A/N: Hola! Slight change of plans, this is gustariana here. We are trying to keep you on your toes! The lovely Dollegirl will take us home and close out the series.
Now, I present to you: Wrath (Furia). It goes really well with "No One Knows" by Queens of the Stone Age. You know I can't stay away from music.
DISCLAIMER: Ni Twilight ni ninguno de sus personajes me pertenecen. Solo estoy jugando con ellos para entretenerme.
Wrath / Furia
My hands felt clammy and unsure as I grasped the object in my hands. It felt foreign, cold and hard.
Gripping the handle tighter, I could see the skin of my knuckles turning white against the strain.
I balanced my weight and swung. I let it come down with all my strength, all my anger. The arc it created as it swung fast and furious was elegant, whistling past my ear.
The crash it made breaking the first of his awards was satisfying.
The glass exploded into tiny fragments that scattered around the room and covered the perfectly polished floor.
The farthest wall called to me. It was covered in diplomas. Certificates of Accomplishments. Framed thank you notes. I kept walking till I found our wedding picture, it was in the biggest frame. A wall full of a reminders of a perfect life. Our perfect life.
I swung his golf club back once again and sent the picture flying until the shattered fragments littered the floor.
I was very methodical in my destruction. I broke every single object that lay in my path. Every book in his library was piled on the floor. The golf club long forgotten, bent on the floor. I needed something else after I went through all his irons. The answer lay in one of his most priced possessions, which now served as my weapon of choice. The signed baseball bat took care of the guitar he had framed as well. It then broke every one of the other antique artifacts he liked to collect.
I opened a window and every one of his records flew out. One at a time, till they lay in pieces on the front steps of our home.
His once perfect and orderly den was now in shambles. Just like my trust in him. Shattered, in pieces.
Today had seemed like any other day. I had woken up early and gotten his clothes ready. Perfect creases and spotless shoes.
By the time everyone had woken up breakfast was ready. Eggs Benedict on an English muffin. He always said my hollandaise was the best he'd ever had.
I dropped off the kids at school and by the time I looked at the clock again it was almost noon. I had been busy running errands all morning. There were clothes to pick up from dry cleaning. Shirts to take to his tailor so they could be monogrammed. Then there were the gifts I needed to pick up for his assistants at work.
I had more things to do but before I could I needed to go home and pick up his new golf club head covers so I could have those monogrammed too. I had left them in my hurry to get the kids to school. They had been a gift for his birthday last week. I had been wait-listed for them, and his new bag, for months. They shipped with barely enough time for me to wrap them before his birthday party, much less to get them monogrammed.
As I walked through the front door I remember I needed to pick up the mail. I went back and carried just the one letter. Who would have thought that that single piece of paper would turn my world upside down?
The plain envelope only had our address and neither one of our names was on it. Nor did it have any sender info. I took it with me to his den, with the intention of opening it as I gathered his clubs.
What looked like a photograph rested on my hands. I flipped it over and fell to my knees.
It was him, with a woman. She looked young, so fresh and beautiful. He looked happy.
No air was filling my lungs. I couldn't breath. Gut wrenching sobs were tearing me apart. My vision was blurry.
Was I crying?
I knelt on the floor, fighting for air and dropped the photograph that would destroy our lives. It was then that I noticed the inscription on the back.
I thought you should know...Ain't life grand?
Ain't life grand? Are you fucking kidding me? My throat hurt, did I scream that out loud?
I took a moment to compose myself. And then I sprang up from the floor, propelled forward by my anger. Anger that I had never felt before. I was always collected, the perfect wife. This had broken something inside me.
And just like I had been broken; I broke him. Every piece of the house that was him, was now gone. Because I knew, just as he knew, that he was his accomplishment. It is why he kept them all. So now destroyed them all.
I moved to my room next, mine, not ours. I took out all his clothes, folded them neatly and put them in suitcases. I then took the suitcases down to the kitchen and poured all my oil paints inside them. He always said I should explore my creativity. Let's see how he likes tie died merino wool suits.
The suitcases were now stacked against the front door, sitting in a pool of the paint dripping from the inside.
I showered and got dressed. I wore my mother's pearls. They were mine, I brought them to this life with me. I called my sister and asked her to pick up the kids from school. They would stay over tonight. She thought I was being romantic. She had no idea I was being completely unbalanced. I sat and waited. I simmered. I felt the anger consume me.
