Summary


SUMMARY: She was clearly in pain. She clearly needed help. How could I deny her? How could I ignore the distress of a child of God? I couldn't. And that was my downfall.

BxE AH AU of the spiritual kind

A collaboration between Belladonnacullen & FictionFreak95.

Please note that we don't own Twilight, or Catholic prayers, this is simply a work of fanfiction.

(originally posted to FF.net 01.13.2020)


Chapter 15 - Sin

 

Chapter 15. Sin

Bella

I text Ben because Father Edward has been right about pretty much everything. He's probably right about this too. It's best Ben and I move on. If he's going to be my brother-in-law, he can't keep hounding me, and I don't want to feel guilty every time I hear his name.

Meet me at Billy's? I suggest.

His reply appears in an instant.

Not Billy's

Where then?

You know where. An hour?

I know where. It's stupid and it's a stereotype, but it is what it is, I guess.

I head out to meet Ben underneath the bleachers at my old high school, because apparently he's still emotionally seventeen. Also he probably doesn't want to get caught, which is what landed us here over and over again back then.

Also because it's where he listened when I needed someone.

Also, because he probably shared stuff with me here too.

It was our place. A good portion of his high school graduating class would agree. Ben was not subtle.

He smiles when he sees me walking his way, and I do my best not to grimace. He holds out a forty like I'm fifteen.

But I need it, and he knows it.

He was always annoyingly good at anticipating my needs.

"What do you want?" I ask, leaning against the brick wall where the bleachers meet the locker room. I take a swig of the malt liquor. It's bitter and sweet, which is kind of perfect when I think back to the years Ben and I overlapped at Nazareth.

He leans against the wall next to me.

"That how it is?" he asks, one foot against the bricks, his free hand deep in his pocket. He sips at the beer and looks away toward the traffic out on the parkway.

"You want something more from me?"

Ben's quiet, noncommittal. We drink.

"I miss this," he says eventually. Sincerely.

I close my eyes and I see flashes of the two of us. Him older, taking time out to talk, then kiss, then unbutton my top. I learned early on he wasn't going to talk to me between classes. He wasn't going to hang with me after games. He never invited me to homecoming. It's not like I would have gone anyway.

"The old glory days?" I ask.

"Us, Bella."

I snicker. "There was never an 'us'."

"You didn't let us be," he insists.

I laugh and laugh and laugh, and when I'm done, Ben's looking at me like I've hurt his feelings.

"I was a kid, Ben."

"We were both kids."

"You were older."

"Those afternoons here. Me and you." He bites his lip and looks me over. "That week you were suspended."

Ben ducks his head and tries to hide his smile. My skin crawls. Is he for real? Mom almost killed me when she found the two of us.

"You want that kind of thing back? Maybe start cruising the bleachers on a Friday night."

"That's not fair," he says.

"You know what's not fair? You hounding me for the last three days just to talk about ten year old blowjobs under the bleachers instead of talking with me about Angela - who you're marrying in less than two weeks."

Ben shakes his head, exhaling in a low whistle.

"She's the one who always loved you, Ben."

"You didn't?" he asks, looking me square in the eye, daring me to deny him.

"You wished," I say then take another swig. Two truer words have never been spoken. I knew he wanted more from me even though he pushed me away. It took some time, but I figured out why he kept coming back.

"Shit, Bell. I still do," he says in a voice that's low and smooth. It's a voice I remember from when I was a kid. He takes a step, closing the space between us. My back's to the wall, and I don't have anywhere to move.

"What the fuck, Cheney?" I push against his chest.

He clasps a wrist with his free hand. "Bella, I'm freaked. Like I'm not supposed to be with anyone else ever again? The other night when we kissed it felt like old times."

"It sure did. I let you take advantage of me again. It felt like shit. Again." I shake him off.

"I'm sorry," he says in a voice so low I can hardly hear it over the rush of the traffic. But my stupid heart swells with sudden, unexpected hope.

I glance up at Ben and he's staring intently.

"For what, exactly?" I ask.

I hold my breath, waiting for the apology I didn't know I wanted. For the apology I'm not entirely certain I deserve.

