Chapter 11 ~ Empty Bottles

A Two Parter

~ Bella Swan AKA Pie Girl ~

The HTML error code blinked at me.

FAIL. FAIL. FAIL.

"Stupid…" tap tap tap. "…computer."

Stupid, stupid, stupid…

I typed the code in, again and it failed on me. Again.

"Ugh!"

I leaned onto my elbows and rubbed my temples…thank god the hangover was gone but I was going to have to stop and take a break before I broke the damn laptop and ruined all the hard work I'd already put in to the Hale's website, for them.

To be honest, part of me could have cared less, though.

I'd gone home, alright, just like Edward had said to, only, I wasn't home. It didn't feel like home.

Things were uncomfortable there and…strained, between Emmett and I.

What I really wanted to do was bake something and take it over to Edward.

Then shove it in his stupid face for acting like such an ass.

I pushed away from the small desk that held the laptop I'd been working on and went upstairs to take a shower.

And maybe go tell Edward exactly what I thought of him.

"Just, let him be, Bells," Emmett said as I passed his bedroom door, upstairs and I swear, it was like he read my mind, sometimes and it was really freaking me out.

"Mind your own business, Emmett," I called back to him as I slammed the door to my room and started my shower.

I just couldn't get Edward out of my mind, no matter how badly I wanted to, no matter how much sense it made to do so…And I couldn't erase the last memory I had of him, walking away from me at his vineyard.

I was really tired of him doing that, too, by the way….walking away from me like that.

I had been very close to following him up to his house and giving him a piece of my mind for deciding what I was going to be doing…when I was going to be doing it, and…who I wasn't going to be doing it with.

Didn't kiss me…

My ass.

I might have been hung over but I wasn't an idiot.

I could tell by the look in his eyes when he told me nothing had happened that he was lying and deep down, I'd known something had transpired between the two of us…I just…wish the recollection had been clearer.

As it was, all I had, was a fantasy of what it must have been like and a foggy memory of butterflies and hot flashes.

I could almost see, in my mind's eye, Edward's face that night, as I'd told him the pain he was going through wasn't his fault.

Could nearly touch his lips as I tried to remember them pressing against mine.

His hands…

His…

Everything.

And then, his annoyingly gentlemanly personality….

"You're drunk, Pie Girl."

I bit down onto my lip, smiling, pulling the memories it was so hard to hold on to from that night.

I'm pretty sure, If I'd have kissed you the way you should be kissed, you wouldn't be asking me if I'd kissed you, right now, he'd said and I shivered, imagining him saying those words, again.

I paused for a moment, after that thought, supposing, there was always the possibility that he'd denied it because he'd regretted it happening…I wondered if maybe he just hadn't known of any other way to tell me…maybe he didn't want to hurt my feelings?

I seriously doubted it.

There was something, there, between us…it was…

Tangible…unavoidable…

Real.

No, whatever it was I was going through…he was going through the same thing.

He had to be.

It radiated off of him just like I felt it was radiating off of me, he just…pushed it away, for some reason.

And at that thought, I shut the shower off, swung the bedroom door open, again, and stomped down to Emmett's room.

"Who do you think you are, anyway, Emmett McCarty?" I snapped at him and he jumped at the sound of my voice.

As well he should.

"What?"

"Why do you do that?" I flung a hand at nothing.

"Do what?" he asked again, acting like he hadn't just pissed Edward off beyond words, back at his own home.

Like I was the crazy person.

"Don't act dumb with me, Emmett," I warned him. "I want to know what you're exact problem with him is, and I want to know…now."

He knew who I was talking about, I wasn't going to explain myself any further.

There was a stare down, of sorts, then. Emmett's jaw tightened and he twisted the spine of the book he was holding in his hands, as though he was having an inner battle of his own.

"Alright," he finally conceded and I felt elated that I was getting to the bottom of this ridiculousness. "But not till you tell me why you're messing around with this guy…"

He took proper note of the glare I shot at him and clarified, "I don't care if it's Edward or…fucking Peter Pan…Bella…you're getting married…in…"

"No, I'm not," I interrupted, harshly, crossing my arms, so he wouldn't see the nerves he'd just awoken in me, by forcing me to say it, out loud.

Until then, I didn't have to face anyone…their disappointment, questions, confusion…

Now…it was out there.

