SO fucking sorry for the delay. I won't even try to explain where my head is at.
If there's a next chapter, it won't take nearly as long to update. :3
31
- chasing the ghost of a good thing -
Edward POV
I wait on Bella's porch all fucking night.
The sprinklers in her yard turn on at six, and ten minutes after that, she finally comes home.
A Prius stops near the curb but I can see her in the passenger seat, which means it's probably not an Uber—it's the guy she went home with.
I'm sitting on her steps.
Glaring.
Fuming.
I stand, making my presence known.
The front windows aren't tinted enough so I can see when they both glance my way.
Bella's too far away for me to read her expression, but even from here, I can sense her hesitation.
I hope she can feel my pain.
She doesn't get out right away, but I can see her saying something to him which pisses me off even more. Instead of rushing over to me, she's taking time to… what? Say goodbye? Thank him? Apologize?
"Get out of the fucking car, Bella," I call out, pissed.
She doesn't.
I lose all restraint, all fucking patience I had, and stalk down the sidewalk, getting sprayed with water from the sprinklers.
Bella gets out before I reach her, and she slams the door shut.
The douche suddenly pulls away from the curb, halting any confrontation we might've had.
"Motherfucking pussy," I mutter under my breath.
Bella moves past me, toward the house, but I stand at the end of the sidewalk, watching until his vehicle is out of view.
When he's gone, I walk up the path, following after Bella. She's on her porch with her arms crossed. I stand at the bottom of the steps, staring up at her, the cool blue morning surrounding us.
I try to gauge her expression, but she won't look at me.
Won't meet my eyes.
"What are you doing here?" she mumbles.
I join her on the porch but she takes a step away from me.
"I saw you last night, Bella. Allie said you went to some diner so I went there to find you, and then I… I fucking saw you leave with him."
She says absolutely nothing to defend herself, but she does finally look at me. Her eyes are bloodshot and sad. Guilty. I don't want to know why she might feel guilty. I fucking don't.
"That's why I had that text from you when I turned my phone back on?" she asks.
"Who the fuck was that guy?" I demand, ignoring her question.
"Does it matter?" Her voice is scratchy. Likely hoarse from alcohol and lack of sleep.
"Yeah, it fucking matters. Was that Peter?"
"Yeah."
That's all she says—yeah.
"What the fuck were you doing with him?" I ask, but she doesn't say shit. I shake my head in disgust before pinning her with my gaze. "I saw you flirting with him. And dancing. I saw you making out with him in the middle of the fucking bar."
Recognition flickers in her sad stare. If she was wondering just how much I saw last night, she no longer has to.
Her neighbor's automatic garage opens and they start backing out of the driveway. The woman looks over at us and waves, but Bella ignores her and pushes past me to unlock her front door.
"Just go, Edward."
Her dismissiveness makes me feel like I've been slapped all over again.
She stayed out all fucking night doing things I know nothing about, and yet she's not even fucking sorry?
It doesn't add up.
"So, that's it?" I ask, my tone stiff.
"Yeah, that's it."
"Are you fucking kidding me, Bella? You just spent the entire night with another man and—"
"The opportunity presented itself," she says hotly, opening her door and shooting an icy look my way. "You should know all about that."
"I didn't seek out a way to purposefully hurt you. I didn't go out to a bar looking for someone to sleep with, and I didn't stay the entire fucking night! Not like you did."
"And that makes it better? That you didn't have to try? That it just happened?"
That's not the point I was trying to make but it's the only one she's going to cling to.
She walks inside and immediately tries to shut me out.
I grab the door to keep it open.
"No," I say firmly, looking her in the eyes. "We're talking right the fuck now. I don't give a shit what you did with Peter, Bella. I don't."
"Of course, you don't care," she spits. "Because now we're even right? We both slept with other people. That's all it takes? We're good now?" she asks rhetorically. "Giving a shit about what I did would mean you love me, and you don't. You just… don't."
My grip on the door lessens, and I stare back at her in disbelief.
Not only am I fucking devastated by the fact that she just casually mentioned she slept with him, but…. she thinks I don't love her?
That this isn't fucking killing me?
She thinks our time apart hasn't shaped my fucking life?