How dare he? I had stood by him while he went to college. I raised our kids while he did his residency. I shared his sleepless nights while he got his practice up and running. Perfect house, perfect kids, perfect everything. I was perfect. We were perfect.
I felt him before I even saw or heard him. After all these years my body was so attuned to him that I couldn't help it. He slammed the front door and started running through the house yelling my name.
When the door opened, he quickly took in the state of his study. His face almost melted me. Even through my anger I felt love for him. I couldn't just shut it off. I wish I could. But his worried face, the way he frantically looked around the room, it floored me. He was worried, about me.
When he finally saw me, sitting in a chair holding the photo to my chest, he looked relieved.
"What's wrong? What happened? Are the kids..."
In an instant I was in front of him, I felt the sting as my hand connected with his face before it even registered in my head what I had done.
"Why? Why now? Why ever? I don't understand... You.. You can't do this to me.... I just don't understand... because I have always been yours, and you mine."
Something in me snapped. I could feel the moment I lost it. The moment when I went past being angry and this was just all an irrational act. Not only a rant, but a physical demonstration of how truly pissed of I was. It had nothing to do with the resounding slap I had given him, and everything with the way my nerve endings were buzzing. How my breathing was coming in faster, how I suddenly just wanted to feel him. I could not deny what my body craved, what my body demanded. Even while the hurt and anger coursed through me , I ached for him. For his touch. For the feel of him in me.
Nostalgia swept through me, mixed with the need for him. I wanted to remember how it felt like, even if it was for the last time. I needed to remember what it felt like when he was mine. Only mine. Because no matter what would happen to us now, he would always hold a piece of me.
I wanted to hurt him for this. Slap him and then show him I was best. Better.
Make him realize it, to miss me. To know one last time how great we could be.
I pushed him back until his back hit that stupid modern chair. How I hated the thing. It didn't belong here, it was so different than everything else we had owned. When he brought it home I had complained for weeks. I called it his "mid-life crisis chair". Obviously his crisis went beyond the chair.
His face looked surprised as I shoved him back until he was sitting down on the cold, button-tufted leather. I grabbed the collar of his crisp oxford and yanked it open roughly. Buttons went flying everywhere and his strong chest was revealed to me.
The trail of hair leading down his chest was now sprinkled with gray, he was still as beautiful as when we were in our twenties.
"Please, talk to me... What happened?" he asked.
"You've hurt me enough. I'm done talking. Can't you see? I'm going to be selfish for once. You owe me this."
"Whatever you want... whatever you need," he kept reassuring me over and over again.
I answered by forcing his pants open.
My hand snaked into his pants until I held his length. I felt him harden in my hand. He'd never let me do what I intended to do. Not since our children were born. I don't think he thought it was proper for a mother. I grabbed him firmly, feeling how thick and strong he was.
Before he could react I had covered him with my mouth.
"Oh God, wait... No... What are you doing?" he asked, his voice unsteady.
He couldn't help the moan that escaped him next as I moved my mouth down his length. I reveled in the power I now held over him. I continued pleasuring him with my mouth till I felt him almost at the brink of losing it. When I abruptly stopped he straightened his head just as quickly. It had been thrown back in his pleasure, now he seemed confused.
"I don't understand... What is happening?"
"Neither can I," I said.
Without breaking his gaze I reached down and slipped my panties down my legs. When did she take her clothes off? did i miss it? Throwing them at his feet I stood in front of him in just a slip and my pearls.
He sat there, speechless, stunned but I could tell he was incredibly excited. His cock stood up hard against his stomach, bobbing slightly in time with his panting breaths.
Even in his confusion, even while his perfect features were marred by concern his eyes never stopped showing that he still cared. He still loved me. Me. He loved me. He stood hard and long for me. My beautiful fool of a husband wanted me. But maybe not enough.
I never stopped looking at him as I crossed the few steps that separated us. He was going to ask again what was wrong. Before he could, I straddled his lap and in one swift motion took him inside me.
The force of our connection shook me to my bones. This was Us.
We became Us that first time we were joined like this and even years after it was just as powerful. Sadly, nothing in the depth of our feelings had changed over the years. Even know I could feel his love for me. He was shaking with it, his body trembling as he experienced those first few blissful moments in which one feels complete.