A big, huge, big pink elephant, that had stunned Emmett into silence, momentarily, at least…as I built up the courage to keep going…pushing thoughts of Jake out of my mind, wondering about why he hadn't tried to get in contact with me, yet about my messages.

I'd even called him back a few times, trying to catch him at the office…at home…in his car…but he wasn't taking my calls.

Not that I could blame him.

"You're…"

"Not…getting married," I repeated, softer, that time and yes, even with the guilt…it still rang true.

Right.

I was doing the right thing.

Emmett's face morphed, as he set the book down…it changed from what seemed like anger, to confusion and then, finally, he asked, "Well, what happened?"

Now, Emmett didn't know Jake, very well. No one really did, out there in Napa. He only knew that Jake and I had pretty much been inseparable since we were younger and that I'd been fairly excited when I'd originally told him we'd decided to get married.

This talk would give Emmett an insight into my head that he hadn't been privy to, in a very long time.

I needed to ease him into it.

"How much time have you got?" I asked him, sort of joking, sort of not…

I wanted him to understand this wasn't a discussion that would be over in five minutes, being that he and Rose did pretty much everything together…I really didn't want to intrude on their alone time but his eyes changed then, and he just gave me his soft, understanding Emmett look and said, "All the time you need, kiddo."

He made room for me on his bed and I climbed up next to him.

And it was about to be a very long night.

---

Part Deux

~ Edward ~

I'd already been standing at the door to Carlisle's hospital room, for quite a while, when he seemed to finally notice me.

I'd just been watching him breathe in and out, attempting to figure out what the rush was, to get there when…I really had no goddamn clue what there was to say to the man.

"Edward?" he called out, quietly, lifting his head, slightly and I stood there, unwilling to step any further, leaning up against the door jamb with my arms crossed.

I was still breathing, quite heavily, from the rush of the situation and memories…and Carlisle's voice was rough, like he didn't remember how to speak but hearing him say my name was…

Weird, for lack of a better word.

I felt eight, again, suddenly and I found it so odd. I mean, you just don't think about petty things like daddy issues when you're fighting guerrilla warfare. There's a bigger picture to worry about, ya know?

But now…

He let his head fall back after that, onto his pillow and then motioned for me to come closer.

I hesitated but did as he requested and found a chair to sit in, pulling it up next to his bed, like I had all the other days I'd visited.

The only difference was, it's easier to talk to an unconscious body than to a live human being.

Sometimes.

I still wasn't finding any words to say, not that I was looking very hard.

But he did.

Sort of.

"I'm…glad you…came," he forced out and I wasn't sure if he meant to Napa, or to the hospital.

I felt my eyebrows furrow and he tried to laugh.

"Doctor…says I can't…" and then he made a gesture toward his throat, insinuating it was hard to talk, I supposed. Probably from the tubes they'd stuck down it while he was out.

I nodded.

We stared at each other for a few minutes before I decided, no better time, than the present, for questions.

"What in the hell did you do to the vineyard, dad?"

It might have been a harsh way to start out, but I didn't exactly have an infinite amount of time to work with.

He smiled.

"Thought you'd…appreciate that…" he trailed off, looking for his glass of water and I handed it to him.

I watched him take a sip then I set it back down onto the table next to his bed and I waited.

I wanted to be angry with the man but…well, this wasn't exactly the father I remembered.

He wasn't gruff, or distant, or any of the things I remembered about him…he was…

Older.

I mean, much older, like, he didn't seem four years older, he seemed…twenty years older.

And as I sat there, silently arguing with myself as to whether I should just get up and leave or…sit and watch him die, the doctor entered the room.

"How are you feeling, Carlisle?" he asked and my dad smiled up at him. "Same old…same old, doc."

"I see you made it," he said, now directing his attention to me and I felt out of place. Like, when you go to your first team meeting of some sort? Baseball, basketball, anything really, and you don't know anyone there? You don't know what to say or…who to say it to…

I felt like that.

Like I didn't even know who this man was that was lying in this hospital bed.

All I could do was nod and then he started looking Carlisle over, testing some things out.

"I'm going to need to speak with your son, if you don't mind, Carlisle?" he said to him and my dad nodded, closing his eyes again.

And a slight fear raised up inside of me.

