I erratically scrubbed the dishes, my hands becoming soggy and prune like as salty tears mixed with the soapy water. I shut my eyes, picking up my next utensil, only realizing that it was a large knife after I had let it slide through my hand, watching the blood accumulate below me, creating a murky red in the water. I didn't care. I wept deeper. The pain in my hand was nothing to the pain in my heart.

The days merely turned into washes of light fading in and out, and each morning I awoke with the intention of seeing him once again. We'd Skype when it was opportune, but when we did, the goodbyes were even more agonizing. I felt as if my heart was missing; like a gaping hole was sitting there beneath my ribcage. Without him, I felt breathless, alone, cold.

I read his last letter silently, hearing his soothing voice as I wrapped a towel around my bleeding hand, leaning on the counter.

"My dearest one,

The battlefield is a treacherous place, full of death and sorrow. Some nights I wake screaming your name, for fear that I had lost you. The weather is even more unyielding. It is so hot that your own sweat feels like fire. It is so dry that your lips crack, and your face sheds of skin like a snake shedding it's shell. Your hair is straw like and wispy. It is so lonely that you keel over and hold yourself, crying. I count the days until I can leave this terrible place. Only 10 more days. 10 more days of this madness. I am reminded daily, how precious life truly is. As I hear a soldier's last heart beat, I am reminded that life can be taken so easily. You do not have to be a physician to know this in war.

I yearn, so desperately, to hold you, to make love to you, to tell you over and over again that you are mine, and I am yours. I want so desperately to feel your touch, to wipe your tears, to feel your heart beat, and to hear your breath.

Oh, my darling, I cannot wait another moment. Until then, adieu, my Bella.

Eternally yours,

Carlisle"

I covered my mouth as I cried, sinking to the floor when I felt the loneliness surround me. Goosebumps raised on my skin as I felt his touch, his embrace, and his breath on the back of my neck. Only two more days. How could this be real? He was finally coming home, after 16 months of deployment. The pain in my soul is infinite. There's an emptiness that cannot be described when he is gone. I looked back down to the paper, his beautiful handwriting was now smeared with my blood.

He came home for a brief week after he was sent off to patrol the coast of Africa for pirates. It was a mission that lasted for 6 months. Once he returned home, he was immediately called up again to be deployed to Afghanistan.

I opened my eyes from my slumber as he hovered above me, placing kiss after kiss on my head, eyes, and throat.

"Carlisle!" I shouted, giggling with joy as he continued to attack me with kisses, his dog tags brushing my neck and chest. I was beginning to get used to waking up next to my husband again, after his deployment.

He laughed as well, pulling back and flopping back to his side of the bed. I watched his heavenly figure as he pushed himself up and brought his arms over his head to stretch.

He turned around and looked at me, his spine cracking in the process.

"Good morning, beautiful one." Carlisle turned back around to place one more kiss on my head before getting up to go to the bathroom. I'm sure he had felt the same joy I had. We were both ecstatic.

I pulled the sheets up toward my face, stretching and groaning aloud. Carlisle's phone went off, and the toilet flushed before he came dashing out to catch it.

"Dr. Cullen." He answered. "They are?... It's too soon to tell... No, I-... When?... Tomorrow morning?... Everything is taken care of, then?... I wasn't notified of anything... I cannot drop work, I was scheduled for surgeries today... Right... Yes, sir. Good Bye."

Something I had only seen once on Carlisle's face appeared. A silence; there was no emotion as he stared at me. A dead feeling of sorrow, of loss... Yet he seemed to be totally void of emotion.

"What is it?" I asked, startled. "What's tomorrow, Carlisle?"

"I'm being deployed. Tomorrow morning." Strain filled his normally lovely voice. "To Afghanistan."

My heart skipped a beat. Tears of dread and loss filled his lovely blue eyes, but I could not cry. I was merely in shock.

He came to sit beside me, and I opened my arms for him, as he rested his head on my shoulder, trying to stay strong for me.

I began to lightly sob, not certain as to how I should react to a situation like this, not from the sadness that I hadn't felt yet, but from the sadness radiating from him.

I rested my head on his shoulder, repeating "I love you" until it was like a mantra.

It's been sixteen months since that day. Sixteen long, terrible, heart wrenching months. He has been gone so long that I feel as if I am a widow. I wear a ring, but there is no man to prove that I am married. I write to him everyday each week and send it off bi weekly. But it isn't the same.

Nothing can cure the agony of sleeping in an empty bed.

The phone rang, bringing me out of my trans. I shot up, dashing to get the phone on the opposite end of the kitchen.

"Yes... Hello?" I spoke, wiping my tears with the back of my hand, clearing my throat.

"Mrs. Cullen? This is Dr. Marcus Jackson. I work with your husband." He had a nice gentlemanly Southern accent. Maybe Georgia.

My heart nearly skipped a beat when he mentioned Carlisle. "Yes, of course, I remember you. What can I help you with?"

"Carlisle has been injured, Mrs. Cullen." At that moment, my heart skipped a beat. I sought out the closest thing to sit on, for fear that I would faint. I held my head in my hand as I sat on the barstool, closing my eyes.

"You're not calling to tell me he is dead."

"No, ma'am. He was shot while on the battlefield, ma'am. Twice, actually. Once in the shoulder, and another just above his heart, in his chest."

I was totally silent.

