Beyond the Pale Contest

Title: Obsessions

Pen Name: hotmama4jd

Characters: Edward and Bella

Disclaimer: Twilight isn't mine. But my beta cocoalvin is! She is great. Any remaining mistakes are mine.

Image that Inspired You: Image 16 from beyondthepalecontest . blogspot . com





I met him junior year of high school at Forks. But I really got to know him after he took care of me.

He always took care of me.

It was late October in Washington State. There was an early freeze and the roads were icy. When Tyler Crowley's van came skidding toward me and my old truck, I slipped and fell trying to get out of the way, earning my clumsy ass a broken ankle and a nasty gash on my arm when I hit the pavement.

It wouldn't be the first or last time.

Edward came out of nowhere and pressed his jacket against the cut on my arm. He kept me in his arms as I got woozy from the sight and smell of the blood. He was right there by my side during the ride to the hospital and held my hand as they stitched me up and fitted me for a cast. After I was discharged, Edward tucked me into his silver Volvo, drove to the pharmacy to fill my prescription for pain medication, and then stopped by the local Kum-n-Go gas station, telling me I would need some chocolate to help me feel better during my convalescence.

He already knew me better than I knew myself.

We spent the day and evening talking and laughing and napping on the sofa. I learned so much about him; so much about what he loved. He was so passionate about his obsessions that they became mine as well. We clicked. We bonded.

We fell in love. Although, he fell first.

We spent the remainder of junior and senior year glued together. I knew as time went on that we didn't spend as much time with Alice and Jazz or going to movies or studying. My father was pretty oblivious, which still strikes me as hysterical since he was paid to be observant. Edward's parents were "worried" but still thought it was just a phase. Our friends and family all thought we would come out of our weird haze and rejoin the world. They whispered the word "co-dependent" and tried to get us to spend time apart. We were obsessed. We couldn't focus on anything except what was between us. What was us. What would always be us.

Our days were filled with bullshit high school classes but our afternoons, evenings, and nights were ours. We spent most of our time at my house since my father worked all the time. Dad would never consider entering my room. Good Lord, the first time he found a box of tampons under the sink he spent the next week considering ways to add another bathroom to the house so he wouldn't have to share one with his teenage daughter. In the sanctuary of my room, Edward and I had the total privacy we needed to be us.

We laughed. We talked. We made love. We napped together. We fucked. We obsessed. He took care of me. It was heaven. It was easy.

Of course being the klutz I was, I still had to endure many repeat convalescences as Edward nursed me through cuts and strains and broken bones. They knew me on a first name basis in the ER. It would have been embarrassing but Edward always made sure I felt better later. He made me see myself and the world in a different light. He took such good care of me even back in high school, knowing exactly what I needed to feel better—to take the pain away. Edward could always make the pain go away.

He still did.

I never wanted it to change. I couldn't lose it. I couldn't lose Edward. I didn't think I would survive.

It would destroy who I was.




I don't know if anyone was shocked that we didn't go to college, but I know everyone was disappointed. We got so many I'm-disappointed-in-you speeches.

I could see their perspective. Edward was brilliant in high school—great grades without even trying. He could be anything he wanted to be by going to the "right" college and choosing the "right" profession. But that wasn't Edward. You couldn't confine Edward like that. He couldn't be boxed in. He needed to be free to focus on what interested him. School didn't interest him. It wasn't me, it wasn't us.

And Edward and I always put us first. Always.

Edward's grandparents had left him a trust. He'd get $100,000 a year after he turned eighteen then would get full control over the millions in capital when he was thirty.

Sometimes I wondered how different things would be for us if we didn't have that money. Things still got tight, even with that amount of money. We tended to live in nicer places right after his birthday when we got the check, then our living accommodations got seedier and seedier as we ran through the money. Everything just cost so much. And we moved around so much… following our obsessions.

Always together. Always with one goal. Focus on us.




After graduation from high school, we decided to move to Florida. We both wanted to get far away from disapproving and suspicious parents and friends. We were sick of their I'm-just-concerned-about-you diatribes. We were okay. We had us.

We didn't need anything but us.

Florida was pretty great. The warm weather was fabulous after Washington, and Edward and I enjoyed the beaches and stayed outside on our balcony for hours on end. Talking. Laughing. Making love. Napping. Fucking. Obsessing.

Edward took care of us. He found us a place to live. He paid for everything. Our expenses weren't much. We had to pay for housing and food so we didn't live like kings. We were both on our parents' medical insurance until we were twenty-one so we didn't have to pay for my ridiculous number of ER visits and necessary medication.

And of course, we had our obsession. Us.

The more we settled in and got comfortable, the more our expenses increased. That was to be expected, I guess. Edward still took care of us. He had a plan. He was—and still is—brilliant. He knew what to do.

When our medical insurance ran out, we had to be more careful. I couldn't just wind up in the ER all the time; we couldn't afford it. It would break us; make it harder to focus on us.

But like I said, Edward had a plan.

We were in Florida for a reason beside geography.




I was nervous the first time, but Edward was with me every step of the way. He carried my thick medical file full of my numerous injuries and accidents. He held my hand through the whole thing. And he was right. It was easy. It was ridiculously easy.

Edward had taken care of everything. He knew what to do. He knew about pill mills.





Obsession. Obsession fulfilled.

Florida apparently had lots of these pill mills. I think we went to all of them. We would drive up and down the state going from one place to another as needed. All of our stuff was available in generic, so it wasn't as expensive as you would think it would be. Edward was smart about it too. He tried to steer the pill mill docs to prescribe Dilaudid or Oxycontin or Roxys—which were just straight goodie. We didn't need the acetaminophen that was in the Percocet or Vicodin, and Edward said that we needed to try to protect our liver from acetaminophen poisoning which could kill us.

