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The Practice of Love	By : belladonnacullen Category: Twilight Series > AU/AR > Het > Het Views: 2642 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or make any money from this story.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
EPOV

Garish neon lights illuminated the perspiring people packed onto the dirty slabs of sidewalk, giving them all an inhuman glow. Pick-ups with oversized tires and middle-aged men on Harleys crowded the intersections, along with off-duty patrolmen, families dressed in Red Phillies gear, packs of day laborers, and the odd foursome from the suburbs: clean and tidy, wearing outfits from The Gap or J.C. Penney. I stood out like a fucking sore thumb as I slammed the door of the cab shut, still dressed in a suit and tie, not sure where to go.

I told Emmett I’d meet him here. But ‘here’ was pretty fucking vague. It was Philly’s closest approximation to telling someone to meet you in Times Square. I eyed the overflowing trashcans on the corners and the food wrappers accumulating in the gutters and fought the urge to hale the next cab I could find. Better yet, call the firm’s car service. Filthy fucking cabs.

Two skinny girls in denim mini skirts, sparkly tanks and Converse sneakers came and stood next to me, snapping gum like they were the fucking Doublemint Twins or something. I scanned the crowd for Emmett, and out of the corner of my eye I noticed one Doublemint twin elbowing the other.

“Hey, uh, you got a cigarette?” she asked, taking a tentative step in my direction.

I turned back to see Doublemint number one twirling her long ponytail around her finger. She looked like she was about sixteen, and she was blinking up at me, smiling in a way that was calculated to let me know that she was shy and available.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-one.”

“Like hell,” I scoffed.

“Asshole,” she said, snapping her gum, pulling Doublemint number two away. “Didn’t even look at my boobs.”

I juggled my cell in my pocket, contemplating turning it on and calling Emmett. But I wasn’t ready for that shit yet. Last night I hadn’t made it home until after midnight, and now it was about eight. I hadn’t actually spoken to Tanya in almost forty-eight hours. I knew that as soon as I turned on the phone, there’d be about a dozen texts and messages from her.

“I didn’t think you were gonna’ show,” Emmett laughed. I turned to see him leaning against a giant mural of Frankie Avalon, dressed in track shorts and a sleeveless T, grinning at me like I’d fucking forgotten to wear pants or something. “Still a heartbreaker,” he chuckled, nodding toward the retreating Doublemint Twins.

“Not fucking funny, Emmett,” I growled. “They were kids.”

“Kids these days.” Emmett shook his head in mock exasperation, and hung his arm over my shoulders. “So, where are we going?”

I glanced back and forth between the two-story, neon orange monolith with the blinking Geno’s sign, and the less assuming red, white and blue Pat’s King of Steaks. “No fucking clue,” I mumbled.

Emmett laughed again, a big, hearty sound that made all the women within fifteen feet turn and stare. Their gaze lingered when they caught sight of him. Emmett was six and a half feet of pure muscle, which was the first thing that stopped women in their tracks. But it was his boyish head of brown curly hair, dimples and freckles, that kept them looking after that first glance.

“So, you’re really gonna’ go through with it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I bluffed, like this wasn’t the most out of character thing I’d ever done in Emmett’s presence.

“Come the fuck on, Edward! A cheese steak? Dude, isn’t their a scrappy, vegetarian punk kid dying inside of you right now?”

I dug my hands deep into my pockets, and grasped the folded prescription Dr. Swan had given me the day before, shrugging my shoulders. I didn’t know what to say.

“I gonna’ have to get a picture of this. Damn. Alice isn’t going to believe it!”

“The more you talk, the less fucking likely I am to go through with it. You realize that, don’t you?”

“In that case, bro, just follow me.”

I silently thanked fucking god that Emmett led us in the opposite direction from the eyesore that was Geno’s. “They’re a bunch of assholes,” he said under his breath, glancing in the direction of the gaudy orange spectacle. “And this,” Emmett dramatically swept his arm out to encompass a squat, triangular building, surrounded by a ring of red metal tables and benches bolted into the sidewalk, “this is where Rocky came when he wanted a cheese steak.”

There was even a plaque in Rocky’s honor.

“Uh, Em, that wasn’t real. It was a fucking movie.”

