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Scheduled for Friday
by Anton M.

66: Fuck What I Deserve

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Friday, March 3 (cont.)

I switched between rage and despair as I attempted to stop sobbing. Of the two, I could handle anger much better. It gave me energy, and what particularly pissed me off was Edward's comment about me moving on like it meant nothing to him. As if anyone casually breezed into the next relationship from their first love, first kiss, first everything. But that anger morphed into misery when I thought about him moving on.

Mom once told me that selfless love was being happy for someone when they made choices that were best for them even if those choices didn't include you. If she was right, I did not feel selfless love for Edward. My love was selfish. It blew my mind that Edward was so okay with the idea of me moving on.

It infuriated me.

Either he felt mature, selfless love for me, or—he didn't care. I hoped it was the former but feared it was the latter, but I got this idea in my head that if only I could work on making my love mature, too, I could accept our break-up.

Because I didn't. I felt wrath and desperation and I wanted to break plates but no part of me felt like accepting this.

Sobbing, I tied mostly-black-with-some-pink threads into a bracelet, like I'd done before, trying my best to wish for Edward to find the right girl for himself. It was a soul-shattering exercise, because it wasn't my wish. I wanted to be the right girl for him. But I got stuck in this idea that if I could wish it into the world, maybe I'd accept that Edward would meet a beautiful, smart girl in college who fit him better.

The mere thought destroyed me.

I also hated that I couldn't remember our last hug. I remembered our first with painful clarity—just after our first kiss. His arms always felt like home.

I should've hugged him one last time.

Done with a bracelet for him, I washed my face in cold water, trying to calm my breathing, ready for the performance of a lifetime.

I never understood people's amazement at actors being able to cry spontaneously. Self-pity, sad memories, dirty tricks—crying spontaneously wasn't the hard part.

Not crying when every cell in your body wanted to sob certainly was.

Because even if my parents were to allow me to visit Edward, mom might've torn him a new one for breaking up with me, and I'd have to have hours of conversation about whether going to him in my state was the right thing to do if my parents knew what had happened.

I walked downstairs and found them in the living room.

Travis was preparing to leave.

"I'd like to go to Edward's if you're up for taking me, Travis," I offered, keeping my voice level, hiding a few snacks in my pocket from the kitchen pantry. "We'll pay you for the extra time, of course."

Lying on the couch with a glass of wine, dad stretched his legs and paused his YouTube video. "Wasn't Edward here just a few hours ago?"

Carefully but briefly searching his eyes to see if he knew what happened, I answered, "He was."

No reaction.

Good. They didn't know.

Mom, curled up by dad's legs, put her finger between her Whetstone magazine and swirled the wine in her glass.

My parents presented such a cutesy image it hurt my heart, but I didn't miss the look of meaning that passed between them.

"Is everything all right, honey?" mom asked.

"Of course," I bluffed, busying myself with a glass of water. "Edward and I just… we had a fight—" Sure, if you called breaking up a fight. "I just really want to go make sure he's okay."

More lies, but at least I wasn't sneaking out alone.

"His father might be there," dad warned.

"Which is why Travis will deliver me to Edward's bedroom door and stay in the house or in his car until I leave. If you want to include Emmett, I'll call him, too. Or a police escort. Whoever you need to be involved to be comfortable with this decision is fine with me. I just really need to see Edward."

The discussion that followed lasted for fifteen minutes. Mom was against me returning to the spot where I'd been kidnapped (although I had to remind her what Emmett had taught me: fear only increased with avoidance) while dad was willing to allow me to go, but, of course, with my magic locket, with my phone, and definitely with my bodyguard.

I had a feeling that their readiness to allow me to go had a lot to do with their concern for Edward's absence this week.

Eventually, my parents agreed that having two bodyguards accompany me might've been overkill. Besides, Edward's dad confused Emmett with someone he hated, so his absence might've helped rather than hurt.

Travis still sent him a message, though. Just in case.

…

It took another quarter of an hour for Travis to lose our paparazzi tail, but he pulled up on Edward's driveway not long after. Thankfully, nobody had discovered Edward's address.

My heart raced as we slammed the doors shut. The ground shone with rain but clouds had emptied. Neither Edward's motorcycle nor his dad's car was anywhere to be seen, and a dim lamp lit up their hallway. My gaze lingered on the lawn where I'd fought with Victoria and Peter's dad, and I wasn't sure if I paused because of my reluctance to relive the scene or newfound wisdom.

"I'd like to go around and knock on his window so that even if his dad is home, Edward can come to the front door himself."

Travis agreed.

I couldn't imagine Edward's reaction to seeing me. I couldn't even rely on him being home, but I had to try.

I wasn't sure if I was about to unleash my rage on him or beg him to reconsider, but I had to give him my bracelet. I had to see him. One last time.

Quietly, Travis and I walked around the double-wide, and I'd just seen a sliver of dim light in Edward's room when a motion-sensored lamp by the backdoor blinded us.

Fuck.