We didn't want to die. We just wanted to obsess. We wanted to focus on us.

Life felt good.




We spent several years in Florida. Time wasn't important. By the time we left, we had to leave. The DEA had our names flagged. Mine was flagged first, then Edward's. Edward kept us supplied, but the street price for oxys was triple what we paid in the pharmacy. It was also way more dangerous. Luckily, Edward was one fast motherfucker and always outran the cops the few times he got caught up in a bust.

Still. I needed Edward. I needed my obsession.

The last year we spent in Florida was a turning point for us. We ran out of money two months before Edward's June birthday.

Having no money changes things. We pawned our valuables. Edward stole.

We switched to heroin.

Edward said it just made sense. More bang for the buck. He was right. He was always right. Shooting heroin was instant pleasure. We were still careful; we only shared needles with each other and got clean ones often. We didn't want to die. I still couldn't stand blood so Edward always let me go first. He would find my vein then his own. In our own way, it was more intimate than making love. Once he was done we could float. We could feel good.

We could focus on our obsession.

We stayed in a seedy motel. We napped. We obsessed. We didn't make love. We didn't fuck—even Edward wasn't aware that heavy opiate use would destroy your sex drive. Neither one of us cared much. We still had each other. We still had our obsession.




When Edward's birthday rolled around, he sat me down and said we would have to budget better. We couldn't run out of money early again. However, right now we were flush with $100K in the bank. And since we were finally out of the crap motel, we checked into the Motel 6 down the road and celebrated.

We celebrated until mid-February when the money ran out.

Edward still had a plan. He had heard about some good stuff that was up north in the New York City area. I was a bit worried about leaving Florida, but after our latest dealer had been busted by the cops I was convinced.

We took a bus north, since we'd sold the Volvo two months ago.

When we arrived in NYC, we stepped out of Port Authority into mid-town Manhattan. We were surrounded by people. The weather was cold and Edward knew we needed to find a homeless shelter or some other place to get coats and food and shelter.

There were loads of homeless people in NYC and getting help wasn't easy but at least you could find where to start. We couldn't stay in shelters because they separated the men from the women and children. We both knew we couldn't survive apart.

We spent our first few nights in NYC walking around Penn Station. The overnight guards wouldn't let you sit down on the floor so you had to keep moving. Finally, we came across someone who recognized our predicament and offered us a solution. Our obsession wasn't nearly as good when shared in a nasty bathroom stall at the Port Authority bus station, but it was still us.

We had a dealer. Now we needed money and some place to stay.

On the advice of our dealer, we made our way to the Bronx. He led us to another couple who shared similar interests. Obsessions.

Angie and Ben were into crack or meth so we didn't have to worry about sharing or stealing. We all looked out for one another. We shared food, warmth. If one of us found a hotel room, we all shared. It was good. I would have preferred to have Edward alone with our needles, but this way kept us warm and fed too.

By the time we got good and settled, it was March, I think. The weather still sucked ass. Edward would sleep on top of me like a blanket to keep me warm—and to help keep the rats away.

Edward stole to keep us supplied. He was a pretty good pickpocket. Sometimes we would head down to the Financial district and pick the pockets of the big money bags. Looking at them, I knew that could have been Edward if he had gone to college, but those fancy suits and cars weren't Edward. My Edward wore ratty jeans and a hoodie. My Edward took care of me. Protected me.




The weather is warmer on odd days now. Maybe it might be close to June? I don't know. It is getting harder and harder to score. Hours on withdrawal get harder and harder to bear. Living our life takes more time and effort than you would think. The dealers move around to keep away from the cops so it takes time to track them down. You have to find somewhere to use. You have to find money.

It always comes down to money.




We haven't used in 48 hours and are both sick as dogs from withdrawal. Angie and Bed got a motel room so luckily we have a bathroom to puke in. They have recently scored some meth and are fucking like dogs. Edward and I are on the disgusting bathroom floor. I feel like I need to rip the skin from my body. My legs jerk around uncontrollably. I vomit continuously. Looking over at Edward, I would think he was dead except for the fact that he is writhing in discomfort. His once beautiful face is ravaged and sickly green. His hair is matted and dirty. There is vomit all over his hoodie. Those green eyes are tortured.

Our eyes meet. Mine have a question: "What do we do now?"

His eyes are conflicted. There are options. We could call his parents and get into rehab. Or we could take the most recent trade offer from our dealer. A place we have yet to sink to. He softly whispers, "It is up to you."





My eyes meet Bella's across the filthy bathroom floor. My beautiful girl is hurting. Her once beautiful pale skin is marked and scarred. Her eyes are dull and lifeless. Her once long shiny hair is full of filth. She is so thin. Her eyes question me. What do we do next?

She will follow me anywhere. Just like I would follow her. We could call my parents and take their offer of treatment. Or we could take the offer from the dealer. Something I never thought either of us would consider. Could I bear the thought of her selling her body for drugs? We haven't made love in ages. The drugs just take that desire away. But just because I haven't touched her, doesn't mean I want someone else to.

I just want to be back on her bed in Forks. Laughing. Talking. Making love. Fucking. Taking her Percs and feeling good.

That is not an option anymore.

I sigh heavily and close my eyes for a moment. My eyes meet hers again and hold for a long moment.

"I'll make the call."




AN: When I saw the image of the broken plate, the only thing I could think was "keep it and try to repair something so broken or just give up and throw it away?"