Changed me for the worst?
I'm more closed off than I once was.
I overthink.
I'm depressed.
I keep myself distracted with work, but when I'm alone, I'm miserable.
All I think about is her.
My mistakes.
Her.
Our mistakes.
I'm on fucking Zoloft to cope.
Talking to a therapist twice a month to keep my shit straight.
And Bella thinks I don't fucking love her.
The spiteful side of me wants to walk the fuck away right now.
Call it.
I'm done.
But the part of me that fiercely loves her with everything I have won't let me.
I know what we're like when we're good. I know what our marriage is like when we're solid. That's what I want again. I just need her to remember, and to want that again, too.
"See? You have nothing to say," she taunts, assuming my silence is confirmation of her irrational thoughts.
"I do fucking love you!" I roar, pushing the door harder to open it fully.
She steps back, stunned, and I slam the door closed behind me. The force rattles in her nearly empty home.
"You don't think I was sitting here feeling sick all fucking night while you were out with him? Yeah, I said I don't care what you did with him because I know on some level I deserve it. Of course, I care, but I just… if I think about someone else's hands on you, I'll fucking break. And I don't know how much more we can take, Bella. I really, really don't."
She starts to cry but tries to hold back. "You don't think having someone else's hands on me made me sick, too?" she asks, chin trembling. "I feel disgusted, and I don't know how you ever let someone else touch you, even when I thought I wanted it." I go to pull her to me, to comfort her, but she shrugs out of my grip, her rejection stinging. "Don't. Just go, Edward. I want to be alone."
"I already left! I gave you space and then you got drunk and spiraled further to the point of hooking up with some random fucking guy!" I shout, throwing my hands up in the air. She flinches at my anger, but I don't care. She needs to see I'm mad. She needs to understand how fucked up all of this is. "Us being apart clearly isn't working, so I'm sorry if I don't think leaving is the best option for us right now," I tell her, a softer, more desperate rage in my voice.
"You're right. This isn't working," she mutters. "This marriage isn't working."
"Because we're not actually trying."
"How hard do we have to fucking try? It shouldn't be this difficult."
"Bella, what have we done to try, huh? We spent the last year apart, and the last four days in even more pain, which we both created. It's not going to be easy, but if we both want it—"
"I don't know what I want anymore," she says with a resigned shrug.
It's honest, but it still fucking hurts. It still sends a sickening punch to my gut.
"I don't fucking understand. I don't get how you could go out last night and sleep with another man, then come back here and still be this upset with me to the point of wanting our marriage to be over," I tell her in disbelief. "You're still acting like I'm the only one who fucked up."
She stays so quiet. She doesn't defend herself as she stares at the floor, and it makes me realize something.
"You didn't actually sleep with him, did you?" I ask rhetorically, working it out as I speak. "You just wanted me to think that. But you didn't."
She meets my eyes, but I can't tell if I'm right. Can't tell if I just want so desperately to believe nothing happened.
"Edward…"
"I'm right, aren't I? Otherwise you'd be feeling guilty and hating yourself, the same way I was after Kim. Instead of remorse, you're still pissed because you didn't actually do anything."
After a strained silence, she speaks.
"Peter and I were making out and… and his hands were all over. Touching me. Grabbing. I wanted to be wanted. He—"
"I don't want to hear this," I speak over her, pacing, but she keeps going.
"He was making me laugh. Distracting me. He made me feel like my life wasn't crumbling for one minute."
I realize she's listing off all the same reasons I gave her about why I was with Kim.
"Fucking stop!" I shout, pulling at my hair, but my mind creates the images anyway.
Bella lying in bed with Peter.
Laughing.
Kissing.
Straddling him.
His hands all over; touching, grabbing.
"Stop," I beg quieter, pausing in place.
"Why? Because it hurts imagining me with someone else?"
"I don't want to know any of this. I don't want the fucking details. Not like you. I don't need you to fill in the blanks, okay? I just want us to move the fuck on and forgive each other."
She just shakes her head and sounds so fucking sad when she asks, "How can we move on? Haven't we both had enough?"
"I still love you and I fucking miss who we used to be. That's enough for me to want to keep trying."
"Why do you love me?"
