Note: Now the clean up begins! There will be one more chapter after this one.

With a few murmured words to steel myself, I tried unsuccessfully to gather my courage to look into the mirror. And then I was saved.

"Bella?"

Carlisle's soft, soothing voice was nearby. He was always so calm, so collected, so willing to help. Without hesitation, I replied, "In here."

"Alice's bathroom?" he questioned.

"Um, yes, she said I could borrow her make-up and stuff…" My voice trailed off. Suddenly I realized just how intrusive I'd been. What if Carlisle was angry with me for using this daughter's things and destroying half of them in the process?

"Is everything all right?" he asked. He was just outside the door now. Luckily I had closed it when I first came into the room.

"Uh… yes, fine," I stammered. But it wasn't, and I didn't really know what to do. My eye was seriously hurting and swelling, and I worried that I'd really injured myself.

"All right," he replied amiably.

"Carlisle—" I took a deep breath and gathered my courage. "Wait."

"Yes, Bella?"

"I think…" I swallowed at the tightness in my throat. "I think I need your help."

He waited about two seconds then asked softly, "May I come in?"

I closed the eye that was currently functional and said, "Yes."

I heard the door open then his sharp intake of breath.

"I'm sorry," I stuttered. "I didn't mean to… I was just trying out a couple of things, and I don't know what happened, but—"

His cool hands came to rest lightly upon my shoulders. "Sshh. Don't worry, Bella. This can all be cleaned up. What I need to know is if you're all right."

I opened my good eye (my hand still covered the other one) to peer up at his concerned face through my tears. "I don't think so," I admitted in a tiny voice.

He took my wrist and lowered my hand to reveal my eye, frowning momentarily at whatever he saw. Then he composed himself and said very calmly, "Come with me, dear."

"But I have to clean all of this up!" I protested mildly.

"We'll take care of it later. Right now we need to take care of you."

His arm looped around my back, and he led me out of the room, away from the battle zone. We walked down the long hallway, but instead of turning toward Edward's room, as I'd expected, we continued on to the doorway I recalled led to Carlisle's and Esme's suite.

He steered me through the beautifully decorated room and into the large bathroom. I noticed idly that it had a huge tub and a separate, spacious stall shower. He lifted me quickly to sit upon the counter then said, "I need to get a few things. I'll only be a minute. Don't touch your eye again."

I nodded, wondering if I could finally muster the courage to turn and look into the mirror. The answer was no. Carlisle vanished, and I sat stiffly, fighting the urge to press my hand over my aching eye. I settled for scratching vigorously at the prickly patch on my neck.

"Bella," Carlisle said, his tone one of mild admonishment as he stepped back into the room, "please, don't."

Abashed, I lowered my hand to my lap and forced it to remain there. He offered me a thin smile then began arranging various items on the counter beside me. I decided that I didn't really want to see what they were; I would find out soon enough.

I kept my gaze on his arms. He had rolled up the sleeves of his blue shirt, and his pale hands moved at inhuman speed over the countertop. Watching out of one eye made me feel a little dizzy, so I looked down at my own clumsy human hands instead.

Suddenly Carlisle was right in front of me. I could feel the light chill of his body against my legs and arms. One cool finger lifted my chin, and he brushed the hair away from my face with his other hand.

"Is your vision blurry?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied dejectedly.

He nodded then very gently touched the lower lid of my injured eye, easing it down so that he could peer at the damage. He was keeping his expression composed, so I hoped the injury wasn't too bad. But even his soft touch brought more pain to my eye, and I forced myself not to flinch back.

He reached for a cotton swab and said, "Stay very still, Bella."

"Okay," I whispered.

I felt his fingers slide around to cup the back of my head as his thumb continued holding my eye open. Then the swab dipped in, and the pain flared. I twitched, but Carlisle's hand held me steady. The sharp stinging diminished a little, and I realized that he had removed the swab and was now bringing a clean gauze pad to my eye.

"Close your eyes," he instructed gently, and when I did I felt him daubing lightly beneath the injured area.

"I'm going to flush your eye to remove any traces of other irritants," he told me, his unruffled, unhurried voice very soothing to my frazzled nerves.

