Hey everyone! As I noted in the summary, this is taking up right where Letters left off. It was suggested to me that I do some sort of recap, but I think the best thing is anyone who no longer remembers the end of Letters should go back and re-read that last letter. I think it's short enough to not really take too long. Chapters will continue to be short in this story. Hopefully this will let me update quicker! And now...

Facing Her Fears

My attention wandered from the letter in my hand to the noise out in the hallway and back again. I felt like an idiot writing to a dead guy, and I almost hoped the landlord had called the cops to evict me. Looking around the place again, I felt myself burn with shame at how bad I'd let it get. What a disgusting slob I was.

I threw the letter down on the table and stood up, determined to at least somewhat put the apartment to rights. All this filth couldn't be good for my little cactus friends. It was tough enough for them up here in my squalid apartment with light far less than what they should have, and if they died, I'd have nothing.

Knock. Knock.

Shit! I'd forgotten about the noise out in the hall. My mind was a scattered mess lately.

"Go away!" I yelled, not caring who it was.

"Bella, it's Rosalie, Edward's sister. May I please come in?"

Holy shit!

Stunned, I stood there looking at the door. Edward's sister was here? Why? What could she want? Dimly, I realized if I let her in, I could easily get answers to those questions, but my voice wouldn't work and my feet wouldn't move. No one but me had been in this apartment since I'd moved in. Part of me was dying to let her in, but the other part of me was much too embarrassed.

"Hun? Look, please let me in. If you're worried about how the place looks or whatever, don't be. Frankly, from the smell in the hallway alone, I can tell it won't be pretty. Maybe I can help you clean it and we can talk? Edward wanted me to visit you; I promise, he would have never sent me if he thought I'd cause you any trouble."

Sighing, I realized it was stupid of me to have any pride at this point. I stunk, my apartment stunk, and I was writing letters to dead people. It was time to share the crazy, and Rosalie sounded like a great person to share it with.

Shuffling through all the junk on the floor, I wished once again for a peep hole before slowly easing the door open. When there was finally enough room for me to peek out, I saw a tall, gorgeous blond woman leaning against the opposite hall wall. Confronted with an actual person, my embarrassment hit me anew, and I wanted to slam the door shut before letting this otherworldly creature into my house. I'd been hoping for a girl who looked like she came straight from a truck stop or something, someone used to nasty conditions. This girl looked too pretty to be the desert cactus hunter I'd pictured.

She smiled at me and lightly pushed off the wall before moving to my door. As she walked toward me, I involuntarily backed up before I even realized what I was doing. Gracefully, she stepped past me into the apartment, and I dumbly shut the door and wondered what on earth this girl thought she was going to help with. She was impeccably dressed, and it seemed a shame to get her dirty.

Giving me a quick smile, she turned and started to look at all my cacti. She stopped and studied each one, lightly petting a couple, as if she enjoyed how the needles felt against her skin. Strangely enough, now that the worst was over, and she was inside, I wasn't nearly as creeped out to have someone in here as I thought I'd be. The mess didn't seem to phase her, and with a jolt, I realized how lonely I'd become and having company was actually kind of nice, especially someone who knew enough about me to understand and not expect much.

"You've taken excellent care of these; it's amazing how well they're doing in this apartment. I can see you have your priorities in order—you've got maggots in your trash, but your windows are sparkling clean to let sun in for your cacti. I think I like you already."

Maggots?

I looked over at the trash can and, sure enough, what I thought was left over white rice from a previous meal was actually squirming around on the lip of the can. Ugh. My stomach started to roll, and I barely made it to the bathroom before vomiting in the toilet. Heaves wracked my body, and I glumly watched the food I'd bought with the last of my money swimming in dirty water.

"Bella?" I heard called out to me from the other room. "Look, I know I said I'd help you clean, but I lied. Rinse your mouth, and then grab whatever shit you need. We're going to a hotel."

Sitting back on my haunches, I stared in the direction of her voice. Did she really think I could simply leave here and go stay somewhere else? Maybe she wasn't as aware of my situation as I'd thought. Extreme PTSD combined with an already introverted personality and trauma induced agoraphobia meant this girl wasn't going anywhere. Feeling very tired all of a sudden, I slammed the toilet lid down, and then laid my head down on it, thinking maybe now was a good time for a nap. I heard footsteps come into the room, but thought maybe if I ignored her long enough, she'd go away.

The footsteps stopped, and then everything was silent. I grew uncomfortable, afraid she was staring at me, and a bit irritated with the inconvenience, I picked my head up. She was sitting kitty corner to me, her back against the shower door, and looking surprisingly comfortable considering the filth she was surrounded by.

"Hey, you okay? Sorry if I come on a little strong, it's kind of my thing, you know?" She grimaced at me a little and shrugged her shoulders. All of a sudden, she was a lot less intimidating.

My throat hurt, but after swallowing and working my muscles a bit, I was finally able to speak. "What are you doing here?"

She seemed to be expecting my question, and handed me a piece of paper I hadn't realized she was holding.

My Dear Bella,

I hope you don't mind Rosalie coming to visit. Your last letter to me ripped my soul to shreds as I only deserved. You are one hundred percent correct; I have behaved atrociously toward you.

I know things must seem very confusing right now, and I'd give anything to unwrite those horrible words I sent you. You've humbled me and made me realize simply because you're able to jot down your thoughts and have them make sense, doesn't mean I can, and maybe taking a moment to edit wouldn't have been the end of the world. So much for my supposed superior intellect. It does me no good when I neglect to factor in my extremely over-dramatic personality.

"Did you get to the part where he said he was over-dramatic yet?" Rosalie suddenly asked.

I chuckled. "Yes, just."

She leaned forward. "Between you and me?" And she dramatically looked around. "He's the biggest fucking drama queen to ever walk the earth."

Startled, a burst of laughter came barking out of me, and I almost didn't notice she'd spoken of him in the present tense. Almost.

I'm sure you remember Rosalie's story. When I showed her the letters you'd sent me, and let her know the content of my letters to you, she nearly brained me with a tree branch. Obviously, I'm a complete fuck-up. So, she's there to hopefully undo any damage I've done, and maybe, I pray, help you heal from the other as well.

Yours,

Edward