CHAPTER 37

A/N: fair warning, this is the last chapter of IICHLIWP. There is still an epilogue, but this is it, friends. I hope you enjoyed the ride.

So tell me everything is not about me

But what if it is?

Then say they didn't do it to hurt me

But what if they did?

I wanna snarl and show you just how disturbed this has made me

You wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me

~ Taylor Swift, Who's Afraid of Little Old Me?

BPOV

I remembered getting my first Academy Award nomination. I was asleep at the time, so completely sure that it would have been a waste of my time to wake up early and watch other women get nominated that I didn't even bother.

There were a million reasons I shouldn't have been nominated. All valid reasons, too. I was young. It was the second movie I had ever acted in. I was an inexperienced child who, quite honestly, probably didn't deserve the award compared to the other women nominated. Women who had put their all into decades worth of careers.

The one, single, reason I should have been nominated was simple: I was good. Really fucking good at throwing away every aspect of myself and becoming someone else.

So, when I was nominated, when I won, I decided to let the one constant in my career be that I was a good fucking actress. No matter what people said, it would be the one thing they couldn't take away from me. The one thing I could constantly prove them wrong about.

Because the thing about being in the spotlight–no matter what for–was that the second you had what someone else dreamed for, there would be no shortage of people desperately trying to replace you. The world was viscous, the internet a cesspool of anonymous people who had no problem calling you horrible things, people wishing horrible things happened to you. But I refused to be replaceable.

Lawrence, one of the few men I had ever truly trusted in my life, being the one to start the rumor that I wasn't good, that my career had been started on a bribe, that there had been who knows how many other bribes handed out throughout my career… It destroyed me. Destroyed the tiny part of me that still had faith in the world, in the industry, in the idea that good people still existed in it. It killed the part of me that thought I was irreplaceable.

I sure as hell wasn't considered one of the 'good' ones. I had been helping my husband launder money through the industry for decades and belonged in prison for a dozen other reasons.

Lawrence was good, though. He was supposed to be good. And knowing I had been wrong about him for so long was a blow that was hard to recover from.

But I did. Finally. After months of writing and working and crying and falling apart, I had come to terms with the fact that the man I thought he was didn't exist. I was finally in a place where I could think his name and not flinch, finally think about the early days of my career and not sob for the man who had been better to me than my own father. Biological or adoptive.

I had been through all of the stages of grief, I realized. Written about each one in excruciating detail, documented the journey far too closely and publicly, but it was the way I was raised. The only way I knew how to move on with my life.

Denial was nice. Writing folklore and imagining myself in an alternate universe where yes, I was hurt and betrayed and broken but Edward was there. Always watching me, always having my back. Waiting for me to get to the next phase where he would help me tear apart anyone and everyone. Not necessarily an alternate universe, but not everyone needed to know that.

Anger was exciting. Letting all of that rage out in If I Can't Have Love, I Want Power was a much needed moment in my life. Because that alternate universe, the one people liked to watch and judge and gossip about, it was my fucking life. And I was drowning in it and they were watching and laughing and I hated them for it.

Bargaining was interesting. Midnights let me put on some sparkles again and pretend I was all sunshine and rainbows. Everything was fine. I was fine. Great. Over it. Happy.

But I wasn't. I had reverted myself into that seventeen year old girl who just wanted people to accept her. Like her. Want to be her friend.

Depression was a familiar place to be. I'd been there countless times in my life, so From The Vault, all of those songs long forgotten but no less meaningful to me, they had a place too. That girl who just wanted to be part of something bigger had a place.

Acceptance.

That was the tricky one. The one I couldn't quite get to, not until Lawrence had broken the last shred of hope I had that maybe the man I thought he was had somehow survived inside of him. Writing a message to the smallest man who ever lived wasn't intended. Most of my albums weren't planned. They just happened when I needed to say something, needed to process something. Needed to accept that it had happened, I couldn't change it, and it was time to move on.

It was twenty-eight songs worth of love, life, heartbreak, and acceptance.

Heidi about had an aneurysm when I told her about it. Poor woman was putting in about five years worth of work in the last year, but she was the best for a reason. Always would be.

"And you thought–you thought now was the right time to bring it up?" she squeaked at me, frowning over at me from across the living room.