“It was a real fucking movie, dude. Anyway, this is where the purists go,” he said, taking his place in line. We shuffled along in silence, until Emmett looked up at me expectantly, and waited.

“What?”

“How’d things go at the doctor’s office yesterday?” he asked, feigning nonchalance, keeping his eyes on the sea of humanity that flowed passed us, paying particular attention to the female portion of that sea.

I shrugged my shoulders again. “Fine.”

Emmett’s eyes darted in my direction, but quickly slid back to watch the foot traffic. “Yeah?”

“Sure. Just fucking crazy. You know me.”

“What’s Alistair’s replacement like?” he tried again.

“She’s young. Looks like a new doc. Went to the University of Washington.”

“Cougars,” Emmett mumbled under his breath as a pair of middle aged women in tracksuits walked by.

“Excuse me?”

Emmett shrugged. “U Dub football. The cougars. Uh, no, that’s not right. That’s Washington State.”

“That’s where I know you!” A middle-aged man with a large paunch and a larger mustache cut in, reaching past me to grab Emmett’s arm. “Number ninety-nine, out of Tennessee. Emmett Cullen. How’s the knee?”

“It’s alright, as long as I’m not being knocked around on the field,” Emmett replied with an easy smile. Emmett had gone pro three years ago as a starting linebacker for the Eagles. But with one unlucky tackle, his career was over before it really began.

“Tough break, kid.”

“It is what it is, you know? Coaching’s easier, anyway,” Emmett grinned, leaning against a red, white and blue “Don’t Make a Mis-Steak” sign. Shit like that life-changing injury just seemed to roll off Emmett. I’d be fucking beating myself up for the next decade.

“I don’t know about that,” the guy continued, taking Emmett’s cue and leaning up against the wall too. “All those pansy-ass ivy-leaguers over at Penn. You should go coach at a real school.”

I coughed and looked away, shaking my head a little at the idea that an ivy-league university might not be a real school because of its focus on academics. The guy with the mustache glared at me, and looked me over from head to toe.

“This is my cousin,” Emmett said. “He’s a lawyer.”

“Yep. I see,” he replied suspiciously, as if that explained everything. “Anyway, pleasure to meet you, Emmett.” Emmett shook the guy’s hand, and signed a cheese steak napkin for him, and by that time we’d finally reached the window.

“Two steaks, wiz, wit, two fries, two Cokes.” Emmett glanced at me, looking suddenly uncertain. “Or did you want a diet Coke?”

How had it fucking come to this? Drinking a diet soda to make up for the calories in my cheese steak? “The artificial sweeteners will kill us long before the sugar does.”

Emmett raised his eyebrows in exasperation.

“No. That means no diet Coke. Regular Coke.”

“Whatever you say, dude.” he chuckled. I went to pull out some cash from my pocket, but Emmett stopped me. “I’d gladly pay money to see this. This meal’s on me.”

We sat down at a table at the backside of the building, next to one of the many trashcans overflowing with greasy food wrappers. Pigeons ran between our feet, pecking at bits of fries and fried beef. I eyed the dirty looking red tray skeptically.

“So, uh, what the hell is going on, Edward?” Emmett asked, doling out the food. I noticed the grease had already soaked through the fry containers.

I shrugged, unwrapping the sandwich, trying not to estimate its calorie count and the fat content. My guess: nine hundred calories and ten grams of fat.

It had only been a day. You can’t just turn that shit off.

“Dude, you look like you’re about to eat a pile of shit.”

Same difference, I thought to myself.

“Come on, Edward. What the hell’s up? Why are we here? Not that I mind. It’s been too long since I’ve had one of these.” He kept up the eye content, even as he dug into his cheese steak, letting me know he wasn’t going to give up his line of questioning easily.

“Are you happy, Em?” I started.

Emmett shrugged. “Yeah, sure,” he said, wiping his face with a napkin and taking a long swig of cola.

I was working my way to the sandwich, eating one fry at a time. There was something to be said about their salty, crunchy exterior, in contrast with the soft hot center. I looked up to see that Emmett hadn’t taken his eyes off me. He wanted more from me than a question, but I didn’t know where to fucking start.