Ben looks off toward the parkway again. "I thought I could do this."

"Do what?" I'm ashamed of the hope I hear in my voice. I shouldn't want anything from this asshole, but I guess I want one more thing.

"I thought I could marry her."

And I have a literal knee jerk reaction. Like my knee jerks, right into his balls. Ben doubles over, swearing. His forty drops to the ground and breaks, splashing us both.

"Go to hell, Ben. Get the fuck out of here! Get the fuck away from my sister, you slimy piece of shit." I push him aside, trying to get out from between him and the wall. Ben loses his balance and falls into the puddle of beer.

"Christ, Bella -" he gasps, glancing up at me with a red face and tears streaming from his eyes. That's when I notice the bloody palm and the jagged piece of beer bottle.

I cringe. "Sorry."

Then I hear Edward in my head telling me to stop taking responsibility for everyone else's mistakes. I practically laugh. "I'm actually not."

"The fuck?" he asks as I loom over him.

"I'm not fucking sorry!" I shout. And it feels so good. I could practically dance in the puddle of beer. "You deserve this, you asshole. And so much more."

"But, Bella-"

"You heard me. Leave me alone. Leave Angela alone. Leave us alone, Ben Cheney. I never want to see your face again."

xXxXx

Hours later I'm still sitting on the bleachers at Nazareth. I'm warmed from the outside by rays of setting sun and from the inside by cheap liquor and smug satisfaction.

I'm not sure Father Edward meant it was okay to assault people without apologizing when he told me I say sorry too much. I'd like to think the guy I went out with a couple nights ago would approve, though. The one who held my hand and stuck up for me in front of my family.

I close my eyes and pretend that guy's with me right now, holding my hand again, wearing another one of his tight t-shirts. He'd tell me something religious and strangely comforting. And maybe he'd give me the look.

That look.

Shelly Cope knows the look. Emily Young knows it now too.

That look is anything but comforting. It gets you a car and driver in a time of need. It opens doors to medical wards. I'm sure it wheedles confessions from tried and true criminals.

It's wheedled one or two from me, that's for goddamned sure.

Not to mention, memories of it make words pour from my fingertips. Since Tuesday I've laid down three more tracks. One of them is full of chaste innuendo about holding hands.

Edward's celibacy is my new drug. That look of his is the high I'm worried I'll never reach again.

I tip my beer bottle to my lips, drink the last warm drops and shudder. Without Edward's hand in mine, it's all I've got to help steady my nerves before I head home to face Angela.

I've got to come clean. Ben's probably going to need stitches.

I can't help but smirk, overcome with ridiculous pride. A knee to the balls never felt so fucking good. I lean back and bask in the sun and just barely catch myself before I almost topple right off the bleachers.

I guess pride really does come before a fall.

Pride.

From what I remember, it's definitely a sin.

I chuckle to myself as I pull out the little pad I've been carrying ever since I started writing again. I add my pride to the page I titled 'Sins' which is funny in itself because I'm proud of my list.

I plan to hit Edward up tomorrow and talk about my misdeeds in his dark, dank box. Whisper them through the grate and gaze at his shadow, like we're trading secrets. Maybe I'll pass him another note.

And I'm dying to get back there. To speak with my priest.

Someone should check on hell. I have a feeling it's frozen over. I squint into the setting sun, just to make sure it's an airplane flying overhead and not a pig.

It's not. It's the little black silhouette of a jet plane soaring through the prettiest sunset I've seen in months. When I was a kid, I'd watch the sky bleed from blue to pink to black whenever I'd sit out here after school, buzzed, maybe a little high, forgetting about all the shit that happened between classes, and making the moment last before facing new shit at home.

And here I am walking home again. Buzzed again. After fighting with Ben again. Worried about getting into it with Angela. Like I fell back into some old pattern without even trying.

Like it's a pattern I never found my way out of.

It's all I can do to check and make sure I'm not in my old high school uniform as I unlatch the gate and walk up the path to the front steps. There are lights on inside and I watch shadows move from the kitchen to the living room and back again.

