CBWR? Chapter 92

Author's notes:

Glad to see people are still with me. :)

“Homework?”  I raised an eyebrow at her.

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Chapter 92:

I told her everything.

I told her about buying a girl for sex, raping her, killing a dozen people in some fucked up idealistic view that it might absolve me of my involvement, and falling in love with my victim.  I told her absolutely everything.

I thought maybe I would feel better afterwards.

I didn’t.

“That’s a lot to absorb all at once, Edward,” Irina said after I signified I was done by adding a little Porky Pig impersonation at the end of my story.  “I have to admit it.”

“How do I fix it?” I asked, and my words echoed in my own head, because I remembered asking Alice the same thing back in the beginning of all this mess.

“What does fixed look like to you?”

Fucking answering fucking questions with fucking questions.  Lovely.

“Make it never happen,” I finally said.

“That would be nice,” she agreed.  “Not possible, but a nice thought.  What about something in the realm of possibility?”

“I guess I can’t fix it.”

“Not in that way, no.”  Irina leaned back in her chair and tossed the pen she had been playing with the whole time onto her notepad.  I didn’t think she wrote a single word down.  “Will you meet with me again?”

“I guess so.”  I shrugged.

“I need a little time to process all of this in my own head,” she told me as she tapped her finger against her temple.  “And I have some homework for you.”

“Homework?”  I raised an eyebrow at her.

“Yes, homework,” she smiled over the desk at me.  “I want you to write down where you want to be one year from your parole.  Where are you?  Who are you with?  What do you do for a living?  Any or all of the above.  If you don’t want to write it out, you can always draw me a picture.  I’ll set up another appointment for next week.”

I went back to my cell with absolutely no idea what to write down.  Once I had sufficiently given myself a headache over it, I read all of Bella’s letters again – twice.  I lay back on the pillow as the lights went out, and wondered if I could even come up with something that looked like a normal life.  The trailer I grew up in and the penthouse I ended up in – neither of them were real.

I didn’t know what real looked like.

The lights went out, and the guards yelled at a few people to shut up.  I closed my eyes, drifting off to images of suburban living that looked like they came right out of Edward Scissorhands .

My fingers feel warm as I slip them through hers.  I bring her hand up to my lips, kissing the backs of her knuckles one at a time.  I love the way our hands look all intertwined together.  She smiles at me, and swings our arms between us as we step on to the private jet to take us…wherever we are going. 

The she is pushing me back against the sea,t and my clothes are gone, and as the plane takes off, she straddles me, and her warm skin is up against my hands as they explore her body.  It is both comfortable and familiar, yet there is no way I would ever grow tired of it. 

My hands slide down to her backside, lifting her up and slowly positioning her over the tip of my cock.  I bury myself in her silky warmth as her hand lays against the side of my head.  She sets the rhythm, moving her hips slowly so I’m just sliding back and forth inside of her.  I wrap one arm around her back and hold her closer to me as I feel myself get closer to ecstasy…

“Come on, Cullen!  You gotta eat sometime!”

I squeezed my eyes against the searing light, rolled over to one side, and started another day.

…

Irina was waiting pretty patiently, but I had yet to hand her my homework, even though I had been there for a good five minutes now and had the damn thing in my hand.

“Does it embarrass you?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I said.  “Maybe.”

“Why?”

“It’s just…stupid.”

“Is it what you want for your future?”

I could only nod as Irina leaned across her desk and tilted her head to look at me.

“Please?”

I tried to glare at her, but it really wasn’t working.  I finally sighed, tossed the single sheet of notebook paper at her, and then leaned back in the seat.  I glared at a spot on the wall just for good measure.  I tried not to watch her expression as she looked at the drawing.

“Edward, this is very expressive,” she finally said after about three and a half hours of staring at it.  All right, it might have been a minute and a half, but it sure as hell felt like three hours.  My chest was tightening up again, and I wanted to get the fuck out of there.

She lay the paper face up on the desk and gestured to it.

“You have some talent here, Edward,” she said.  “Drawing hands is really hard.  Drawing two hands with their fingers all laced together like this is especially difficult.  But there’s more to it than just the quality of the drawing, do you know that?”

I didn’t respond.  I didn’t actually even move.

“Edward, I’m going to ask you an extremely cliché question,” Irina said.  “I hope you’ll talk to me about it anyway.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“Will you tell me about your mother?”

Oh this was going to be interesting, right?

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Chapter End Notes:

Don't you just hate those stereotypical questions counselors ask?  I hated them when I asked them...

Thanks to Lolypop82 for the manip on the plane!

Leave me some...something.