I’d been all over the place emotionally, the last few days. And there were so many ideas knocking around my skull that I had a hard time pinning down just one at a time. I’d wanted to come here, because, I don’t fucking know why. No, I knew. It was almost like being here with a cheese steak kept my lunch with her from ending. It made it seem like I had a connection with her, even though I didn’t. If we’d talked about fish and chips during my office visit, there was a very real possibility I’d have asked Emmett to meet me on the waterfront.

And I was here because I wasn’t happy. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been happy. And because I’d given up on trying, I guess. I’d thought that I’d done what I could with my life, and did it well. But maybe not.

Maybe, the way I was living made happiness impossible. On a biological level, I didn’t give myself one of the building blocks for happiness: cholesterol. But something told me I was missing a few more vital elements than that. But those other ingredients were things I didn’t know if I could get back. Maybe I ruined them with years of drug use. Maybe I just wasn’t that kind of person: a happy person. But staring at the lump of fried meat and processed cheese food in front of me, one thing became pretty fucking clear: this had been a stupid idea.

“You’re not going to eat it, are you?”

I gritted my teeth, picked up the soggy bun in two hands, and brought the unholy mess to my mouth, not holding back, taking the biggest bite physically possible. I was immediately assaulted by the overwhelming taste of salt, oil, tangy fake cheese, greasy onions, and thin scraps of tender meat. I resisted the urge to spit it out, instead forcing myself to chew, to swallow. I felt the grease seeping into my pours, trickling under my fingernails, and dribbling down my chin. It was all too much, and I dropped the sandwich back into its wrapper, and grabbed a fistful of napkins, trying my best to clean myself up, wishing I had a sanitary wipe.

Emmett’s laughter rang out, echoing in the space under the metal overhang, making people turn and stare. “If you could only see yourself,” he laughed, choking down the food that was caught in his mouth.

I glowered at him, and glanced around at the people staring at us. This wasn’t going exactly as planned. But really, what had I expected? That I’d devour this monstrosity and the world would start to look all rosy? Well, that hadn’t fucking happened. Instead, I felt like I had rocks in my gut, and the rest of my weekend stretched out in front of me, gray and unattractive.

I’d been so lost in my thoughts that I hadn’t realized that Emmett’s laughter had died down. Glancing up from my food, I saw that he’d turned all serious again. “Dude, what the hell, Edward? You look like someone killed your dog: angry and sad and maybe embarrassed.

“You ever get the feeling that maybe you’ve been doing everything wrong?”

“Like that time I tried man-to-man defense against Syracuse for the entire first half. Fucking lost the game and ruined our standings for the first part of last season.”

“Fuck, Emmett, I’m trying to have a conversation.”

Emmett shook his head. “You never do anything wrong, bro. “Ever since, well… you know, ever since you came to live back at the house you’ve done everything very, very right. Except cuss around mom.”

“That’s all shit, and you know it, Emmett.”

“What’s shit? Your job, the condo, your hot girlfriend, your trainer or your personal shopper? Or is it your work with the Homeless Advocacy Project, the Children’s Hospital, or what?”

“All of it, I think.”

“And so you’re eating a cheese steak?”

“Long story.”

“I’ve got all night,” he challenged, picking at the last of his fries.

“Alistair’s replacement, Dr. Swan. She said I needed to find happiness, I think,” I admitted.

“What is she, some hippy?” he grinned. “Just like dad to hire a hippy.”

“She talked like more of a medical anthropologist, if I had to guess.”

“What?” Emmett had finished his fries and was picking at mine. I slid the rest of the container over to him.

“I don’t fucking know,” I answered, leaning away from the frightening food, stretching my legs out in front of me.

“Edward, you’re not making any sense. You usually make sense, at least.”

I buried my hand in my pocket again, wrapping it around the small folded square of paper. Before I could stop myself, I pulled the paper out and placed it on the table between Emmett and I. It was folded so many times, that it was small enough to fall through the slats. Suddenly, I felt like I was betraying Dr. Swan, and I reached out to grab the prescription back.

But after years of athletic drills, Emmett’s reflexes were quicker than mine, and he grinned as he deftly picked up the tiny square in his large hands. “A note?” he chuckled, unfolding the paper. I watched his eyes widen as he read my prescription. “What, the… fuck?” He glanced up at me, smiling wide. “Alistair’s replacement?”