I hear Mom's voice rising. The baritone of Dad's voice as he tries to settle her down.

I try to imagine how I'll explain any of this to Angela.

I accidentally cut Ben's hand. I didn't kiss him this time though.

It's not enough.

Angela, Ben's having doubts.

And I hate it, but I know what I have to say.

Angela, he's not good enough for you.

Because, Lord knows my sister's a bitch, but she's still my sister. She deserves better.

I take a deep breath, unlock the door and walk inside. Mom and Dad are going at it over something. I eye the stairs as I start to shrug off my jacket and kick off my boots, hoping to sneak up to Angela's room and talk woman to woman. Except I stumble over the bottom step.

"Isabella?" Mom calls. Pronouncing every syllable of my name in that way that lets me know I'm in for it.

I roll my eyes. She's probably still angry over the marinara incident.

I glance between the stairs and the front door and consider running for it.

Chairs scrape in the kitchen. Shit. There's no running. I try straightening my clothes. I pat down my hair. And Angela takes me by surprise and comes charging at me from the kitchen. Her face is red and tearstained. Her eyes are wild.

"You did this!" she shouts.

I try to back up, but trip over the stairs and end up on my ass. Mom chaises after Angela and literally has to hold her back.

"What the fuck?" I ask, scrambling out of the way.

Mom's eyes go wide. "Watch your mouth, Isabella."

I can't help but snicker. My mother's worried about the word fuck while Angela's going insane.

Fucking shit. Angela's gone insane.

"What did Ben do now?" I ask. "I didn't mean to cut him like that. It was an accident."

"You cut someone?" Dad asks, joining us in the living room.

"He said he talked to you. He was fine before he talked to you!" Angela shouts.

She's crying. Mom's trying to hug her as she whispers in her ear, telling her she needs to settle down. That all this stress is bad for the baby.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa..." I hold up a finger and try to make sense of what they're saying. "What's Rose's baby got to…"

Mom looks at me accusingly. Dad's jaw clenches. Angela wraps her arms around her midsection.

"You've got to be shitting me. Really, Ang?" I crumble back onto the stairs.

Lord help us all.

"Did you know your sister was pregnant?" Mom asks, hands on her hips, taking a step in my direction.

"Oh Ang," I sigh.

My sister collapses onto the couch and practically dissolves into a puddle of angry tears. I'm just about to pull myself up and go console her when she growls, "And then you broke us up, you bitch."

Wow. So much for empathy.

"What the fucking fuck?"

"Language!" Mom shouts.

"You convinced Ben to break up with me," Angela wails.

"I didn't know you were knocked up! He's an asshole, Angela. I'll kick his ass all over again."

"Don't you dare go near him, you whore."

"There's no need to stoop to her level." Mom pats Angela on the shoulder while she shakes her head at me, glaring.

"My level, Mom? I haven't done anything!"

Dad takes a step between me and the rest of my family. "Have you been drinking, baby?" he asks, wrinkling his nose.

"You stole my husband! My baby's father," Angela shouts.

I peek around Dad's legs. Angela's practically shooting daggers at me with her eyes.

Bitter laughter bubbles up from the pit of my stomach. "That's disgusting. You're insane. Not for all the record deals in the world."

"Leave her alone, Isabella! Look at what you've done," Mom says, motioning to my sister.

"Right, Mom, because if there's one thing you've made clear since I was in high school, it's that I'm responsible for what Ben Cheney does with his dick!"

"You're drunk," Dad says, like he's finally sized up the situation, and it all comes down to my drinking. "Still, you should watch your mouth."

"That's all you have to say?" I ask, looking up at him.

"Bell, honey..." His eyes are sad. Resigned. He reaches for me, but I scramble to my feet and back down the stairs.

"What about them?" I point to my mom and to Angela who's still sobbing on the couch.

"What about 'em?" He looks puzzled, like I asked about advanced algebra or something.

"You can't always be Switzerland, Dad. Sometimes you have to pick a side. Just once you should pick mine."

"Bella, it's not that easy."