I made a move to go to him but the doc stopped me. "He's just resting, Mr. Cullen, he's had a long day."

Long day? I thought, because I'd like to know what this guy thought of my days.

In the hallway is when I'd gotten a dose of reality.

One I hadn't been all that happy about getting.

"I'm afraid this might go a little deeper than just a stroke, Mr. Cullen," was the first thing I'd heard and I was curious as to what 'a little deeper' meant.

"Since when does just a stroke get worse, exactly?" I asked him.

"I found signs of several smaller strokes, his liver is failing him, which could be a sign of alcoholism and his cholesterol is off the charts…I'm surprised he's been able to last this long, quite frankly, it's like he's…"

"Waiting for something," I whispered, finishing what I assumed the doctor's thoughts were leading him to say next.

"I don't understand, he's always been in great shape," I told him, surprised at the cracks I heard in my own voice. "He's never been sick a day in his life, for Christ's sake."

"That may very well be, Mr. Cullen, but…"

"Could you…" I stopped him, blinking my eyes shut for just a second or two before talking again. "Stop calling me that? It's Edward."

"Of course, my apologies, Edward…"

I was still trying to think some things through as he continued. "Carlisle's health has been deteriorating for the past couple of years, he came in for some exams early on, but then he stopped coming and we hadn't heard anything from him in over a year, until…"

Right.

I swallowed down the dull pain, aching in my gut, then.

I was good at swallowing the pain down.

I'd gotten good at it over the past few years.

"So, what now?"

"Now, we wait, and see if his body is willing and able to heal itself, or if he's just not got it in him to keep on going. But if he does heal, there's a long road ahead of him before he's back up to par with his health…"

He kept talking while I looked in at my weakened father, lying there, in his hospital bed, wondering what had happened that would make him do this to himself.

It was like he wanted to die.

When the doc was done ranting, I went back in to Carlisle's room and sat next to him, watching him sleep, all the while, thinking of what there was to say to him.

And how to say it.

I was asleep, myself, after, who knows how long but was awakened by Carlisle's movement and I asked him, almost instinctively, "What do you need? Water?"

He nodded and I got him a fresh cup full, handing it to him as I sat back down.

"You're…still here," he rasped out and I nodded.

We were nodders, my dad and I, apparently.

After he took his sip, he handed me the cup back and tried to say something.

I told him not to hurt his self but he was stubborn, my dad.

"You…used to sit up…" he cleared his throat and it sounded painful. "…every year…waiting for the first official crop collecting…" he laughed a little.

At least, I thought it was a laugh. The labored breaths he took after every couple of words reminded me of how I felt, after almost an entire day of weeding those fucking vines.

"All night…Couldn't get you to…go to bed…like it was…Christmas, and you were…waiting for…Santa Clause."

There was a pang in my chest, when he'd said that.

I remembered, of course. It was the most exciting time of the year for me, when I was little…watching the workers pull the grapes, inspect them, basket them and then ultimately, take them down to the barrels.

I used to sneak around, following them, learning what made a good wine grape and what didn't, from the ones they'd leave on the ground, compared to the ones they'd keep.

I was just surprised he had remembered it.

"You'd never let me help," I reminded him and his head bobbed up and down, some. "Too young…"

I couldn't really say much after that, for a while. The lump in my throat took up too much space.

Instead, I just helped him when he needed it and got him water when he needed it and then finally, the nurses kicked me out.

I told him I'd be back and he smiled weakly, patting my hand and holding onto it before finally letting go.

I drove back home to Napa, that night, in dad's old beat up Toyota, remembering the drives to other vineyards he used to take me to.

Much like the ones I'd taken Bella to, a few days before.

And I remembered, those trips…they weren't so bad.

It worried me, that feeling the memory caused...because it wasn't full of anger like most memories were, that I'd had of my time with Carlisle. All I recalled was laughter and jokes. Taunting and learning...

It confused me.

As I lay in bed, that night, I stared at the ceiling, pushing anything and everything out of my mind except for practice drills from back at Fort Benning.

….

I beat the clock, the next morning and as I took my run, I realized, I hadn't opened up a bottle of wine, the night before like I had been.

I felt pretty good, too.

The local wine competition signs that I'd torn down along the road, were still gone and I was happy about it.