I tapped my foot nervously on the pavement, meeting his questioning gaze. I didn’t answer. It was a stupid fucking question.

He eyed my cheese steak. “Indulgent food?”

I shrugged. There was more to it than that, but I’d already told him more than I’d planned.

“And she wants you to get laid. I can’t argue with her instincts, you’re one of the most uptight bastards I know. If you weren’t family…” his voice trailed off when he noticed that I wasn’t laughing. “So, did you rush home to Tanya, or what?”

“Or what,” I muttered under my breath, taking a long sip of Coke, for lack of anything else to do.

“What?”

“Em, could I stay with you for a few days?”

“Edward, I don’t get it. Did you and Tanya have a fight? I know something’s up. And this is cute, but it doesn’t really explain anything.”

I eyed the prescription in his hands, suddenly worried that he might be getting it greasy, and I reached across the table and grabbed it back. Cute? It wasn’t fucking cute. “Can I stay with you, Em?”

“You know you can, as long as you don’t mind sharing a bathroom with Eric and Tyler.”

I hadn’t thought about that. A hotel would be a hell of a lot cleaner, and quieter, closer to the office. Emmett was all the way out in University City. I glanced down at the little paper again. Dr. Swan’s script was messy, almost illegible. Did they teach poor penmanship in med school?

Family, as needed,

I glanced back at Emmett, eyeing me questioningly, waiting to listen to whatever I had to say. “Could you drop me at my place first? I’ll be by later. I’ve got a few things I’ve got to do before I come over.”

“Sure dude. Of course.”

xXxXx

My stomach churned and blood pounded in my ears as the elevator climbed smoothly and noiselessly up to the sixteenth floor. I rubbed the folded prescription in my pocket like it was a talisman, and hesitated as the elevator door slid open.

I thought about hitting the little round button marked “B” for basement. I actually held out my finger, and brushed the button lightly. Then I could just slip into my car and drive to Emmett’s house: no scene, no confrontation, no one hurt. Maybe I’d even get some sleep. God fucking knows I’d eaten cholesterol. Wasn’t I supposed to sleep now, according to Dr. Swan?

I turned over the cell phone in my pocket. The burden of all of Tanya’s unanswered messages made it feel like it weighed about twenty pounds. No. I had to do this. The elevator door started closing, and I hastily blocked it with my arm and made my way to the front door with the grim determination of an executioner.

I held my breath as I quietly turned the key in the lock, and swung the door open. But I hadn’t been quiet enough.

“Where the hell have you been?”

Fuck. My heart dropped into my stomach, which was already too full of cheese steak, joy not included.

“Edward?” Heels clacked in my direction. God, didn’t she ever take those things off? “Edward?”

I took a deep breath and waited in the foyer, admiring the sleek lines and stark beauty of the framed Lombardi I’d bought at auction the last time I was in Italy. The painting was of a fortress, all in shades of silver and gray, clean, everything in place, perfect. No one asked it if it was fucking happy.

Tanya’s shadow fell over me, and I sensed her watching as I studied the painting. I took a deep breath and looked in her direction. She was angry, her face red and splotchy, her hands on her hips, her hair pulled back into a severe ponytail.

“Where the hell were you?”

“I, uh --”

“Mom and I waited for you for an hour! I left about a thousand texts and messages.”

“My phone was off. I was thinking, and I met Emmett.”

“You were thinking? Holy shit, Edward. Is that what you want me to tell my mother?”

“Sasha?”

“Yes, Sasha. I think you’ve met,” she replied sarcastically. “We have this dinner every year, Edward! Every fucking year.”

“The anniversary. Fuck. I’m sorry.” Tanya’s baby brother had died in infancy a little over ten years ago. Every year her family celebrated his birthday together. I’d been so wrapped up in my fucking cheese steak fantasies that I’d forgotten.

“Fuck,” I repeated.

“What the hell, Edward? This is fucking harsh, even for you.”

“I’ll call your mom and apologize. I didn’t want to hurt her… I, I --”

I couldn’t seem to move from the spot. I felt better near the doorway, near the Lombardi. I’d miss it.

“Edward?”