I gave a quick nod of acknowledgment, then he tilted my head back and asked me to open my eyes again. He held the left eye open and squeezed in something clear that burned like heck. But I managed to remain motionless, and Carlisle told me that I was doing well.

After what felt like several minutes, but was probably only 10 or 15 seconds, he held another gauze pad lightly over my eye. His thumb stroked my forehead gently, and I realized I was feeling calmer now. My eye still hurt, but the stinging pain had relented into a dull sort of ache.

He moved the pad away then examined my eye carefully with an ophthalmoscope. When he finally drew back, I could see that his pleased smile was genuine.

"You had a small piece of eyeliner in your eye," he informed me, "and something you used abraded the sclera—the white part. But all traces of foreign matter are gone now, and there are no corneal abrasions. It should heal quickly. I'm going to put some antibiotic drops in your eye, and you'll need to use them three times a day for the next week, but I don't think you'll have any problems. Your lower lid is also scratched and irritated, and there's some swelling. The drops will help prevent infection, and I'll give you some cream to apply, too."

"Thanks," I replied, my cheeks coloring with embarrassment.

He offered me another smile, this one reflecting sympathy, I thought, then he put the drops in my eye and gently dabbed the cream on my lid. My vision remained a little fuzzy, which worried me.

"Carlisle," I asked as he was disposing of the swabs and gauze, "I still can't see very clearly…"

He turned his head toward me and nodded. "It will take a little while for your vision to clear up. And the swelling will make things a bit distorted, too. It's nothing to worry about."

"Okay," I said with some relief.

Grateful that he'd dealt with the worst of it, I began to slide down from the counter, but his hand shot out to prevent any further movement. I gave him a questioning look.

"There are a few other issues to take care of," he said, his expression odd. I couldn't tell if he was perturbed or amused, or both.

"I think my eye was the only really bad thing," I began.

"It was the worst," he agreed lightly, and before I could ask anything else, he'd begun wiping my face gently with a warm, wet washcloth.

"I can do that," I protested around the soft fabric.

"I'd rather you let me," he replied. "Your skin is quite irritated—I'm not sure what caused it, actually, but this looks like a combination of contact dermatitis and minor abrasions."

He worked carefully, avoiding my left eye but bathing the rest of my face with increasingly cool water. He ran the cloth over my skin several times then dried it with the softest pressure of a fluffy cotton towel. When he was finished, he studied my face intently, occasionally touching a tender spot. My entire face felt sort of tingly and sore, actually.

I could tell Carlisle was trying not to sigh as he finally turned away and took another tube from the counter. There was some sort of gel in this one, and he used his fingertips to rub it over my whole face, minus the vicinity of my injured eye. Whatever it was, it eased the discomfort of my abused skin nicely.

"Thank you," I acknowledged.

His attention had shifted to my neck. He quickly twisted my hair up into a knot on top of my head so that he could scrutinize the exposed skin at my nape and throat. "You've got several minor burns," he informed me.

"Stupid hot rollers," I muttered.

"More like scorching rollers," he murmured, shaking his head.

He dabbed at spots all around my hairline and along the side of my neck with more soothing gel. Then he tilted my chin up so that he could examine the area that had been so itchy before. It was still sort of tingling and stinging, but I had almost gotten used to it.

"I can't even tell what happened here," he said. I knew that anyone else would sound exasperated, but his voice remained calm as ever.

I decided not to rehash the ignominious events, so merely shrugged. Carlisle patted my shoulder comfortingly then cleaned the affected site with antiseptic and applied yet another variety of cream to it.

He had also noticed the burns on my hand and fingers, so he treated those, too, patiently dabbing ointment over each and every one.

Finally he gathered the various tubes in his hands. "I'll send all of these home with you. This one is for the burns, this is for your eye, this is for your face, and use this one on your neck," he instructed lightly.

"Okay."

He had stepped back a bit, and I took this as a signal that it was all right for me to get down. Still, it was better to err on the side of caution, I supposed.

"Um, I think that's everything?" I asked a little cautiously.

"I believe so—"

But his words were interrupted by Edward bursting into the room, a look of pure horror on his beautiful face.

"Bella!" he cried. "Good lord! What the hell happened to you?"

To be concluded...