As the fresh air whipped against my face, I thought a lot of things through.

One being, that I didn't need any more childhood memories or stupid fucking shit messing with my head. I just needed to get this…thing…this project….done with and get back to Georgia.

The run went quickly, that day. I ran faster than I remembered running in a long time.

Even back at Fort Benning.

After my shower, I worked on raking in between the vines.

I was aggressive and made a lot of progress.

No Bella today, I thought, about half way through the day and then reminded myself, it was just as well.

I ate some lunch, late into the afternoon, then I made a list of things I'd be needing, to get some holes patched in the hallways upstairs that led to the master bedroom.

I also decided to skip out on the visit to Sonoma, for the time being, anyway.

Dad needed his rest more than he needed me there, giving him a hard time.

And that night, I visited the personal tasting room in the cellar…but didn't touch the wines.

Instead, I hit the hay, early.

The next day, my run was easier, still.

Fresh air, hard run, deep burns and a clear head…it was all good.

Like I was back at work, readying myself for combat.

And the more days I spent Bella-less, the easier things seemed to get.

She still haunted my thoughts, though.

Her laughter...the way she walked...the way she looked at me and those beautiful, soft, pink lips of hers and the temptation she teased me with, every time she smiled.

Still though...

Just as well.

I could almost count the days down to when I'd be able to leave and get myself back on track with what I was meant to be doing…what I was born to do.

Fight wars.

And with everything I'd repaired in the house, I was now coming up with scenarios of my own, as to how they'd been condemned in the first place.

I wasn't liking where my mind led me.

I also wasn't liking where the roads led me, in Napa.

Especially when they led me to places that Felix Volturi frequented.

...

Should have gone to Sonoma, dammit, I'd almost said out loud, the day I'd run in to town for a drill bit that I needed. Carlisle's tools were crap and I was tired of spending twice as long to do jobs that should have only taken me a few hours to do.

I thought about it…about leaving and heading in the other direction but I wasn't trained to do that.

I was trained to face shit.

Face assholes.

I did this every day for four years, I could do it, now, I just had to…try not to kill him.

Not that that would be a bad thing.

I walked passed him, making my way to the power drills section of the shop.

Laughing sounded throughout the store and although I'd assumed it was Felix and his friends, when I looked up to see if it was me they were laughing at, I felt my heart drop.

Because it wasn't Felix.

It was Bella.

And Emmet…and Rose and…half the fucking graduating class from high school, just outside the store. Probably making plans for the evening.

Felix noticed them too…and after a pointed look in my direction, he made to leave the store, bee lining for Bella.

Awesome.

"Not your problem, Edward," I told myself, inspecting the pieces that I'd pulled off of the shelf and old Mr. Danks eyeballed me, trying to make sure I didn't steal the damn things.

Feeling slightly defeated, I took what I needed, to the counter, and set them there for him to ring up, as I pulled my wallet out to pay for it.

Eat that, old man.

As I was leaving, Felix was making his play for Bella.

"Come on, sweet thang…it's just a night out…surely you can afford on evening, Emmett free, can't ya?"

My blood pumped harder.

And not in a good way.

I started passed the crowd when I heard his tone change after she tried to politely tell him to fuck off.

My words, not hers.

"Let's just go, Emmett," she'd said.

"You got a problem with guys, Bella Swan?" he taunted her and I clenched my teeth together, continuing on my way but you know how bullies are just never satisfied with bullying one person?

They have to make as many other people look like idiots as possible, in order for their techniques to work for them.

You know, to make themselves look…not quite so idiotic.

"Oh look," he called out and I had a funny feeling about it but put in attempt number one to ignore him, making my feel continue to walk.

"It the fire starter!"

His friends laughed and I stopped, working up to attempt number two in ignoring him.

"Just go home, Edward," I heard Emmett call out from somewhere and he almost sounded like the old Emmett.

Best friend.

Trouble disruptor, extraordinaire.

I took another step when I heard Felix again, though.

"Nobody wants you back here, Cullen…nobody wants any of you here, anymore!" he yelled and more laughter from his buddies stopped me again.

I turned around to face him and could see that Emmett and Bella and their group weren't too far from Felix's crowd.

Bella was watching me with caution and…

Worry.

And it killed me.

