A/N- I hope you enjoy. Things will start getting there with this story but I just needed some sort of background on what Bella has been through recently. Give it some time.

We all know who owns these characters, thanks again S.M.!

CHAPTER 4

After what seems like a century I amble up my stairs quite pitifully drunk even for me and I'm coming close to the complete numbness that I'm searching for. Fumbling for the key I lose my step and fall to my knees. I'm so damn shaky; my entire body is trembling in wave after wave of anxiety and nervousness. What in the hell is wrong with me? I realize then that the mind numbing tears have decided to take up residence on my already red and swollen face. I never cried before I left for Iraq. Maybe when I married Jacob or when I gave birth to my baby, but other than that I rarely shed a tear.

I had such great control over my emotional side. People always told me I was so much like my father and emotionally I really was. Charlie was so reserved compared to my mother. He didn't show his feelings very often, but when he did it was quite humorous to watch his mustache twitch as if on its own accord. It was always the same if he was angry, happy, startled, upset or whatever. It was always the same little twitch that you wouldn't notice unless you had lived with him or had hung around him for a long time. Renee was so different, though. I don't see how they've remained married this long. She was so exuberant and highly excitable. Mom never did anything with much thought put into it. There was always something newer to try, something more exciting in her mind. That's why when I signed up for the Army Reserves while I was still in college I thought she would be proud of my spontaneity. Well, that definitely wasn't the case. I truly thought she was going to kill me. It was so unlike me to do something so brash she had said to me through a curtain of tears. Of course this caused quite a few arguments between the two of us. I really don't think our relationship has ever been the same. It definitely hasn't been the same since I returned home. She can't even look at my face without bursting into stinging tears. I know she feels guilt over letting me join initially, but would never blame herself completely. There's always someone else, specifically myself or Charlie and always something else to put blame on. She always hated my recruiter with his laid back demeanor and promise of money and college loan repayment. I'm sure if she could get him alone in a dark alley she wouldn't shy away from pulling dad's shotgun on him.

And then more of my memories over take me and start to pull me down the same damn spiraling hole.

Every day and every night.

They were always the same.

Each scene was different but the finality of the memories was all alike. I couldn't save everyone and I couldn't save myself.

The thunder of the rocket that crushed through our field hospital. The jolt of the impact of the continuing rocket strikes as they crashed against unsuspecting spectators. The screaming of threats in foreign tongue that caused chill bumps to rise every time that I heard them. The screaming of the men as they were killed like cattle at slaughter right in front of my eyes. The Iraqi's eyes who bore right through me like I was not worth the bullet that he was getting ready to put through my skull. My friends, my brothers, my sisters, most of them dead or kidnapped. Then there was me, alone and alive to try to clean up the mess.

Why did they not want me? Why was I left behind? I truly believe things would have been so much easier on my family, friends and of course me if I had come home ready for burial, but as my luck would have it I only had a few minor cuts and scrapes and not to mention a shit load of mental issues. My family would have been able to let go and truly get over losing me if I had died. Now they have to be reminded that I'm still breathing and look like the same old Bella with some minor changes, but not really resembling anything familiar to them on the inside. I am poison. Infecting anything and everyone that I come into contact with and kill them slowly and quietly without them ever knowing it. It's pretty sickening when you think about it that way. I never physically killed anyone during war but I'm killing my family at home. I'm still a murderer any way you look at it. I couldn't even save my friends so it was like I helped in killing them, too. Like I placed the knife at Schoonover's throat and pulled, like I hung Pentley and set her on fire and like I held Shannon down and watched as she was repeatedly raped and sodomized just for the last one to cut into her, shaving tiny little pieces off of her body until she was drained of blood and quit breathing.

I finally steadied myself enough with my key in my hand to get through the door of my apartment. I live in such a shitty and run down area of Seattle that I have four damn locks to undo just to get the door open. It's so different than where I grew up at in Forks, just a couple hours from where I am now. My family home wasn't much to look at but it was safe. I don't remember ever feeling as if I really needed to lock our doors. Charlie being the Police Chief in our small, quiet town seemed to make everything better. Of course there were the never ending speeding tickets and the occasional trouble that a teen would fall into but nothing was ever serious enough to be concerned. I never had to worry about anything terrible happening to me or my family. Then the home that Jake and I shared on the Reservation, right on First Beach in La Push. He had built it for me and it was damn near perfect in every sense with it's wrap around porch and rocking chairs, my beautiful custom kitchen which I loved, our master bedroom with it's king size handmade oak bed and our bathroom which admittedly I really missed. Nothing happened on the reservation that ever needed the cops. Everyone took care of their own and took care of their neighbors. Living here in this dilapidated building with 10 other tenants that I didn't even know nor had I seen was completely different. I was no one to these people. I could have died in my apartment and they would know no better until the stench of my decaying body would enter their world. Even then they probably would just let me rot away.