It was early and cold and crowded. Most of the family was here, waiting for Academy Award nominations to be announced. It seemed as good a time as any.

The last few months had been busy. But the kind of busy I liked. Productive busy.

Folklore and If I Can't Have Love, I Want Power both premiered at the London International Film Festival. Both received the most glowing reviews any project of mine had ever gotten.

I worked on the smallest man who ever lived. I got to that acceptance stage. And along with that, came the bonus stage where I stole everything Nathan Lawrence had ever dreamed of right out from under him.

Maybe it was petty, maybe it meant I hadn't moved on as muc told myself, but it only seemed fair. He tried to destroy my legacy, so I would destroy his in return.

I knew the thing that motivated him the most was that eight and a half inch tall golden statue. The ones I had been collecting since I was nineteen. He tried to use my name to get himself one. I would make sure he never got one.

I shrugged over at Heidi, leaning back against Edward and pulling the blanket closer around us. "Well, I did until thirty seconds ago," I muttered underneath my breath.

Edward huffed out a breathy laugh beside me.

The music on the television changed, the announcement ceremony starting.

Within the next hour I had been nominated for seven more Academy Awards.

Lawrence for two.

–Love|Power–

The next evening, I was in the small dressing room in the back of one of the bars Alec owned. I stared at myself in the mirror, having a moment of clarity as I took in myself; soft smokey eyeshadow surrounded my eyes, blood red lipstick perfectly lined my lips, brown curls drifted down from the updo that had taken hours to finish.

No matter how much makeup I had on or product in my hair, I would be that scared, insecure seventeen year old walking onto set for the first time for the rest of my life.

I usually saw that as a bad thing. Thought she was weak and naive and too young for the world she was walking into. But now… I appreciated her. Admired her bravery and tenacity and grit. Knew she might have been a little shocked at how we ended up, but she would understand.

We did what we had to do to survive. Protected ourselves and our family with whatever we could.

"You look beautiful," Edward's soft voice floated to me from the doorway. He leaned against the frame, dressed in head to toe black, and looked at me like everything else in the world was completely insignificant.

My voice was stuck in my throat as I squeaked out a thank you.

I watched him take a few steps toward me until his front was flush against my back. His hands settled on my hips, fingers drawing patterns along the lace of my dress. "What is it?"

I shook my head. "Nothing. Not really. I just–we did good. You and me. The life we made. We did good."

His chin rested on my shoulder, eyes meeting mine in the mirror. "We're not dead, love."

"No," I agreed. "But still. We did good."

Edward leaned against the table, ignoring the perfectly organized lines of makeup all over the place. He eyed me as I pretended to be distracted with tidying it up. "You're going to retire."

I sighed. If I didn't love the man so much, it would be annoying that he could practically read my mind. "I don't know. Maybe. I still have a year left of tour, but after that…"

"After that, you and I are taking an extended vacation. It's been too long since we've been to the island."

The thought of complete isolation and never ending sunshine and waves had me smiling.

Edward pulled me toward him, twisting us so I was comfortably trapped between him and the table. He looked down at me, eyes just as bright and devious as the day I met him. "Then we'll come back home. And in a few weeks you'll get bored."

"I don't think so."

"Why do you want to retire?"

I shrugged. I didn't necessarily want to. It just kind of felt like the time. "I don't know."

His lips twitched with a smirk. "We're not that old, Bella."

"Well, I'm not. You're six years older–"

He interrupted me with a kiss. One I should have scolded him for considering how long my makeup took, but I sank into it. Happily. Greedily.

Because I was feeling old. Like I had passed my prime and should gracefully bow out. I had never really felt like that before.

Maybe I had done a bit too much during that acceptance phase.

Edward lifted me onto the table, scattering makeup along the floor and making sure none of it got on my dress. "We're never done, Bella. You and I… we're never done."

He kissed me again before I could respond. Slid his hands up the length of my legs to bunch my dress around my hips. Made no secret about what he wanted as he pulled me to the edge of the table against his growing length.

"We can't–"

"We can do whatever the fuck we want," he breathed against my chin, peppering kisses down my neck. "Societal rules have never stopped us before."

"I…" It was a pathetic attempt at fighting, especially as he knelt between my legs and pulled my panties down my legs with a mind-numbing smirk on his face.