“I’m sorry, Tanya.”

“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” she asked, taking a tentative step towards me.

“Definitely.”

Tanya’s anger immediately melted away, leaving only concern in its wake. “What is it? Carlisle, Esme? Something at work?”

“No.” I felt the pull of the door behind me, but forced myself farther into the house, my eyes darting from Tanya to the shining hardwood floors and back. Tanya stepped backwards as I came closer, edging into the large open space of the living area. I looked over the white walls, vaulted ceilings, the wall of glass overlooking the city, the Ben Franklin Bridge in the distance. One wall opposite the windows was decorated with black and white prints of St. Petersburg, the city Tanya lived in on and off until she was ten: onion shaped domes dominated the skyline, frozen lakes glittered, and the air seemed brittle and bright. The other wall was covered with black and white prints of Philadelphia.

I’d agreed to the decorations without much of a thought. No, that wasn’t precisely true. I’d thought I was doing the right thing when Tanya suggested it all. The decorations, the life… It had all seemed to fall into place back then: a job with the best child advocacy firm in Philadelphia, a bright and airy condo two blocks from work, and Tanya had just broken up with Dimitri, her past, our present. It had all seemed… right enough.

I’d been twenty-seven and I’d never really had a relationship until Tanya. I’d done enough emotional damage before I’d gotten sober to take up a lifetime. I was heavy into my ‘don’t do anything that you can’t do well’ lifestyle. And I couldn’t do relationships well. It would have involved openness I was incapable of, emotional honesty, confronting the shell of a person I’d turned myself into. If I learned anything from my father, it was that you shouldn’t bring others into that vortex.

“You’re scaring me, Edward. What’s wrong?”

I looked around at the apartment; the leather couch, the plasma screen T.V., the sleek, asymmetrical lines of the bookcase where Tanya had made certain only strategic books were displayed, alongside abstract sculptures in black and red, my mother’s baby grand piano. I’d have to have that moved. And maybe the Lombardi.

“We should sit, I think.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Goddamn it, Tanya. Just listen for once. I said to sit.”

“Listen! Listen to what? You never say anything anymore.”

But she sat, perched on the edge of the black leather armchair, her longs legs crossed in front of her. She was wearing pale pink open toed heels, and she was shaking her foot nervously, clacking the heel against the hardwood. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her foot.

Tanya’d changed so much in the past five years, and it was hard to look at her, to notice the differences. She’d been so certain back then, certain that she was as hard as I was. That she wanted what I wanted. “Fuck marriage, we’ll do it our own way,” she’d whispered as she pulled me into bed, and then rasped sweet nothings about how we’d be individuals together, how we’d give each other space. I bought it. We bought it. But now she was little more than a shaking and angry mass of insecurity. Fuck.

“We’re not happy, Tanya.”

“What?”

“This isn’t working.” I hazarded a glance at her face. Her violet eyes were wide with what? Shock? Rage. Definitely fucking rage.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“About what?”

“You skip dinner with my mom and my sisters and then show up and say, ‘this isn’t working?’ I don’t think so! I don’t know what the fuck’s going on with you lately, but it has nothing to do with me.”

“You’re right. You don’t fucking know what’s been going on with me, and it doesn’t have anything to do with you. This is on me, Tanya. I’ve taken advantage of you, over and over, and I can’t watch myself hurt you anymore. It’s going to kill both of us.”

“You haven’t taken advantage of me for over a month.”

“Tanya, I’ve been taking advantage of you ever since I realized you’d let me. I used you to get as close to normal as I could. I’m not fucking normal, and it’s not fair to you.”

“This again? The normal thing again? Goddamn it, Edward! We’ve talked about all of this before. Back when you used to talk. I’ve known you since you were ten. I know what it means to be with you.”

“You’re lying, Tanya. I fucking hurt you at every step. Why the fuck won’t you admit it?”

“Don’t tell me how I feel. You know I can’t stand that shit, Edward.”

I bit my bottom lip and shut my eyes tight, trying to focus, trying to figure out how to put an end to five years of mistakes. Fuck, try fifteen years. God, I’d fucking ruined fifteen fucking years of her life.