I couldn't bear to keep eye contact with her, so I turned my attention to Felix.

I took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly.

Control it.

"I got nothin' to prove to you Felix, but if I were you, I'd shut the fuck up and walk away."

More laughing.

None from Bella or Emmett.

Just…

Worry.

I looked away from her, again…to Felix, who's sneer was almost sickening, to say the least.

He walked up closer to me and I heard Emmett, again.

"Felix, fuck off," he said but all my adversary did was turn his head a little. "You fuck off, McCarty, or maybe your little girlfriend won't get a free pass on the mortgage due date next month."

And what the fuck was that supposed to mean?

"Emmett, let's go…" Rose was pulling at Em's arm but he wasn't budging as Felix gave me his full attention again but I didn't back down.

I watched his eyes search mine.

For fear, questioning…

Weakness.

But I gave him squat.

I'd killed enemies bigger and uglier than him before but I didn't need to tell him that.

Talk is cheap and all it ever did was distract a man from the job he was supposed to do.

After a minute or two, he backed down, finally and I didn't say shit to anyone before I was on my way, again.

Just the smallest of glances to Bella and then I was gone.

The walk home was…infuriating.

I thought about all of the mistakes I'd made, growing up…all the mistakes Carlisle made…the lies…the theft…the…fucking Volturi's vineyard. It all just, built up into a huge conglomeration of rage and fury and I wanted to hit something.

Hurt someone...

So badly.

When I finally arrived at the house, Alice seemed a little taken a back at the state I was in, maybe and asked, "Are you…"

"I…"

I threw the bag from town, don on to the kitchen table.

"Need a drink," was all I said, then I skipped the stairs, up to my old room where I knew I'd find what I needed.

My old bat.

I lifted it off of the floor, away from the corner that it leaned in, and smiled at it. My old friend. And then picked up the bucket of old baseballs I used to practice with, out of the closet.

And headed back downstairs.

"I'll get you a…"

"I don't need just…a…drink, Alice," I said to her with bitter words toward…fuck…my entire life, I guess and I walked passed her, slowly, making my way down the stairs, to the one place I knew I was going to get some release.

Or rather, some revenge, perhaps.

"Edward," she called after me, following me down into the cellar. "What do you think you're doing?"

She sounded panicked, maybe even concerned over my complete lack of humanity that I was feeling as she chased me down the pathway.

Maybe she had reason to be, but you see, in the Army, there are places you can go, when you're feeling the frustrations of the every day…fucked up…shit…

You go to the gym, you get in the ring with some guys…you duke it out…you let the day's stress out one a bag, or…a sparring partner…

But I didn't have those luxuries, there.

I did have Carlisle's wine collection, though.

"Edward," she called out again as I ignored her, entering the room and closing the door behind me.

Then I locked it.

She banged a few times.

"You're going to regret this, Edward."

"I don't think so, Alice," I said, turning the radio on and the music up.

Loud.

And then, I could only barely hear her, on the other side of the door. Her muffled pounding, only vaguely invading my mind.

I set the bucket of baseballs down next to me and pulled one out.

I looked at it, remembering how I used to throw them up, single handed, to practice hitting, outside, where the vines ended and the vast field of nothing existed behind the house.

Back there, there was no fear of hitting a house…a door, a window…but down here, in the tight space of dad's personally chosen, ever so endeared bottles, there was just no avoiding that scenario.

And I liked that idea.

I threw it up a couple of times, catching it, feeling the ball out and then, I threw it up a little further.

I looked over at the empty bottles of wine that I'd enjoyed throughout my stay at Chez Cullen, lining the half wall, there…bothering nobody.

And then, at all of the bottles that still lay in their snug little homes along the wall.

Just…sitting there.

They served no purpose, they had no job…they were not there to be consumed…they just…sat there.

Carlisle's precious collection of memories and hard work, as he liked to put it.

Only they held no memories for me.

None that I wanted to hold on to, anyway.

I settled myself, firm in the fact that what I was about to do would be un-doable…non-retractable but most importantly…aside from those two hideous facts…it was going to make me feel really good.

I threw the ball up one more time.

When it came down, I watched it as a sly smile crossed my lips and I swung the bat causing the small sphere to crash into a good section of dad's favorite Zinfandels.