The backdoors—both the door and the screen door—were wide open. Edward's dad stood in the kitchen, staring at us in a flannel shirt too big for him, khaki pants, and a black GPS tracker around his skinny, bare ankle.

Travis, having gotten a full overview of how unpredictable Edward's dad was capable of being, put his arm in front of me, but I nudged it aside.

"Bella," Edward's dad said, voice raspy but surprisingly normal-sounding. He pushed the screen door further open. "Are you here to see my son?"

I was mind-blown that he'd recognized me and that he'd asked me such a normal question, but I hid my astonishment behind a smile.

"Yes, sir," I answered before motioning at Travis. "I brought a friend, though. Is that okay, sir?"

Edward's dad motioned for us to enter. Travis remained vigilant but stood just next to the backdoor while Carl walked to the sink.

"Would you like some water?" he asked, normally, like his body had been invaded by an alien.

"Yes. Thank you, sir," I answered, hoping that if I treated my interaction with him like improv theatre, agreeing with everything, I'd survive our small-talk.

A part of me was fascinated, too. He looked distraught, tired but fidgety, obsessively rubbing the massive sore on the inside of his forearm as he handed me my glass (of questionable cleanliness), but his expression lacked the dark, frantic energy from weeks ago.

He did, however, turn to the fridge, shouting, "I'm tired of your shit! Get lost!" Under his breath, he added, "Fucker."

Travis stepped forward, ready to defend me, but I shook my head, hoping that Edward's approach of ignoring these outbursts worked for me, too.

"My sister and Dan kidnapped my son. Those fuckers drugged him! And I was here." Enraged, he violently scratched his face and drew blood. "I don't even remember it. My son who only ever lives his life for others, how dare they drug him?! Fuckers!"

Meth addict or not, if he spoke to the judge with the same conviction, no wonder they gave him bail.

He cleared his throat a lot before his smile got rueful. "Safe to say that when I need money, I will not risk a life sentence for it. Idiot fuckers haven't even learned how to steal, and I'll sleep beautifully knowing they'll both rot in jail."

What a sensible yet meth-addict thing to say.

"Thank you, sir." I motioned at the living room, preparing to go to Edward, but Carl surprised me with a laugh that reached his eyes even if it revealed his broken teeth.

"Oh, no, you will see," he said to nobody in particular. "My son will lead the first mission to Mars one day. No doubt about it. You'll see."

His delight touched my heart.

"I agree, sir." Setting down my unused water glass, I once again turned toward the living room, but Carl grabbed my shoulder and stared at me with daunting intensity.

"My son, he only relies on himself. He looks like a bad boy but he's very sensitive. Will you take care of him?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat at the pleading in his eyes, the color just like Edward's.

"Of course, sir. If he allows me to."

He relaxed and let go of my shoulder. "Thank you, Bella."

What a strange world in which Edward's dad understood my presence in his son's life, if temporarily.

Travis and I left Carl in the kitchen and walked behind Edward's door.

A soulful, sad melody echoed through the walls. I cracked the door, confirming it wasn't locked, and shut it again.

"I'm safe in Edward's room," I whispered. "It has a lock. Could you wait for me in the car?"

Travis wasn't convinced but I persuaded him that I was more protected in Edward's room than he was, exposed to an unfamiliar, unpredictable tweaker.

He left to sit in his car but made me promise to reply to each one of his messages or he'd come check up on me. I agreed and sent a short message to my parents, too.

Having turned on the security alarm, I slipped inside Edward's room, and put the metal hatch into its worn eye. Whichever of Dermot Kennedy's songs Edward was blasting on repeat, it was ten times louder inside, so he didn't even twitch at my presence.

My eyes adjusted to the darkness. Edward lay on his stomach, shirt off, with a pillow under his upper chest, watching videos on his phone, shaking.

Laughing.

He was laughing.

Feeling like my lungs were struck by an avalanche of needles, I couldn't breathe. I hadn't actually thought that Edward didn't care, but here he was, hours after our break-up, laughing.

I wanted to unleash my rage on him, because how fucking dare he?! How the fuck was he okay after our break-up?

Did he ever care?

Furious, I dug out the bracelet I'd made as my goodbye to him, realizing how phenomenally stupid I'd been to think he'd give a shit, intending to throw it in the trash can and run, but Edward turned his head, startled, and jumped up.

His red face glistened. His black eye had turned into purplish-green, and the vulnerability in his expression caught me off guard until I realized he'd taken out his barbell and his earring.

He looked desperately, achingly naked without them.

Edward crossed the room and crushed me against his bare chest before I could move.

"Bella," he choked, squeezing me for my life's worth. I wanted to push him away, to argue, to rage and fight, but Edward's phone on the bed caught my attention.

One of Mr. Bahati's TikTok videos was playing on his screen.

Edward inhaled unevenly, sharply, the way people breathed when they were sobbing, and my anger faded as he pressed his lips against the top of my head and shook against me.

He wasn't laughing, he was sobbing. My heart ached.

Why the fuck did he do this to us?

"Bella," he repeated, voice thick with tears.