"We're just getting started, love," he whispered against my inner thigh. "You and I… there's no end for us. You've been mine from the moment I laid eyes on you and I'll be yours until the end of fucking time."

There was a commotion outside, crowds of people walking past the probably-not-locked door as Edward brushed his tongue against me. I couldn't find it in me to care.

Twenty minutes later I was wiping the lipstick off of his face with a makeup wipe and reapplying it to mine. My legs shook slightly as I tried to right myself, tucked a few loose hairs back into place and made sure my dress was stain-free.

Edward stood behind me, re-buttoning his pants with a cocky smirk on his face that would immediately give away our activities should someone see him.

"You're going to get us caught," I grumbled, tugging his lips back down into his usual grimace he gave everyone but me.

His arm tightened around my waist, pulling me close again. "I love you," he whispered against my ear. "You can do this. You can do anything."

I rolled my lips together.

Nerves clogged my throat.

It was a big deal. Tonight. It was the end of the longest chapter of my life. And maybe I was scared and overreacting and panicking just a bit.

But then, an hour later, I walked up to the microphone in that little bar. Looked out at the family members watching me with wide, excited eyes. Smiled at my granddaughter where she bounced in her fathers lap.

I was supposed to be sent away, but they forgot to come and get me

–Love|Power–

Tonight, I had seven nominations. The exact number of wins I already had under my belt. It was a connection every reporter on the carpet liked to make.

I could only win six, though. Considering I was nominated against myself for Best Original Song, my tears ricochet and I am not a woman, I'm a god both earning themselves spots in the category.

As much as I would love to add to my collection, there was really only one category I was interested in this year. Sure, I was a big fan of winning Best Actress and Best Picture, everybody was. Those were the awards.

But, this year, it was the Best Director category I was most interested in. Because I knew, for Lawrence's entire life, it was the one award he had dreamed of. And I wanted to tear it out of his goddamn hands.

I had already gotten to see the disappointment on his face as I accepted, along with Edward and Holly, the Academy Award for Best Documentary Feature Film. It was with far too much vengeance in my heart that I smiled over at my husband holding his first Academy Award.

I hadn't just asked him to help with it because I trusted him. I wanted Lawrence to know that I could win awards for other people. When I wanted to.

And Edward deserved it. He took his responsibility producing the documentary very seriously, put in more hours than most others did on the project. But he'd also had no idea he would have even been eligible for a statue if it won.

Awards weren't as big of a motivator for him as they were for me.

But I saw it. The hurt and frustration and jealousy and anger in Lawrence's eyes as the three of us stood on that stage winning for the documentary I never would have made had he just stayed in his lane.

Then came the big one. The one I wanted more than anything else.

The man on stage who had won Best Director last year walked up to the microphone. "The nominees for Best Director are…"

Edward squeezed my hand. I was pretty sure Aiden wasn't breathing beside me.

"And the Oscar goes to… Isabella Cullen, folklore."

I swallowed back a sob. Was squeezed until I nearly popped before I made my way carefully up the steps to the microphone.

A familiar, golden statue was placed in my hands.

"I, um," I stuttered. "I've had a lot of ups and downs in my career. You all know, I don't need to go through the details," I chuckled. "And this last year has been an odd mix of amazing and horrible. I've had to come to terms with a lot of things about my career and friendships, or lack thereof. And winning something like this, for a project that I put all of that pain into is very much appreciated because I–my entire life everyone has always underestimated me. Always doubted the lengths I would go to in order to protect my name and my career. There are people out there trying to take credit for making other people's careers as if we all don't know how much work goes into our part. And I just–" I shook my head, eyes meeting Lawrence's where he sat seething in the front row. "Don't let them. Don't let them take credit for every day you've gone to work and made something they never could have. And I guess, I mean, now seems like as good a time as any to say I love getting the last word as much as the rest of us. a message to the smallest man who ever lived - Live from Chicago will be out everywhere tonight. Thank you."

You lured me

And you hurt me

And you taught me

You caged me and then you called me crazy

I am what I am 'cause you trained me

~ Taylor Swift, Who's Afraid of Little Old Me?

THE END

A/N: Epilogue to come.

Lyrics from the middle of the chapter are from fortnight by Taylor Swift.

Thank you for loving these two as much as I do.