AN: Thanks for all your love regarding this story. You guys have no idea how much each review/favorite/follow alert makes me happier than I care to admit.
As always, a huge thanks to Fran and Colleen for making my words readable. Without them, all of this would be a hot mess.
Any mistakes are my own.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Paying For Your Sins
"Please," I beg him. "Help me make it go away."
"What do you want me to do?"
"Whatever, I just can't do this anymore."
I stare at him with tears in my eyes, and he stares back. He gets to his knees in front of me and leans down close.
His hands grab both sides of my face and he kisses me.
He has kissed me before, but unlike last time, it's soft.
I can taste his addiction, but his lips are warm, and it's nice.
I grab the sides of his navy blue button up, over his ribs and pull him closer to me. My hands roam over his toned sides and back as we kiss.
His hands leave my face and he lays me down on the carpeted floor of this room, that's used for what?
It has a couch, a small table with a Kleenex box, and nothing else.
When I'm comfortable, he situates himself between my legs, still on his knees with his hands on either side of my head, holding him up.
When his lips move to my neck, I lean my head back giving him more room. My hands find his shirt again and I tug it out of the top of his pants.
When the hem is free, I start unbuttoning it.
He pulls it off to reveal a white t-shirt underneath. He removes it as well, and I moan as my hands hit his bare sides.
His mouth leaves my neck, and suddenly he's not hovering over me anymore. He's still sitting between my legs, but his top half is turned around, and his hands are occupied with something else.
I see the muscles of his side move as he moves his arms. There is nothing sexier than Edward's sides.
I watch as he takes four lines of cocaine off a small, round, table to the right of us, and I don't even care.
I want him, high or not.
His hands find the bottom of my dress; he lifts, not even flinching when the scars, and three-day-old cuts on my thighs are exposed to him.
He pushes it up until the fabric rests on my stomach; my lower half almost completely exposed.
His fingers are back on my thighs, running over my scars. He leans down to kiss them, and I close my eyes, almost ashamed of it.
He removes my underwear, tugging them down my legs, and I'm now completely exposed to him.
I lean up to unbuckle his khakis. He pushes both his pants and boxers down, and when his dick springs free, I start feeling a bit nervous.
I only have James's to compare it to, and Edward is definitely bigger than him. I'm not saying his dick is humongous or anything, but it's not small.
"Done studying my dick?"
He doesn't wait for an answer; his hands are pushing my knees apart, and he's situated between them once again.
He leans forward and guides himself into me, a little at a time. I register pain as he pushes himself in and I grit my teeth; my body tenses.
If he notices, it doesn't show and he doesn't still until he's all the way in. He groans and starts moving, in and out, not really giving me much time to adjust.
Through the door, and down the hall, I hear Elvis Presley start singing "Into the Garden."
I choke back a sob at the somber tune. Tears leak out of my eyes and drip down into my hair. Edward's too far gone to notice, but I cover my mouth just in case.
I don't stop him because this even though the pain of losing my father has returned, this is the best distraction I'm going to get, so I let him continue.
Above me, Edward's thrust become harder, and it hurts, but I take the pain hoping it will take my mind off the ceremony that's going on a couple of yards away.
It doesn't, so I clutch onto his sides, my nails digging into his skin, and whisper, "Harder."
He picks up the pace, and I continue with my silent cries.
When "Whiskey Lullaby," Charlie's favorite song, starts playing, I lose it, and a sob escapes through my mouth.
Edward stills and turns his head toward me.
"No, keep going," I plead through my sobs.
When he doesn't, I reach down and pinch the skin over my ribs. It doesn't work, and I'm almost hyperventilating, drowning in my grief.
"Make it go away, make it go away," I repeat over and over.
He starts moving again, but I barely notice.
"More. Hit me."
I wait anxiously for the pain, but it doesn't come in the form of his hand hitting me, instead, I feel his teeth sink into the skin above my collar-bone.
I reach up and dig my fingers back into Edward's sides, and he bites me harder, drawing blood.
