Hurts
CULLEN
The room fell into dead silence.
I stared at him. Then a slow smile started tugging at my lips.
And I laughed. No—I cackled.
I laughed so hard my stomach hurt. And when I finally caught my breath and saw the frozen, shocked look on Cyrus’s face, I laughed even harder.
“What’s so funny?” he asked, frowning. “I thought you’d care. I thought you’d be mad.”
“Why the hell would I care?” I said, wiping tears from my eyes.
Cyrus blinked. “Well… I don’t know. Because you’ve always seen me as a competition. You had a thing for Bella. And I married her.”
His voice had that proud tilt to it, as always.
“And just so you know,” he added, “Bella was never in love with you. Not really. I always had a hard time watching you chase her like a fool. Watching her string you along…”
I laughed again. “Wow. Thanks for rubbing it in.... again. You got her. We get it. Is that all?”
Cyrus loved rubbing it in my face that he got Bella, always reminding me that, ' I wanted her, but she didn't want me'. It got to a fact that I really just didn't care. I knew that it irritated him the fact that Bella and I were still close, he didn't like it.
So why didn't he, if he really thought that I didn't stand a chance? He knew I stood a chance, that's why he didn't like our relationship, and this was really getting boring.
I stood up, stretched, acting like I couldn’t care less, even though the air in the room was getting tighter. He shook his head and looked toward our father.
I turned, too.
“Well?” I asked him. “Is that all?”
My father’s face was unreadable. “Since you apparently don’t care that your wife seduced your brother while wearing lingerie in Your bedroom…” He trailed off. “Your mother and I… we got concerned for nothing, I guess.”
My smile froze.
Pieces started snapping into place, fast and jagged.
I turned to Cyrus slowly. “You kissed Sarah?” I asked, my voice a notch lower.
The air shifted. The temperature in the room dipped.
Cyrus noticed. His posture stiffened, and his voice came quick.
“I didn’t kiss her,” he said. “She kissed me.”
I laughed again, harder this time—but it wasn’t like the first time. The first time, I genuinely found it funny. When he said “Sarah came on to me,” I just assumed it was something minor, some clumsy words, maybe a misunderstanding. Sarah could be impulsive with her mouth, and reckless with half-jokes. But this?
This was different.
I shook my head. Once. Twice. Trying to make sense of it. But Cyrus kept talking.
“Just so you know,” he said, voice low, “Bella told me to take her home… and take care of her. She was drunk, okay? I tried to get her out of that party quietly, without anyone noticing. She could barely walk. She vomited on the way. I carried her inside. Got her some water. She stank of vomit, so I told her to bathe. I made her food, and got her to eat something so she could regain strength.”
He paused like he needed permission to continue. No one gave it. He went on anyway.
“She went to the bathroom. Bella asked me to stay close, to keep an eye on her so she wouldn’t fall in the tub. I waited… just until she was done. But when I went to check if she was okay… she attacked.”
He exhaled. “She was standing there, wearing this thin robe. Then she just opened it. I didn’t look. I swear to God, I didn’t look. But then she pulled me close, and she kissed me, okay? She kissed me. So there, now you know.”
I laughed again but this time it was hollow. Cold. A laugh with no sound behind it, just breath and disbelief.
My head was shaking before I even realized it. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Couldn’t believe the betrayal seeping from every word.
And then I walked toward the door.
I don’t know why it hit me that way. It’s not like I even loved Sarah. Not really. It’s not like we were some kind of fairytale couple. Not like we were in love. I barely knew how to define what we had.
But it hurt.
God, it hurt.
I didn’t know I was capable of that kind of pain. That kind of betrayal.
As I moved toward the door, Cyrus’s voice chased me from behind.
“I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry! I didn’t do anything! You can’t blame me for this!”
But I kind of did. Didn’t I?
I turned without thinking.
Cyrus was still sitting on the couch. I launched myself at him.
I didn’t think. I didn’t yell. I just moved, fast and furious and then I was on him. My fists connected. Over and over. I hit and hit and hit, and at some point, he must have snapped out of the shock because he hit back.
I didn’t feel it. Not the punches. Not the pain. All I felt was the need to make him feel it. To make him hurt.
It didn’t last long.
Someone was pulling me off. I elbowed them. They cursed. A foot came up and clipped the side of my head. My grip on Cyrus slipped.
There were more people in the room now—someone grabbed my left arm, another my right. But they hadn’t calmed me. They hadn’t stopped me.
I was still raging. Still on fire. Still drowning in betrayal.
I didn’t want to feel it. I didn’t want to be inside that pain, but I was trapped in it. So I kicked, I thrashed, I screamed—whatever my body could do, it did.
And then it got too much.
Someone hit me hard. Everything went black.
Darkness swallowed me whole.
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