"Ouch! That had to hurt," I said, laughing as I pulled a red off of the shelf, uncorked it and took a swig.

I like the reds.

"Edward!" I heard Alice, over the music.

But only barely.

As I threw ball number two up into the air, I thought about every game dad had missed because he was busy making a sale.

Bye bye Pinots.

Ball number three represented every smack on the head, every correction with regards to wine tasting…every degradation he'd felt the need to make.

I actually had to cringe, squinting my eyes shut as that one cracked through a few of the Cabernet Sauvignons.

I still laughed, though, feeling better and better, to be honest…it was like…emotional therapy.

Who needed the Army?

After a few more home runs, it didn't quite feel like enough…wasn't letting out quite enough rage and I looked at the remainder of not yet broken bottles of wine that my father had spent years collecting with nothing but resentment.

And I took the bat to them, skipping the baseballs practice, all together.

I swung at the defenseless bottles like they were every feeling of regret...every fucked up decision...every Felix I'd ever known.

And it still wasn't enough.

I wrecked the shelving that was left…

Destroyed the wine glasses made of only the best, Waterford crystal.

I crashed into the pictures along the walls…old ones of dad with…famous wine connoisseurs that he'd been so…fucking…proud to meet.

And then, just when I was out of breath…and out of red wine…I noticed the last picture standing…or…fallen, that is…

It was laying on the floor, covered in glass…hiding…thinking I wouldn't see it, but I did.

And as I was about to destroy it…I noticed what it was a picture of.

It was me and Emmett.

We were both fourteen, then…and it was the summer right before high school had started…I remembered the picture, specifically, because that was the summer Carlisle had given Emmett a job in the vines.

He needed money to help pay for a broken window we were responsible for, over at the church.

We'd thought it would be fun to spike the grape juice for Sunday service, one weekend, only we hadn't planned on the reverend having a security alarm installed.

I laughed, remembering the beating Emmett had given me that night for getting him into so much trouble.

And wondered why in the hell he'd put up with me for so long.

I dropped the bat and took the picture over to the broken table that sat on the other side of the room, then, and sat down into the wobbly chair I'd created, pushing the remaining broken shards of glass off of the picture as I thought about that summer.

Looking around the room, I realized something.

It was over.

There were no more bottles to smash.

No more memories to kill.

No more keepsakes to hate.

My head was literally spinning from the wine combined with all the adrenaline and I set the picture down, then put my head into my hands.

I don't know how long I sat there, like that...and I didn't realize the music had stopped, until I heard the door handle turn.

And I looked up to see Alice, at the doorway with keys in hand, taking in the destruction I'd wreaked and then she put a hand on her hip and told me, "I'm not cleaning this up," before leaving me there.

In silence.

Except for the ringing in my ears from the residual sounds of what the CD player had been blaring.

"Shit," I said, realizing what I'd just done and then Alice appeared again.

"And you have a visitor."

Great.

I couldn't imagine who it was but took a wild guess that it might possibly have been Emmett, there to threaten me for thinking about selling Carlisle's precious vines, again…or, tell me what a dumb ass I was for going nose to nose with Felix earlier.

"Tell him I'm not home," I said, standing up, ready to start cleaning the mess I'd made…I honestly thought he was upstairs at the door, waiting…but I should have known better.

"You tell her," Alice spat and before I'd gotten a chance to process the word "her", Alice was gone, again…and there she was.

Bella.

My crazy wacked out, can't take a hint to save her life, thank god, Pie Girl.

And the look on her face, unfortunately, said it all.

That she'd been present the entire time, or at least, most of it, that I'd had my melt down and I was completely at a loss of words.

So, I just…stood there, waiting for something.

Anything.

Why wasn't she saying anything?

I was uncomfortable and couldn't get control over my breathing.

I should have said something.

Something like, I'm sorry I'm such a psycho.

Sorry I hurt you.

Sorry I'm a lost cause….

I was choosing one of those…at random…thinking she'd leave.

Hoping she'd stay.

But then, just as I was about to open my mouth to say something I might have later regretted, she made her way across the room, not really watching where she was stepping, at all, and when she made it over to me, she put a hand up to my cheek, held it there and looked me dead in the eyes.

And it was more intimidating to me, than any enemy I'd ever faced.

"We need to talk."