I feel him cum inside me, and his arms give out as his body falls on top of mine. He rests there for a minute before pulling out, and getting off me.
I cry harder at the loss of contact.
Edward uses what I assume is his t-shirt to clean me up, and then he puts my panties back on me, before pulling my dress down.
"Come on, Bella. Sit up."
He pulls me up by my arm until I'm in a sitting position. Sobs still rack my body, but I stopped being able to control them a while ago.
I sit in between his knees, and he wraps his arms around me.
We sit until I can't possibly cry anymore.
"Do you want to go back out there?"
I shake my head against his chest, telling him no.
"Do you want to go to the cemetery?
"Yeah, I guess so."
He detangles himself and stands up, pulling me along behind him.
Exiting our little room, we find a back door to leave through.
We find Edward's car and, he takes me to the cemetery.
We sit in silence under the blue tent that's already set up, and wait for my father.
His body arrives, and the burial service is commenced. Bagpipes are played, and guns are shot. I flinch each time the bullets leave the barrels, and the image of my father lying on my bedroom floor, flashes over and over in my mind.
The twenty-one gun salute detail must have not been thought out very well.
When the American flag is folded and put in my hands, I've not yet shed another tear. Those don't come until the casket is being lowered into the ground.
It's becomes final.
He's really gone.
I'll never see him ever again.
"I'm sorry," I whisper.
And I am.
I'm sorry for not being the daughter that he wanted.
I'm sorry for not being good enough.
The casket is lowered, inch by inch until I can't see it anymore.
The preacher says his last words and people start to disperse, going back to their families, friends, and jobs.
When I leave, what will I have to go back to?
An empty house with three blood stains.
Edward is being nice now, but even I know that it won't stick. He's still an asshole druggie.
That hasn't changed.
The sad thing about this whole situation is that nothing has changed. My dad wasn't in my life before he died, and he won't be in it now.
It's the same, but it's different; I can't seem to find the right words to explain it.
I put my head in my hands and take a deep breath.
I look up at the deputy.
"I can take you home now."
I shake my head. "It's fine. I don't want to go now. I'll find a way back later."
Surprisingly he doesn't argue with me, maybe it's because he wouldn't want to go back there either.
I sit in the white, wooden chair and watch the gravediggers fill up the hole in the ground. I start to feel scared for Charlie, and so I get up and move away from the scene.
I keep walking, through the entrance of the cemetery and onto the road.
Aaaand he's back.
I turn around to see Edward on foot behind me.
"Where is your car?"
"My dad rode with me to the funeral home; he's taking it back home from here."
"How did he get to the cemetery from the funeral parlor?"
He shrugs. "I don't know."
I shake my head. "Where are you going?"
"My friend Pete is picking me up."
"Let my dad take you home."
"No, I'm going to walk."
Just as I finish my sentence, a black sports car pulls up beside us.
"See you around, Bones."
He opens the passenger door, but I stop him.
I hug him, hard.
He pulls back and stares at me for a moment before saying, "See you around," and getting into the car.
I start walking again, and with every step I take, my mood lowers. It takes all I have not to throw myself in front of an oncoming car or logging truck.
I'm not even sure why I'm trying to stop myself, but there's a little piece of my mind that's telling me it'll eventually get better.
This is rock bottom, right?
I sure fucking hope so.
My house looks different as I approach it. The wood looks older; the porch looks like it is sagging a bit more since I left.
It looks like it's bearing the weight of the world, and about to crack under its pressure.
I walk inside and sit on the couch; it still sits the same, the cushions well-worn.
I listen as the air clicks on, and the fridge hums from the kitchen.
The Grandfather clock ticks with each passing second and the birds chirp away outside the living room window.
Seconds turn into minutes, and maybe minutes turn into hours as I sit and wonder how things seem so normal.
Everything really is normal, but my heart doesn't know that.
My heart and mind are at war with each other; knowing and feeling are two different things.
And this feels like the end.
Thanks for reading.