Not wanting to assume the hug meant anything, I sniffed.

"I just wanted to bring you—" I unclasped his hand on my side to slide my bracelet on his fingers. "You can burn it or whatever. I— you're so okay when, when you tell me I'll move on, but I—" I gulped, reluctant to admit how selfish I was in my own wish. I took a shaky breath. "You'll meet, you'll meet someone amazing at MIT. Gorgeous and smart and selfless. She'll be so good to you. She'll never need tutoring or be nosy or bite nails or… be a hassle to date."

"No," Edward refused, squeezing me tighter, lying down on the bed with me in his arms. "No—"

"Yes," I continued, swallowing the ache in my throat and hiding my face in his chest. "You'll both go work in SpaceX or Blue Origin or NASA or wherever brainiacs like you work, and I'll, I'll catch you on TV in twenty years leading the project that puts the first humans on Mars—" I smiled, remembering what Carl had said about Edward and how much I wanted it for him, too.

"Bella—"

"And you'll be—" I shut my eyes tight, allowing my tears to fall. "You'll be wearing a wedding ring, and I'll be so happy for you. I promise. I promise." Crying, I took a trembling breath. "And she'll be there, too, leading some other team. Nobody will mention that you're married but it will be all over the way you interact, and she'll be pregnant—"

"Shut up," Edward rasped, his chest moving with his sharp, erratic breaths.

"And I'll just—" I tried to contain my sobbing but shuddered when I failed. "I'll be happy for you. I promise. I promise. You'll get exactly the woman you want, just as smart as you, and your kids will be little prodigies—"

"Stop it, baby," he repeated, shaking. "Stop it."

"And I'll be just a faint memory popping up only when I'm in movies—which you'll never watch, of course. Riley will have graduated, and nothing will really tie us—even adjacently. And, sometimes, sometimes, when I'm relevant in the news, you'll be having dinner with your wife and your smart colleagues, and someone will ask, 'Oh, didn't you used to date her?' and, and, and—" I struggled to breathe through my crying. "You'll shrug and tell everyone what a shit hassle I was to date, how pathetic I was to return to you after you'd broken up with me—"

"Feather-heart—" Edward choked, sobbing.

"And your wife won't even feel jealous because she knows that you never loved me the way you love her. For me, you felt teenage, puppy-love, not really real—"

"No," Edward refused, voice raspy with tears. "No. That's, that not true. Never say that, baby. Never think that."

I pressed my face against gran-gran's infamous blankie underneath us, drying my tears, swallowing to contain the heat in my throat. I turned my face toward the ceiling. My cheek pressed against Edward's chest.

"And I'll take years to return to dating because, you may not think I loved you, but you'll be next to impossible to replace. I'll not admit that to anyone, of course. I'll be so insulated with my shooting schedule I won't have time to think about dating, anyway. But, over time, I'll begin again, and you'll be so relieved you escaped me when my failed attempts are plastered all over the tabloids. They'll discuss what's wrong with me that I can't keep a man, not knowing that when you hit the jackpot with your first love, it's really fucking hard—" I broke down into sobs.

"Baby—"

Taking a shaky breath, I continued, "But, eventually, I'll meet some producer-type guy who studied something cool, who can hold a conversation and had a normal childhood. You'll see our engagement on your social-media-of-choice, and you won't feel a thing, you won't feel a thing when you hear that I'm expecting—"

"No! No. No," Edward choked. "Shut up, baby. No. You are not having some nameless, faceless producer's baby—"

I scooted upward to hug him properly. Trembling with his shaky breaths, Edward buried his wet face in my neck like his life depended on it, and I nuzzled his own neck, scratching his hair. It was shorter. He'd cut it.

"You don't want me but you don't want others to have me? That's not fair."

"No," Edward repeated in the most heart-broken voice. "No. I will never not want you, baby. I will never look at a magazine cover with you on it and feel nothing. It's not possible. I don't want some college girl, and the thought of you having kids with some awful producer is revolting. No."

My chest tightened at his bittersweet, unfair words.

"You broke up with me, Edward!" I shout-whispered, changing the subject, voice uncomfortably wail-like. "Why do you care who I have kids with if you don't think I'm worth the hassle?"

"You are not a hassle! I never thought you were."

"Then why do you not want to be with me?"

"You deserve—"

"Fuck what I deserve!" I shouted, pulling back, sitting up. "Fuck deserving. If deserving meant anything in life, we wouldn't have literal children being bombed to death in multiple wars right now. Deserving is irrelevant. I don't deserve to be Nala. Dad didn't deserve to be infertile, and Garrett didn't deserve to miss my childhood. But I want to be Nala, dad wants to be a foster parent, and Garrett wants to be in my life. What you want is more important. I don't deserve you on my best days but I'd still choose you over anyone, because I love you. I'm not biding my time until some ripped actor comes along. We can work on your feelings of unworthiness but I cannot make you want to be with me. I can do nothing about that.

"So don't talk to me about what you think I deserve, Edward. Talk to me about what you want."

…