When I opened my eyes, Tanya’s arms were wrapped tighter around her body and her mouth was pinched closed, her jaw set, her lavender eyes bright. Her foot was still tapping unevenly on the ground. She was daring me to break her down. After fifteen years I fucking knew how. But I didn’t want to do it. I’d done enough.

I tried to make my voice come out calm and quietly. “I know you haven’t been using birth control for the past, what, six, seven months?”

“What the --?” I wasn’t going to let her fight. Not about this.

“I have fucking OCD, Tanya,” I interrupted, still composed, still calm. “Did you think I wasn’t going to catch that?”

“Is that why you won’t sleep with me?”

“Tanya, I can’t get you pregnant.”

“You don’t know that.” I watched her protective barrier crumbling. Her arms fell slowly, until her hands were folded over her abdomen, protecting her womb.

“We’ve been having unprotected sex for --”

“You have to actually fuck for that to work, Edward,” her words were hard as nails, but her voice was quavering.

“I can’t get you pregnant. It won’t happen with me, Tanya. That’s not the life I can give you.”

“I know you saved sperm. I’ve seen the cryo bills.”

“The diseased fucking seed of a homeless, orphaned drug addict? Jesus fucking Christ, Tanya! Is that what you’ve pinned your hopes on? I wouldn’t wish that shit on my worst enemy.”

“Why is it still there?”

“Why am I still here?”

“What?”

“This isn’t fucking good. What we have isn’t good. I love you. I do. I thought it would be enough, that it would get me as close as I could get to, I don’t fucking know… feeling good, maybe. But I fucking hurt you every fucking day. Like no matter how fucking hard I try… I haven’t done right by either of us.”

“You’re just scared.”

“What?”

“You swear more when you’re scared. You just said fuck about five times in thirty seconds. I knew your dad. You’re scared you’re like --”

“Don’t fucking say it, Tanya. I pay a therapist good money. You’re not my fucking therapist.”

But she kept going. “You’re scared that you’re like him.”

“Are you blind, Tanya? I’m a carbon fucking copy.”

“You don’t drink.”

“That’s the fucking difference? That’s how I outclass that emotionally bereft, psychologically abusive fuck?” I was on my feet, standing in front of Tanya, but I didn’t remember moving.

“No, that’s not what I meant.” She shook her head. She looked scared.

“The fuck you didn’t,” I growled, leaning in closer. Until I saw the tears spring up in the corner of her eyes. Fucking hell.

“So what? You want me to leave?” she tried not to sob, attempting to stay composed as a tear worked it’s way down her pale pink cheek. I closed my eyes and held my breath. She’d won more than one argument by breaking down in tears. I turned towards the wall of glass, before opening my eyes and continuing.

“No… this place is yours. I’ll have papers drawn up. I don’t belong here.”

“This is the booby prize? ‘Sorry, you don’t get me, take my house.’”

“You never had me, Tanya... We pretended. But you deserve better. You always have.”

I heard the soft brush of leather against skin as Tanya stood to her feet. It was almost like she instinctively knew how I’d react to the tapping of her heels on the floor. I swear she slid closer, instead of walking. “But I only want you.”

“I didn’t want to be alone. I wanted to do the honorable thing. After everything, I thought I was making things right between us. But this is only hurting you more. I’m sorry.” I glanced at Tanya, and the city’s lights were reflected in her glassy eyes. She was nodding her head absently, but I couldn’t believe she was agreeing.

“That’s it?” she asked so quietly, I almost couldn’t hear. “After everything? You think I’m just going to let you give up? Leave? Walk away from everything? From me?”

“What else are you going to do?”

She looked into my eyes and tried to hold my hand, but I put it in my pocket instead. “Tell you to stay. Tell you to try. You never tried. It’s not fair. I tried. I fucking tried. All the time. A lot.”

“I know. I’m an ass.” I couldn’t stand there with her any longer; I needed to put physical space between us. I walked back into the living area, and saw the black lacquer of my mother’s piano gleaming in the dull light. “I want to keep the piano, and my office chair, and the Lombardi by the door.”

“You’ve got to be fucking joking,” Tanya sobbed. “Is that your itemized list? Do you think that any of the rest of this makes up for not having you?”

“It doesn’t just make up for it. It makes it better.”