After all this time our lovemaking was bathed in familiarity. Slow and gentle loving that felt like home. But not today. Today was about reclaiming.
"I love you," he said, as his eyes closed against the onslaught of emotions.
"Please, don't... I can't bear it," I sobbed because I really couldn't. Because while I needed to reclaim his body, he needed to reclaim my trust.
I started moving, slowly at first, long and slow thrusts that took him deep inside me. That didn't last long, my desperation quickly overpowered my restraint and suddenly I was rocking up and down his cock in a fury of movement.
I kept a determined pace while his head was thrown back in pleasure. My fingers dug into the soft leather on the back of his stupid chair while his dug into the flesh on my hips, guiding my movements.
Never before had I felt this need to possess him this way. To fuse ourselves together into just one being. To know that his release was mine, that mine was his and that no matter what happened after we had shared this.
As if sensing my desperate urge he looked up at me and roughly released one of my breasts from my slip. His mouth found my hard nipple and he nipped and tugged at it while I kept up my movements above him.
It was an exquisite torture, to feel his control shattered. To see him be the way we used to be. At least I could take that with me, this reminder of our former selves.
He kept one hand firmly on my hips and the other moved to my other breast. As I felt him grab it and squeeze roughly a moan escaped my lips. My hands were no longer digging into the leather, I was leaving angry red marks on his shoulders and back, my head going from side to side. I was so close.
I could feel the impending wave, the calm before the storm. The seconds right before we would tumble down the amazing ride that was a good orgasm. And just like old times I didn't held back. This orgasm was mine. He didn't give it to me. I earned it. I took it from him.
It started deep within my belly, as it uncoiled I felt like light as a feather. It uncoiled and snaked around my torso and licked at my insides as I cried out his name over and over again.
"Carlisle... Oh God Carlisle!"
His grunts kept washing over us as he thrust his hips up from the chair and into me. After a few more pushes I felt him shudder and let out my name in a low moan.
Where would we go from here? Was a way to go from here? Was there an Us after this?
All these thoughts passed through my mind in a constant stream. Even as he stood up with me in his arms and walked me to our room. As he helped me get into the shower and started to wash my hair. As he covered me in my plush bath robe.
He took care of me. But even after all his care I felt drained. Empty. I had taken what I wanted but now what I wanted were answers.
"Who is she?" I finally asked.
"Who? What are you talking about Esme?" he questioned. His mask of confusion was now being slowly replaced by one of anger. He was starting to understand.
"Answer me," he demanded. "Who are you talking about? What happened that the house is in shambles and I came home to angry sex?"
"There was a picture... of you... with her. I want to know who she is. Why she makes you happy. Why you were smiling..." My voice trailed off because it was starting to hurt again. The high was wearing off.
"There is no one, Esme. Listen to me. There is no one. You are it for me. You have always been," and he wasn't just telling me. He was imploring, begging me to believe him. And as he did he kissed my temple, and my forehead, my cheeks. An endless cycle of kisses that was starting to weaken the walls I had put up around my heart this afternoon.
I untangled myself from his arms and I found the picture, showing him what had broken me. When his eyes met mine again I saw a flash of recognition. I prepared for the worst.
"I was at that work dinner two weeks ago, as I left the restaurant I was talking to my colleagues. You know how I can get completely absorbed in a conversation. I wasn't looking and just walked into someone. It was instinct. I didn't mean anything by it, but she started to stumble and I just put my arms around her. She was a young woman. I laughed because she said that at least she didn't manage to make all of us fall to the floor. I saw the flash but I didn't think anything of it. It was nothing."
Everything stopped. My chest was pounding with a different kind of emotion. It was equal parts humiliation and the strongest rage I had ever felt. And it was there because I had let that piece of paper question the love I had shared with my husband. He wasn't the fool.. I was. I had left myself be fooled and of one thing I was sure. I would be the first and last time.
We would be ok, but before we would there would be a lot of talking. A lot of sharing. Of digging and trying to find why I had been so easily consumed by my fears and my self doubts. And while the healing and the talking happened I would search, I would explore until I found them, her. And she would wish she'd never crossed paths with me or my husband.
A/N: I hope you liked my take on Esme. I think any woman, no matter how lovely, motherly or compassionate has the potential for unparalleled fury. If you haven't heard the song you should. The beat is really good and in my head the lyrics fit this particular story.
Get ready for Dollegirl! She'll quiz you in the end!