Author's Note: A bit of a shorter chapter. I am absolutely gob smacked at the number of subscribers the first chapter brought. So thank you. This chapter is a bit shorter, but you'll learn more about her conversations with the psychiatrist in the next chapter.

ii.

Days pass. She stops counting because it only depresses her knowing she's been unnecessarily gone for longer than anyone needs. She stops counting because every day without Edward is a struggle and, maybe if she stopped thinking about him, maybe then it wouldn't hurt so bad.

She still dreams. She still screams.

Charlie rarely comes because it never ends on good terms and Bella's holding an unfair grudge, but she doesn't care. It hurts him, but he tries not to care. She gets it from her dad.

The sight and sound and scent and touch and taste of Edward haunts her...consumes her. He is the light and the fire and the passion burning within her. He is all of that and he is none of that. But she's put him on a pedestal and he's never going down.

She's eating more. She's talking more.

The nurses and doctors practically toast to her progress, despite the fact that it's all an act. They should know. If they really thought about and cared about their patients, they would know.

She guilts them without really admitting to it or acting on it publicly, but she thinks about it all the time. And she thinks that maybe she won't feel better back home. Maybe this is home. Maybe you can run from your problems, but they eventually catch up to you anyway. Always.

One day, Charlie brought her a notebook.

She was grateful even if she didn't show it. She needed to tell someone, but no one in her life was worthy of her trust. And sure, writing isn't exactly private because what if somebody finds it and holds it against her. She knew blackmail. She had seen it. And she didn't want to be on the receiving end.

She decided to use it anyway. It was a gift from Charlie and she owed him a bit of happiness after all he had been through...all she had put him through. She hated that she had to hurt everyone around her just to stabilize herself.

She was strong, but Edward had become her crutch. Without him, she was left a blubbering fool enchanted by something no one believed she could know anything about. How could she, at the age of seventeen, possibly be in love? No one questioned her, but she knew what they all were thinking. She knew that behind the forced smiles and formalities, they thought she was a foolish little girl stuck in her stupid little world, and that she brought the pain upon herself.

And she believed it.

And sometimes she feared Edward would never come back.

---

She was slowly descenting into insanity. She still didn't see it, but it was in her eyes. The lack of luster, the refusal to shed any more tears, the shaking and screaming, the scraping at her skin, the anxiety, the delusions, the paranoia, everything.

The doctors were at their wit's end. They couldn't get anywhere with her, couldn't get anything out of her.

She had begun to fight against the doctors - refusing to take her meds and even lashing out to the extent of needing restraints.

She had reached a new low. She was in a hole and she kept digging.

And Edward still wasn't there to save her. He had left her - alone and unprotected, just like the vampire, Laurent, had said.

Bella had never made herself out to be a damsel, but she had somehow become so weak and powerless. A strong girl broken by a decision that wasn't hers to make.

I'm not crazy I'm not crazy I'm not crazy Edward will come for me

It was a mantra, but she wasn't sure even she believed it anymore.

She pushed herself harder, desperate to recover...to bounce back. She tried to picture a happy life without Edward, but her attempts were fruitless. Whenever anyone questioned her, she simply responded, "he'll come for me."

The doctors and nurses had finally realized that there was no way to get through to her, no way to penetrate the stubborn mind. But it was their job and they needed to do something.

So they put her in solitary, out of fear that she would harm herself or others. The grew tired of the restraints and they realized they needed to break her and then mold her back in to an acceptable shape, an acceptable being. It didn't matter what personal cost it came at to her, it mattered because they needed to do their damn job and stop trying to please all the patients.

Bella certainly wasn't the most dangerous or the most unstable or the most anything - she was quite average. But "average" in a mental unit is not prepared for the outside world.

Usually, stays were short, but it was discussed whether or not they should send her to a mixed unit, where adults and adolescents were thrown together. Bella was seventeen, and she wasn't relating to the younger children. In fact, she wasn't relating to anyone. The closest thing she had to an understanding, helpful being was the hospital's psychiatrist.

For some reason, she trusted him. He listened. Even though he was paid for it, he had an aura of general empathy. He worked with the adults as well, but Bella was his prize.

Everything was the same and yet it was not. Hiding her secrets never made them go away.