"Well, it should be."

xXxXx

At first I'm not sure where I'm walking. One foot steps in front of the other. I think about getting a cab and a plane ticket, but I don't know where the plane would take me. They're not expecting me back on tour yet, and I can't show up when I'm the opposite of together. I'll get the boot for good.

I sublet my room back in L.A. and it would be weird to show up out of nowhere looking to sleep on the couch. I tick through distant friends and over-friendly fans. I think about showing up on Jake's doorstep more than once. I know he'd take me in, but the idea feels wrong.

I finally decide I'll get a hotel room and figure it out. I'll get the hell out of Brooklyn. Get the hell out of New York. I don't know why I thought I could come home. I don't know why I thought time would heal all wounds or whatever shit people say. I don't know why I've done half of what I've done… ever.

I make self-centered, headstrong mistakes. I act without thinking. I give my family too many reasons to judge me.

And at first I don't know why I end up here, standing outside St. Mary's. Until I wipe the tears from my eyes. I grab the little pad in my pocket and figure out what I need. When I need it.

The church is really dark. Streetlights make the stained glass glow. The saints loom over me. Jesus looks sad and lonely on his cross. Pretty little lights flicker in red and gold glass jars, each one another hope. Another prayer.

And I stop short when I notice him in the back row of pews.

He's alone on his knees with his head bowed, praying under his breath. His words are a low murmur. A holy whisper in this empty space.

"I've never questioned you… I won't ignore this… I can't."

He looks up at the altar; at Christ hanging up there, dying on the daily for everyone's sins.

I'm tingling all over as I walk quietly up the aisle toward him.

"I wish you'd give me a sign," he whispers to God.

I slide into the pew next to him and gently nudge his shoulder. "I need you."

Edward's head snaps in my direction, and at first he doesn't say anything. He just stares at me, confused. Then at Christ, hanging from above.

Dear God, don't let him turn me away like my family did.

When he finds me again, his features soften, and I swear he smiles. It's like he's relieved.

The feeling's mutual. There's nowhere I'd rather be.

"What are you doing here?"

I clutch the pad in my pocket. "I need confession."

A small huff of laughter escapes his lips. "It's after nine, Bella."

My eyes threaten more tears and I quickly wipe at them. "I don't care."

His laughter dies. He looks concerned. "We could just sit and talk, Bella. If you don't like this pew, we have a hundred others to choose from."

I glance down at my hands twisting in front of me. "I can't look at you and say what I need to say. I know what I need. Please."

He hesitates for a moment.

Dear, God I begin to silently pray.

"Okay," he says, interrupting my thoughts. "Okay. Let's go."

He lets me take his hand as I stand. Thank God.

I glance at Jesus overhead. Thank you, God.

And I lead Edward to the confessional.

Suddenly his hand is on my shoulder, kind and gentle like he's afraid he's going to frighten me away with his touch. "Are you sure?"

I shrug him off and climb inside without looking back.

Alone, in the dark, dank box, I curl into a ball and I cry. At first it's soft - a few tears and a sniffle. But then it's all too much and I can't hold it in anymore. I don't want to. I'm grateful for the solid walls and the secrecy. And there's no one else I'd rather have outside right now than Father Edward.

Until he's not standing outside. Until I hear the door click on the other side of the confessional. Wood creaks all around me as Edward takes a seat.

There are no formalities tonight.

"Please talk to me," he says.

"Forgive me Father," I begin. "For I've been sinning my entire fucking life."

"I don't like this, Bella. You don't sound okay."

"I'm not okay. It's been three days since my last confession."

"Tell me what happened."

I don't know where to start. I can't find the strength to keep the pain in anymore. I'm shaking, so I hug my knees to my chest and try to hold myself together.

His hand presses up against the grate separating us. I want to reach out and touch its shadow, but I can't. And I can't seem to talk anymore, either. I've already said the only three words I know at the moment.

I need him.

But what I haven't said is that I want him.

And I'll probably hurt him.

And I should definitely go.

Just as I'm contemplating walking away, Edward steps into the confessional and kneels before me. I feel his fingertips on the tops of my feet. He doesn't say a word. He just waits.

