't like hearing her laughter at fucking all because I haven't heard it in so long.
I've missed it.
Craved it.
Her laugh is my favorite. It always has been. And I haven't been able to do that for her. I haven't been able to make her feel safe or happy or whole. Secure or loved.
But I want to. It's all I fucking want.
She laughs again.
This fucker is making her happy, I guess. Maybe not safe or whole, but he's making her feel carefree.
As much as I don't fucking like it or agree with it, a sick, heartbroken part of me gets it.
It's no different than what I did with Kim?
I wanted a distraction.
I wanted to feel wanted.
I wanted to pretend like my life wasn't crumbling.
It's exactly what Bella's doing right now, I think.
The only difference is that she didn't have a front-row seat to my mistake, but I have one to hers.
It's masochistic, but I find an empty table behind them and sit.
No one comes to serve me.
No one knows I'm here.
I can't hear them talking over the music, but I just… watch.
I tell myself if it gets too far with them, I'll stop it. I'll make my presence known.
I watch her drink.
Watch them interact.
I watch him touch her.
He thinks it's subtle.
She might not even notice, but I do.
I watch him squeeze her thigh.
I watch his hand reach behind her and graze her lower back.
I watch him lean closer, his lips boldly grazing her neck. It's not a kiss. It's a nip. A playful bite. She squirms and laughs and I nearly get up at that point and deck him in the fucking face.
But I don't.
Because this is my penance.
My punishment.
She's not doing this to hurt me, but it does.
It fucking hurts.
It's fucking killing me.
I hate seeing her happy. Even if it's alcohol-induced happiness and isn't anything close to the real thing, every laugh sends a sharp pain through me.
She's acting like a different fucking person right now.
I don't know her.
Is she even fucking thinking about me?
Missing me?
She was supposedly heartbroken while talking to my sister hours ago, and then she comes here, and what… further drinks away her pain? Forgets everything?
My chest hurts because I did this exact thing to her with Kim.
I'm a fucking hypocrite.
Doesn't make it hurt any less though.
I've had thoughts like this over the last year—Bella being fine and not caring about shit—and seeing it for myself doesn't fucking help.
It just further solidifies shit I've already assumed… like the fact that maybe she doesn't love me.
But she does.
She fucking does.
Doesn't she?
Even if I slept with Kim, I still loved Bella. It didn't make me feel any less for her. It's fucked, but if anything it made me love her more. Made me want to fight for what we once had. Made me want to own up to my mistakes and be the man she deserves.
I'm about to get up and go to the bar to get a drink, uncaring if she spots me.
I want her to see me.
I want there to be a scene between us.
I want to argue and drag her ass home.
I want her to fight me.
Fight for us.
I want to tell her I'm hers and she's fucking mine and I've never wanted anyone else.
Love me, baby. You fucking love me.
Before she spots me, the music changes and she squeals.
"It's my song!"
Her song?
I don't fucking know this song.
I don't fucking know this woman.
She slides off her stool.
The guy follows.
They move to an empty space near the digital jukebox.
She's dancing.
It's not a drunken spin.
It's… seductive.
She wants him to want her.
Her arms are above her head.
Her hips are rolling in time with the music.
Her eyes are on him.
His hands are… all fucking over her.
On her waist.
Pulling her to him.
She's laughing
laughing
laughing.
I think I'm standing now.
I don't know.
I don't know.
I'm just watching and she's still fucking laughing.
And dancing.
And then she grabs the back of his neck to pull his head down so their lips can meet.
She fucking kisses him.
Her hands are in his hair.
He's kissing her back.
And I just…
Fuck.
I don't know.
I press the heels of my hands to my eyes because what the fuck is happening?
This isn't happening.
We woke up together yesterday morning, happy and hopeful, and now… now?
I don't fucking know.
When I look back at the scene, it's worse.
His hand is in hers.
They're walking out of the bar.
I want to shout her name to stop her, but I don't.
I can't speak.
Can't move.
But she moves easily as she walks out the door with him.
I stand here, stunned.
Confused.
I wait for her to walk back in. Because she will. There's no way she can go through with this. Whatever the fuck this is.
Her song ends.
She still hasn't come back in so I rush out of the bar to go after her.
I'm expecting her to be out here, but she's not.
She's gone.
Panic rises hot in my chest, making it hard to breathe.
Did they Uber?
Did he drive?
Is he drunk?
She clearly is.
What the fuck?
What the fuck is she thinking?
I try calling her. It rings and rings and rings.
I call again.
Same thing.
I request an Uber and have to wait three excruciating minutes before it arrives and I'm heading to her house. I vibrate with anger and fear the entire way there, my thoughts giving me whiplash.
Fuck her.
I deserve this.
Fuck her.
I deserve this.
Part of me hopes they're heading to her place so I can stop her from whatever she's thinking of doing. Because I know she'll regret it. I fucking did. It made me feel disgusted and sick. Empty. Like a shell of myself. Like a piece of shit.
The other part of me—the rage-fueled side—hopes they're not there because I don't trust that I won't physically hurt that fucking guy for touching my wife.
It's not his fault, I tell myself. He doesn't deserve my rage. I doubt he knows she's mine. But logic isn't guiding me right now—fierce possessiveness is.
When I get there and find her house is dark and quiet, my rage is replaced with anguish.
She's not here.
They must have gone to his place.
I fucking hate this.
I can't stop replaying that fucker's lips on hers.
Can't stop hearing her laugh.
Can't stop seeing how carefree she was when she was dancing.
I try not to think of other things she might be doing right now.
Touching.
Kissing.
Try not to think of his hands on her, coaxing out my favorite sounds.
Fuck.
My chest is tight.
Is this what she felt for months? This sickening, ugly jealousy? This bitter belief of losing what's yours?
I text her.
Please don't fucking do this, baby.
I call her, too, only to find it goes directly to voicemail now.
She turned off her phone, which means she likely didn't get my text.
She's shutting me out.
Making sure I have no way to stop what's going to happen.
Fuck her.
I deserve this.
Fuck her.
I hope we survive this.