"I just do."
Tears fall from her eyes. "Why? What's there to love?"
I move closer, but she steps back, still unwilling to let me touch her.
"Everything, Bella. You're everything to me. I still love you because you're my wife. I chose you. I want to spend the rest of my life showing you how much I do love you. I want us to be happy. To fucking trust each other again. I want us to work through this because it's worth it. You're fucking worth it. You are."
She shakes her head even more. "I'm not."
"Baby, you are. We are."
More denial; head shakes.
I don't know how to get through to her.
To help her.
I don't know how to undo the damage her parents have done because this has to be what this is stemming from.
We're silent for a few beats, both at a loss.
"I'm just… tired," she cries, moving to sit in my leather chair, pulling her knees to her chest. "Aren't you tired? This is exhausting." I nod, eyes on her. "That's why I think we need to divorce."
It's her go-to suggestion. To give up. To leave. To run away from our problems instead of facing them head-on. And it will never get easier hearing her say that word.
"No," I tell her, crouching in front of the chair. "We don't need to do that."
"Yeah… yeah, we do."
"Bella, no. We've hurt each other but it's not too much for me."
A flash of frustration passes over her face. "But it's too much for me, Edward. It's too much for me. Why don't you get that?"
"Then we'll work on that. I'm just saying you can't do anything that will make me not love you. Yeah, what you did last night was—" I pause, pushing away the idea of her and Peter. "It fucking kills me. We've both made some big mistakes. The same mistakes, but—"
"No, we didn't," she confesses, voice devoid of emotion. "I didn't sleep with Peter, okay? I didn't fuck up in that regard."
I blink. "What?"
"Peter and I kissed, but nothing…" She winces a little. "Nothing actually happened."
I knew it. I fucking knew it.
I'm overwhelmed with so much relief, I want to kiss her.
So I do.
I grab her face and lean in to press my lips to hers, and even if hers stay slack, I crave that connection. I need her to feel my love and desperation for her. Need her to feel my gratitude.
I need my lips to be the last to touch hers again.
"You know that relief you feel right now?" she asks, speaking against my mouth. I pull back to look at her. "That was me when you lied and said you didn't sleep with anyone while we were apart. Now imagine if tomorrow I told you I lied and I did sleep with Peter. Imagine how blindsided you'd be. How sick you'd feel because how could you ever trust me again?"
It doesn't take much to imagine it. Her sleeping with someone else has been at the forefront of my mind for the last six hours.
"I'd be devastated," I admit. "It'd be hard to look at and touch you knowing someone else has. But I know I'd forgive you."
"Sure. Maybe. But forgetting would be harder. And coming up with awful scenarios of what did or didn't happen would haunt you."
She's right. I fucking know she's right. Which is why I still need some blanks filled in for me.
"Why were you there until six in the morning? Did you pass out? Sleep in the same bed as him?" I ask because I guess I like to torture myself.
"We didn't sleep at all. We just talked all night."
Whatever relief I felt is replaced with resentment. I should understand. I know I should. I was able to confide in Maria. Bella had no one. But I didn't leave her to her own devices like she did with me.
"You just talked," I say flatly.
"I kind of broke down and told him everything about us. Surprisingly, he listened. He was really sweet about it all, and didn't make me feel weird for being so dramatic or messy."
I realize now this is why she looked guilty. She didn't spend all night getting back at me by having sex. She was confiding in Peter. Being comforted by him.
This hurts in a different way. Because if she'd said she slept with him, I'd know it was solely to hurt me.
But confiding in him wasn't to hurt me.
It was for her.
She gained something from him that I wasn't able to give her—trust, confidence, and a sense of security.
"I went there with the intention of hurting you by sleeping with him, but I just… couldn't," she cries, shaking her head.
"You're wrong," I mumble. "This still fucking hurts."
"Yeah, well. I'll never understand how you were able to have sex with another woman. How you were able to lie about it so effortlessly, let alone do it at all…" She sniffles. "That's why I don't think you love me."
My head is fucking spinning. "You've done things I could never do to you, either," I point out. "Like filing for divorce and not talking to me for months. But I'm not standing here and letting myself believe you don't love me. I know you do. You just said you wanted to sleep with Peter to hurt me, but you couldn't."