And waits.

Until I can breath more easily. Until I stop shaking quite so much.

"I did everything I was supposed to," I tell him quietly, my head still buried in my knees. "I talked to Ben and it just made it worse. So much worse."

"Fuck. I'm sorry."

I smile because I'm glad Edward's there with me in the confessional. Not just the Father. More than anything, I could use a friend.

I wipe my eyes and slowly let myself relax. I let go of my legs and let them slide to the floor.

When I look at Edward it doesn't seem quite as bad as it did a minute ago. Not when he's here and he cares.

"He left her," I admit to him and the tears start again. Ben's an asshole, but I never wanted my family to truly hate me. I never wanted to hurt them like I did.

"What?" Edward asks, and he wipes a tear from my face with his thumb. I lean into his touch, and place my hand over his. Holding him there.

I hear the breath catch in his throat, but he doesn't pull away.

"Ben left Angela because of me. They hate me."

"They don't hate you," he whispers.

He cups my face in his hands so I have no choice but to look in his eyes.

"Father. Edward. I'm no good," I whisper. It's so hard to get the words out when he's this close. "I don't think I can be fixed."

"Bella, God made you. You're in his image and you're exactly who you're supposed to be. You don't need any fixing. Besides, some of us happen to adore you. As is."

I lean my forehead against his, and I breathe him in. I let him prop me up because I can't do it anymore.

He gazes into my eyes and I feel like my chest is going to explode.

This time the look's just for me.

My hand shakes a little as I reach out and run my fingers through his hair until I'm holding the back of his head. And he doesn't pull away. Not at all. I think he's holding his breath.

I watch for any sign. Lightening should strike if this is wrong, I think. Or maybe the ground should open up beneath us and swallow me whole. A plague of locusts should descend. But it's so quiet. Like there's only the two of us in this whole world.

"Father?" My voice is breathless and rough. "Edward?"

"Bella, I -"

But I don't let him finish. I press my lips to his. It's just a brush of skin against skin. It reminds me of linen sheets in the summertime or snowflakes falling into an open palm. And everything melts away.

His lips are so soft. And still. And the tiniest breath escapes from his mouth.

And when I move my mouth against his he groans.

"Fuck." It comes out of him like a plea. Or a prayer. In a voice from a version of Edward I've never heard before.

"I'm so sor -" I begin to say. But then he's kissing me back. Slow at first. Delicate and unsure. Innocent even.

I thread my fingers through his hair, afraid he's going to pull away. Instead, he leans in. He slips his hands from my face to the wall of the confessional on either side of my head, trapping me there - like he needs the support.

I part my lips and it's as if he's been dying for permission. Our mouths move together, his tongue slow and curious, savoring every moment. His teeth click against mine and a strangled sound rumbles from deep in his chest, like he's fighting for air, or fighting himself. Fighting for me.

With both arms around his neck I try to tug him closer. Instead, he stands and I'm pulled along with him. I'm a live wire that needs grounding, and Edward gives it to me. He presses his body against mine, pushing me back against the wall of the confessional, showing the strength he keeps hidden under his clerical clothes, showing me how much he wants me. Our chests rise and fall like we've run miles. He keeps his hands fisted against wood on either side of my head.

Then his lips wander and I stretch my neck to give him better access. To my jaw, my neck, behind my ear, down to the collar of my t-shirt.

And then he's panting. And leans back against the grating.

His fingers touch his lips and his breath is shaky.

I think I broke him.

When I start to speak, it's like he knows what's coming and he holds a hand up, shaking his head, stopping the apology before it can even begin.

"I should go," I find the will to say, seconds, minutes, years later.

"I wish you wouldn't."

"Thanks for… this," I say, finding the door handle. "I needed this."

"This?" he asks as a sliver of gray light slices through the small space. I slide into the sanctuary. The saints stand all around us, silent witnesses. "Bella…"

"Edward?" I watch him walk into the light. His eyes glow as bright as the stained glass. "Maybe this is the one thing I should feel really sorry for. But I'm not."


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