“You’re an asshole, you know that?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re a goddamned, fucking piece of work. And now you think it’s just over? As easy as that?” Her heels were clacking in my direction again and I turned to meet her, wrapping my hands around her wrists, pinning them to her side.

“Does this seem easy to you?”

“What the fuck happened that you’re doing this now?”

“If I wanted to tell you, then I’d have stayed.” I felt something snap, not like a bone or anything, more like resolve. Tanya’s eyes dimmed, the muscles in her wrists went limp and I let her go.

“You’re leaving?”

“That’s what I’ve been telling you for half an hour, now,” I explained, looking into her eyes, hoping she’d move on, get past the mess I’d fucking made of everything.

“Don’t go tonight. Give me one more night.”

“You don’t really want that shit, do you? One more night where I lock myself in the office, and you go to bed alone?”

“Come to bed like you used to.” She reached out and her fingertips traced the outline of my jaw, ghosted over my neck to my collar. I could feel my pulse against the pads of her fingers.

Procreation (or the practice thereof), always using proper precautions.

There wasn’t a chance in hell I was going to bed with Tanya. Ever again. Strike two for the fucking prescription. I rubbed my fingers over it in my pocket. If it was a load of crap, why did it still mean so much?

I eyed the foyer at the other end of the room. There was thirty feet between here and the rest of my life. I didn’t know what it felt like to live without Tanya. I didn’t know if I could, really. But I’d fucking try. I took a step towards the door, and Tanya grabbed a hold of my tie.

At that moment, her cell rang and vibrated, almost jumping off the corner of the coffee table, at about ten times its fucking usual volume. We both jumped a little, and Tanya let go of me and lunged for it.

“Hey, mom… No, he’s here.” Tanya glared at me, then wandered purposefully towards the front door. “No, it’s… no, it’s complicated… He said --”

I didn’t want to hear Tanya’s excuse for my behavior. I’m sure I’d hear it through Esme, or Alice or Kate. There were too many possibilities, really, and I wondered how I was going to get through this break-up without cutting off each member of my fucking family. I didn’t know how this was going to work. My family and hers were so close, that they were practically related. That should have been the first fucking sign that this had been a very sick, very wrong idea.

With Tanya’s back to me, I took the opportunity to make a break for the bedroom, where I threw enough clothes for the weekend into my gym bag, and then raided the bathroom for toiletries.

I desperately tried to ignore Tanya’s voice in the other room.

“… just like before… punishes me… makes me think he doesn’t… no… not like that… I just think…”

She was doing it on purpose; trapping me and making me listen to her analysis, while I couldn’t fight back. I walked into the office and grabbed a few files, my laptop, and my iPod. On a shelf over the desk I saw an old photo album and quickly stuffed that into my bag as well.

In the living area, Tanya’s voice was quieter. She almost sounded resigned, and sad. Really fucking sad. She was choking back tears again.

“… Sure, mom. Uh huh… I know…I love you… I’ll tell him… bye.”

Tanya must have kicked off her heels at some point during the conversation, because I almost didn’t hear her quiet footsteps coming down the hall. Not suspecting that I was in the office, she passed by on her way to the bedroom.

“Edward?”

I felt like a fucking criminal as I walked to the front door instead of the bedroom. In the foyer, the Lombardi fortress was gleaming silver in the dark, standing so tall and strong. I resisted the urge to pull it off the wall and take it with me to Emmett’s. It was a stupid fucking impulse.

“Edward?”

“I’m going now, Tanya.” I was surprised by the sound of my own voice. It came out so small and uncertain. I heard footsteps running down the hall now, and I opened the front door.

“Edward, don’t go. Don’t go like this.” Yeah, like a dog with his tail between his legs. Not my finest fucking moment, I’m sure.

“It’s the only way I know how to do this shit, Tanya. Fucking sorry.”

“Please.”

“I’ll have Lauren call to arrange to get --”

“The piano and the chair and the Lombardi?” Tanya cut in icily.

“And the rest of my clothes.”

“You’re gonna’ need new clothes, asshole.”

“Fine.” I rubbed the prescription in my pocket one last time, thinking that if I wasn’t careful I’d rub it out of existence, before I stepped over the threshold and pulled the door closed.
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The Practice of Love