It's times like this he wishes he can cry. He could just let the hot tears pour down his cheeks, curl into himself and let the emotions engulf him. But there's no way to channel them now, not when crying is so physically impossible. He needs to let it all out, the pressure of his thoughts pressing into his skull from the inside out, threatening to blow up his lungs.
He screams.
He's not sure what, but he yells words. Insults, he's sure, but he doesn't know if they're directed at her or himself.
Her for lying. For going off, not telling him where she was going or when she'd get back. For being destructive, not only to herself but to him. For kissing him, for loving him. She has to love him. Why else would she run away to the one place where he couldn't go?
He could be yelling at himself, too. For not being good enough. For pushing her away. For trying too hard to protect her, backfiring and blowing up in his face.
Really, though, he isn't even 100% sure it's even words coming out of his mouth. It's just white noise, strangled animal sounds, the kind of roaring that belongs to monsters. And that's exactly what he is. A monster.
When he's done, when he can see again, he breathes heavy, unnecessary breaths, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He stares at the ground, tracing over the little knitted patterns of her bedroom carpet. He can't look at her, sitting cross legged on the bed. She can't look at him either. Because when he finally tries to look at her, she looks away, biting her lip. He knows she does that when she's nervous. He hates that he knows things like that, little things that make his heart hurt when he realizes she never bothered to learn it about him.
He breathes through his mouth, inhaling her scent. Worried that, maybe, he won't be able to do that much longer. Me tries to memorize everything, he smell, her eyes, the way she sits when she's upset, slumped but trying to look strong. He sees the structure underneath the mask of strength, fraying at the seams.
She is crying, tears sliding down her pale skin. He wipes them away with his thumbs, her eyes flickering to meet his for the first time in too long.
"I'm sorry," she whispers, looking down and back up at him, "I didn't mean to."
"You love him," he clears his throat, trying not to let her know how upset he really is.
"Not enough to leave you. Not as much as you."
"But you do, don't you?" He can't help the acid laced in his tone, "you love him."
"I'm trying," she pleads.
"Answer the question." His voice is dead to his own ears, blank as the expression in his face.
"Edward, I-"
"Answer the question," he repeats tonelessly. She looks at him warily at first, her lips moving just barely, but no sound comes out. She screws her eyelids shut, like she's going to start crying.
"Yes," her voice is almost as broken and weak as his heart. She says it so quietly, like she's afraid if her own answer. Just three letters to make him fall apart. Yes. Yes. Yes. It repeats in his head, "but not like you," here eyes snap open, her words loud and rushed, "I love you. So much more. I'll do anything for you, you know that. I won't see him anymore. I won't even talk to him on the phone. I won't go to the reservation anymore, I-"
"You said that last time," he says it so quietly, he isn't sure she's heard. But she does. Her tears stream down now, he can see her trying to calculate what he's saying in her mind.
He feels like his chest has been ripped open, like someone scooped out his unbeating heart with a rusty spoon and put it through a blender. Because she loves him. And she thinks 'love you more' makes a difference.
"You kissed him," he accuses softly, smiling sadly, a bitter scoff coming from his lips. She doesn't answer, and he just shakes his head, "I can't keep doing this."
"What? What do you mean 'this?' There isn't anything going on, Edward," hysteria seeps into her voice, shaking her.
"I can't keep loving you, knowing you'll always be comparing his lips to mine. Knowing you'll always... Compare our love."
"Don't talk like that," she sobs. Her face crumples up, treats squeezed out of her tightly shut eyes, "don't talk like you're leaving."
"I can't stay." Barely any sound comes out, but she hears him loud and clear.
"You can't," she's being too loud, her father will wake up... "You can't just do that to me!"
He snaps.
"Bella, you did this!" He erupts, "you kissed him! You fell in love with him!"
"Because you weren't there!" She screams, "you left me broken and he was there to pick up the pieces!"
His fingers grip at his hair, threatening to pull it all out in two angry fistfuls.
"To fucking protect you!" He throws his hands down. She uncrosses her legs and stands, stepping in front of him. She's hard, like stone. Unmoving, uncaring. She isn't the Bella he remembers. There's something new, burning behind her eyes.
"I do t need a protector," she spits. By the second the words leave her tongue, she softens. Her features are back, Bella is back, "I need you."
She lifts her hand to cup his cheek, but he flinches away. Her hand drops, but not her gaze.
"Look at me," she whispers, and his eyes instinctively flash up to meet hers. They don't speak for a long time. They just stare, her eyes wordlessly pleading with him.
"Say something," she begs. He doesn't respond, "say something so I know it's not done."
"What do you want me to say?"
"Whatever will save you."
"What do you mean?" His eyebrows crease together
"Say what'll keep you from giving up on me."
He opens his mouth to speak, and prays he won't regret it, this time.