"See? You're proving my point. You already know I love you," she mumbles, wiping her cheeks. "My love for you isn't in question. Your love for me is."
When she lays it out like that, I feel fucking sick.
"I get what you're saying. I do. And I see why your head is going there, but you're so wrong, Bell."
She gets out of the chair and walks into the kitchen.
I follow her.
She moves, I move.
I watch her grab a bottle of water out of her fridge and crack it open, taking a long sip.
I spot a magnet then, stuck on the front of her fridge. It's laser-cut wood in the shape of Oregon, and it's a memento that I sent in the many boxes the movers dropped off for her weeks ago. Oregon was the first place she traveled to for work after we'd started dating. We'd only been together for a month and I'd told her I loved her right before she left.
She returned the sentiment, making me the happiest fucking man alive.
Days later, the magnet showed up in my mail, the small piece of wood engraved with sappy, truthful words.
Someone in Oregon loves you
And here it is, on her fridge. Having survived many years and many moves. Many ups and downs.
And now this.
When I look at her, her eyes are on the magnet, too. But she only looks disgusted, not nostalgic like I feel.
I take a step closer to her but something hard crunches under my Adida. Glancing down, I find a piece of chipped glass, likely from the broken vase. I pick it up to throw away, and when I open her trash, I find the flowers there.
Seeing them makes me feel so fucking stupid. Naïve.
I thought leaving her peonies in the middle of the night would help her forgive me.
Thought moving here and bulldozing my way back into her life would show how much I love her.
Thought sending her belongings we used to share would make her remember how much she loved me.
Thought locking us in a hotel room and recreating the first time we met would help us reconcile.
And maybe all of that would've worked if I wouldn't have lied to her.
But I also believe it wouldn't have been enough anyway. Not in the long run. I was merely offering us a bandage but I wasn't treating the real problem. Because I don't even know where to fucking start.
"How can I prove I love you, Bella?" I whisper.
"I don't know."
"Then we'll go to couple's therapy."
She shakes her head. "And have you gaslight me in front of a stranger? Sounds awful."
"That's not what I'd do, and you fucking know it."
"Sure. Okay," she mumbles. "Right now I can't even entertain the idea of us."
"You can't entertain the idea of us?" I repeat. "I'm your fucking husband, Bella. There's always going to be an us whether you like it or not."
"So, why didn't you feel that way when you were having sex with Kim? Was there an us then? Were you my husband?"
"There was always an us, but we were fucking broken. You were gone. You didn't want me. And—" She turns away, and I grab her face with both hands. She struggles for a second to pull away but I hold her firmly. "No. Look at me. Listen to me. I hate that I did that to you. To us. Okay? I'm so fucking sorry. I need you to believe that. Please, please fucking believe that."
"Let go of me," she mumbles, so I do. "Just go. I need to shower and sleep and… space. We need space."
I already feel so fucking far away from her, the idea of giving us more space sounds devastating and destructive.
"And it's always about what you need, right?" I ask rhetorically. "What about me, huh? What about what I need?"
"Okay, Edward," she says, sounding so resigned. "What do you need?"
"I need you to fucking fight for this marriage with me. Not fight against me. I need you to try. I need you. I need you. I fucking need you," I insist, desperate for her to fucking understand how badly I'm breaking.
Tears stream down her cheeks but her anger outshines her sadness. "You don't need me. You survived for a whole year without me."
"Survived?" I echo. "You don't even fucking know what I went through because you. weren't. there. You didn't want to know. So don't tell me what the fuck I did, Bella. Surviving was the bare minimum."
For a split second, she does look guilty. "I get it. I fucked you up. See? I'm ruining you, and you shouldn't want me." I can feel her shutting down. Pushing me further away than she already has. "So just… just let me go," she whispers.
"No."
"Let me go."
"No.
"Let me—"
"No!" I shout, my voice cracking with emotion. "Not yet. Not. yet."
She's stunned silent, her eyes on me. She looks sad. Emotionally depleted. Her nose is red and her eyes are, too. I just want to hug her. I want to hold her and beg for us to fucking fight our way out of this toxic cycle we're stuck in.