"Mrs. Cullen?" He paused, "Nothing was ruptured. The gunman missed the arteries and his heart. He's been through 2 surgeries thus far. I'm about to operate on him once again. He's alert, awake, and asking for you. Would you like to talk to him?"

"Please." I waited a moment while Dr. Jackson handed over the phone to Carlisle.

"Bella?" His voice fluttered over the phone. My heart nearly stopped as I began to cry, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Carlisle," I did not know what to say. "You... How are you... Feeling?"

His voice was groggy and weak. "I'm alright, darling. I'm just fine. They're taking care of me. I'm coming home soon, to Seattle."

"When?"

"I should be home in two days. They need to wait at least 24 hours to make certain that infection doesn't develop." He paused. "You are what kept me alive, love. I hope you know that. When I was shot, I kept seeing your face. I thought it was an angel, but it wasn't. It was you, guiding me." His voice began to crack with sorrow. "You were holding my hand, talking to me; just talking."

"I can't wait to see you." I cried harder.

"I can't either. Keep a watch on the clock. Only 48 more hours."

"I love you." I whispered.

"I love you, too."

I hung up the phone, pressing it to my chest, resting my head on my knees. My worst nightmare had actually come true. Thousands of miles away, and he was nearly killed.

Only two more days. It won't be long, now. I chanted to myself.

As I went to stand, my head began to feel light again, so I decided to stay put. I dialed the phone to call my brother, Emmett, who was also a physician here in Seattle. He often worked with Carlisle, and approved of my choice in men. I remained seated on my stool, swaying slightly back and forth. My head felt very light, and I broke out in a cold sweat as he answered. I spoke his name, then Carlisle's, feeling as if I could no longer control my movements. My body collapsed to the floor as the crystal bowl filled with M&M's fell along with me, smashing to a thousand pieces, the colorful pieces of candy mixed with the instant rush of blood as the crystal sliced me in multiple places.

I shut my eyes, only able to hear Emmett's frantic voice on the other end, calling out my name; but to no avail, as I could not will myself to speak. I could not move. I could not think. I gently floated away on a cloud to a place of no pain, my love's face was the last thing I saw before I went unconscious.

"Bells?" I heard heavy feet walk through my front door, getting louder as they came toward me. "Bella!"

At first, I imagined that it was Carlisle. But when I went to open my eyes, it was my brother who I saw. He kneeled beside me, stroking my hair from the bloody cuts on my forehead. He pressed two fingers to my wrist, rubbing up and down my uninjured arm.

"Emm?" I asked, hissing at the insignificant pain on the exterior. It was nothing in comparison to the pain on the inside.

"Bella... What have you done?" He took off his flannel shirt, pressing it to my head.

"Nothing, I just..." I grimaced.

Emmett lifted me as if I were air, bringing me to the comfortable black lounge chair by the fireplace, pressing the flannel he wore against my head.

"Easy, Bells." He soothed.

I was a bloody mess. I looked down to my bicep, the slice deep; so deep that it did not bleed much. I could see the muscle below. Something stung in my eye; it was blood. Gross.

Good thing my brother and husband are both physicians. I mused, watching my brother as he placed his hand on my knee.

"I brought my medical bag. Let me go get that, okay?"

I nodded, taking his shirt from his hand that was on my head, holding the shirt firmly on the lacerations.

He ran out of the room.

I was alone, again. Alone to think, to feel. Two emotions that I feared the most. I could only picture my Carlisle, alone, probably terrified.

I only yearned to rest my head on him, to show him that I'd never leave his side. Tears filled my eyes as I imagined him, laying in a medical tent in the middle of the desert.

Emmett returned with his black bag of doom, as I called it. He pulled a stool up and sat beside me, removing the flannel from my head.

"So, what'd you want to tell me?" He asked, curious, but cautious as he opened the bag, placing two packaged syringes on the side table, two glass bottles with silver caps, packages of sutures, and all of the freaky looking medical things that I could and couldn't recognize. After all, being married to a physician, I've looked through his bag more than once for bandaids!

He began with my head, lowering the chair, snapping on a pair of gloves, moving over me. First, he gauzed my hand and arm up.

"Carlisle..." I grimaced as he injected me with the local anesthetic. "Carlisle was shot." I wiped a tear from my eye as I began to tear up.

"God, Bells." He paused for a moment, sighing. "No wonder you passed out. He's...alive, right?"

"Yeah. He's alive. I spoke to him not more than a half hour ago. Before I passed out."

He applied something that stung like holy hell, and I grimaced away from him.

"Emm, dude. That fucking hurts!"

"Well, don't faint anymore. Duh." He chuckled and I laughed aloud.

"Jackass."

After some time, maybe a half hour, Emmett finally finished with the mess of my head, stitching more than one gash, carefully. There were two on my forehead; one on my hairline, the other closer to my eyebrow. He moved to my arms and bicep, which took a lot longer; it fell to night quickly as I waited while he fixed me.

Night fell over Seattle, and my the power in my house went out. Emmett went home to get a change of clothes to stay the night. Being related to a doctor was great, and awful. They are all too worried about you to worry about themselves.

As I laid in bed, I thought about my husband, however, I was all too mentally exhausted to worry. I knew he was in great hands; and he would be back sooner than I could imagine. I shut my eyes, feeling my mind shut down as I fell into a deep, much needed sleep.