I took the second bottle of liquor that I had acquired from the customary brown bag that they constantly used to put it in and took several pulls as my body eventually started to simmer down. I can't remember a time where my body didn't feel like I was going to implode on itself since I arrived home. It was always something. A stuttering heart beat, an empty pain in my chest, nausea, terrible shaking to where I couldn't' even hold my cigarette, headaches that felt like they would never end and the hole in my heart that would never close and heal.

Damn the memories. Damn the nightmares. Damn the friends who had to die. I really don't think I can take anymore of this pain. It's a pain that rocks me to my core. I used to think that I would wake up one morning and everything would be back to normal; that I would be the same old me from a forgotten time long ago. That was until I realized that this is my normal life now. I'll never be happy. I'll never share joy with anyone else. It's just me and my hellish nightmares that I wake up from. I mean why would I want to share that with anyone? No one deserves to go through life with me and what I deal with. I would slowly kill them just like my family. I can't think about doing that anyone else ever again.

It was decided then so I carefully began trying to pull the bottle of pills out of my coat pocket. I don't even recognize my own small hands as they worked feverously with the child proof top. I think they are just drunk proof tops because my son would always be able to get these stupid things off the tops of his bottles of vitamins.

Oh my son. My gorgeous, silly, six year old son. My Jack. I wonder if he misses his mommy as much as she misses him. Hopefully his piece of shit father has kept that whore Leah, who ruined our marriage, out of his life.

That is what I call hope. Hope that he isn't hurting due to what his stupid parents have done. It's the one part in my life that I don't take complete blame for. If that asshole could have been half the man that our son was everything would be okay. One day, in a different time, Jack and I will be back together again.

I remember the night I left plain as day even through all of the alcohol I've ingested this evening.

"Bella, we need to talk." Jake looked so guilty as he said this.

"Okay, honey, let me get this crazy kid to bed and we'll grab a beer and sit out on the porch." I was truly dreading this conversation and I knew what was coming but seriously? One week after I got home from war? You're fucking kidding, right?

We go outside and sit in our his and hers matching rocking chairs and sit in silence for what seems like forever. The waves seemed to know what was going on. They crashed furiously against the rocks as I waited for him to say something, anything.

He finally spoke up, "I just don't think I can do this anymore. I can't live like this, us just tiptoeing around one another like we were never in love to begin with."

I take it all in stride. I knew that his letters to me overseas were getting more and more distant as the months wore on. He was barely even telling me he loved me by the end. It never failed with Jacob, that was the one thing that he would always make sure he said no matter if we were angry with one another or not. He lost his mother without being able to tell her he loved her one final time and so with that he always made a point that Jack and I would always know how he felt.

"Who is she?" I ask point blank. You could see the pain behind his eyes as he acknowledged that I knew what had been going on all along.

That's where I make this specific memory stop. It only serves one purpose to me. Reminding me that yet again I was left by someone I loved and that what he did to me finally created the mess that I truly was. My baby was the only reason as to why I seemed like I was coping with life. They couldn't see what other people had done to me. They couldn't see the pain that I lived with daily. I remember waking up from one vicious nightmare to Jacob physically trying to hold me down. Through all of the sweat and tears that were mixing on my body I realized that I had him by the throat. I didn't sleep for 48 hours in fear of what would happen if I closed my eyes again. Eventually exhaustion won over and I awoke with a start from another dream while he lay asleep on the couch in the living room.

After what seemed like hours I finally get the damn top off of the bottle and there are six pills sitting on my kitchen counter. An internal battle rages within me. What if I was meant to come back from that hell hole and do something great? Maybe I could get on with my life and I just wasn't trying hard enough to make that happen. In therapy they tried to tell us what we went through would make us better, more whole. That every puzzle piece of our life fit together somewhere no matter if that piece was horrifying or not. That there were positive links that it would be attached to and they would make me a better person. I think they are all full of shit. They were just trying to make themselves feel better. Not me, I'm done. I'm numb and cold and ready to end my everyday hell.

People have no idea what we went through over there. They consider themselves high and mighty because they are citizens of the great United States of America and you should see the way they look at us veterans. The ones that make sure that they continue to remain free. They take pity on those vets that you can physically see their injuries, but for those of us whose injuries are invisible we are just seen as plain fanatical. Like we are making up what we are going through for attention. I really wish that was the case because I wouldn't be sitting here debating with myself over whether I really wanted to die or not. Those of us who are physically injured and those who are emotionally scarred are no different and we are sure as hell are not the same. I had heard for years what the guys went through in Vietnam and how people treated them when they returned home from their own version of hell. How people would kick them when they were down. Turning them away at every corner, even at the VA where they were supposed to receive help. I truly didn't believe it could be that bad, but then again I guess you don't know until you've lived through it yourself.