But I'm so fucking exhausted.
"I can't let go unless you do it first," she says, not making any fucking sense.
"Why are you saying that?"
"Just let him go," she speaks, but her words don't feel aimed at me. "He deserves better."
I search her face. "What?"
"That's what Allie said. Before I got out of the Uber last night. That's what she thinks. That's what everyone thinks. You deserve better. And I know you do," she chokes out, crying.
"Fuck Allie," I hiss sharply. "She doesn't know anything."
"Yeah, she does. You deserve someone healthy, happy. Someone who's good to you and doesn't have a fucked-up head and heart."
"That could be you. That was you, for so many fucking years, Bella. And you just want to throw it all away?"
"I'm not good for you right now. I'm not even good for myself. Look at what I fucking tried to do last night, Edward. Like…" She wipes at her cheeks. "I'm so fucking ashamed. So disgusted with both of us. You should be, too."
"I know we're not good right now, but that's why we need to talk to someone, and get help. Together and apart."
She shakes her head. She's hearing me, but not understanding. She's not even fucking trying to.
But maybe I'm not hearing or understanding her, either.
Our communication is beyond fucked. It has been for a while.
"I deserve more, too," she says sadly, sniffling. "I need to work on myself. By myself."
"I know you deserve more. I know I've fucked up. I know I lied. I know I distanced myself emotionally when it mattered the most to you. I didn't fight hard enough to keep you the first time or prove how much I love you, but…" I swallow hard. "But Bella…"
"I love you," she whispers, grabbing my face. "I love you, that's why this needs to happen."
"Really? The whole if you love someone let them go bullshit?"
"It's not bullshit," she insists, her eyes pleading, her fingers gently brushing my jaw. "It's what needs to happen. Deep down, you know it, too. Admit it. It will always be different. It won't be the same. You know this marriage is done."
Her hands fall from my face, and I drop my defenses, letting her words sink in.
This marriage is done.
Done.
Deep down? Yeah. I know we've been toxic. I know this isn't normal. We shouldn't have had to bring Maria into our sex life. And when Bella tried, I should've questioned it more. She shouldn't have run. I shouldn't have slept with another woman after she left me; shouldn't have lied. And she shouldn't have spent last night trying to hurt me back.
It's just hurt after hurt after hurt.
The cycle continues.
No time to breathe.
I know we both have so much shit to work on.
I know I'm stubborn with my unhealthy love for her.
But it's because I don't want to give up.
I don't want us to fail.
I don't want to imagine life without her.
I love her.
But I can't help her, and I'll ruin both of us in the process if I keep trying.
"Edward…" she whispers as all the realizations I'd been trying to keep away finally surface.
A knot of emotion that was tied up tight in my chest finally unravels.
I break down.
I cry like I've never fucking cried before.
Silent, angry, grief-stricken tears.
Shoulders shaking.
Seeing me like this makes her cry, too.
I cry for her.
For us.
I cry for the woman I loved. The one I no longer know, standing in front of me.
I still love her—I'll always fucking love her—but it's different. She's right. It's not the same. It won't ever be the same.
She moves closer to hug me. I wrap my arms around her, bury my face in her neck, and cry harder.
I don't know how long we stand here like this, both of us wrapped in each other. Giving the other the last bit of energy, devotion, and love we have.
Guilt sneaks its way in, and I worry we're giving up too easily.
But maybe she's right about that, too—love shouldn't have to be this hard.
Love isn't enough.
"You want this?" I ask, still holding her, and I feel her nod.
"We need this."
"I would've done anything for you," I breathe out into her hair. "Anything."
"I know, I know, I know," she chants; sobs.
With tears on our cheeks, I cup her face and press a kiss to her mouth.
It's gentle.
It's devastating.
It's goodbye.
We break apart.
I don't want to talk logistics or next steps.
I just want to leave.
With a trembling chin, she nods, understanding what I'm not saying.
And with a heavy fucking heart, I finally let her go.
AN: If you don't want an HEA, consider this your last stop! Don't read past this chapter pls and pretend it's complete!
If you do want HEA, let's hope that I continue lol
Thanks for making it this far, though, I truly appreciate the support. :3