As I swallow the pills I say a silent prayer to God that he understands why I'm doing this. Why I do this I'm not sure. I prayed to a God that let my guys get killed, let my girls become destroyed, but I still believe that he's there, somewhere and that maybe I deserve to actually be listened to and granted this one little prayer. That's the thing about faith, no matter how far down you are it always offers that one little spark of I guess optimism. Hope that there's someone there listening to your prayer and maybe, just maybe it will be answered this one time. I pray that there is a greater reason for me to end this. That in some way I am actually making the lives of my family easier. This isn't only a selfish decision, it's about taking their lives into consideration, too. I can't do it anymore. I can't keep continuing to go on with my life this way. This is no way to live. I wouldn't wish this fate and decision on my greatest enemy. I plead with him to show my son how much I love him and what he means to me. I pray for him to be with the guys who actually made it back and as I'm drifting in and out of consciousness I call one of the only friends that I have left. One of the only ones who have stuck around to see me and my life crumble apart into little, irreplaceable pieces.

I can't fucking do this. I can't end this. I want to think I can get better and be a better person or even to be a halfway normal individual. I want to love again and to be loved even with my emotional scars. As I quietly whisper to Rose about what I've gone and done to myself this time, the darkness plunges around my mind. At least I'm not scared of the darkness anymore. It's the one thing that gives my body comfort.

In my head I keep telling myself this isn't real but everything and everyone were the same. Captain Karen Pentley walked by and waved and Private Jorge Garcia came up and gave me a hug. What is this? It's not the normal nightmare that consumes me every night. I saw Private Garcia with only one limb left. He was hit with a roadside bomb within the first month our boots were on the ground. And Karen, sweet, sweet Karen. She was a nurse who I watched the attackers knock around and take her with them. This can't be real. These people are DEAD. They are supposed to be dead. I keep walking in this new area and I know it's all in my mind. Everyone I see look as if their clothing was stitched by the hands of God. As I continue on there are those faces that I know. The ones that I see every night and then there are new ones.

I heard a rustling behind me and turn to glance to see what it was. I feel like a spectator in my own mind. I see him. It's him. My grandfather, Charlie's dad who left me while I was in training at God knows where. I never even got to say goodbye to him and to countless others over the years.

And then the loud noises take over. There are so many people talking over me, around me and I can't tell what they are saying. It's all a jumbled mess and then the shock. It feels like I was just kicked by a 400 pound mule. And there are the voices again but they are dying out. Shit, the shock lights me on fire yet again. And then I hear them, they're talking about me. They're losing me. They think they are losing me.

"No you're not!" I try to scream as loud as I can but I can't manage to move my lips.

I can hear them. I don't understand why they think I'm slipping away. I hear one of the guys talking about what pills I took and that I wreaked of alcohol. Well no shit! It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure that one out. I think that's what I told Rose on the phone that I had done. I really can't remember.

I try screaming again as they are shoving something into my throat. That's when I lost my battle. Everything goes black and the nightmare begins again. I didn't retreat to the place I was before. This place was different. I didn't know you could actually smell things in your dreams but there it was metal and burning flesh. I turn to my right and trudge along in what seems to be some sort of water. It's a little thick for liquid but I really don't know. The smells are so close and I cling to the hope that I'll wake up soon. There's a small light a little ways up so I continue on trying to move my feet but they feel as if they are being weighed down with something invisible. I bend down to stroke the liquid that I'm going through and as I bring my hand to my eyes I let out a scream. Of course it's not water. It's all blood. I begin trying to run towards the light as quickly as possible but stop abruptly when I hear my name. I can't understand since no one has ever been alive in my nightmares before. I turn towards the female voice and a small whimper slips through my tightened throat. There, Karen is hanging above my head in the same manner as she was in Iraq. It couldn't have been her that spoke but then I look again and what's left of her eyes are open and there's a small frown playing across her charred lips.

"What the hell do you think you're doing Black?" she bellowed at me.

I had no answer to this. I truly didn't know what the fuck was going on.

"Can't answer your Captain or have you just forgotten everything that you learned about respect in the Army?" she asked.

"No, no mam. I just, I'm so confused. This place isn't like the places I normally see and usually people don't talk to me but, I, I just don't know." I say shakily to the talking corpse.

"You think you shouldn't have lived, right? You think that you should have done more. Am I on the right track?" she asked.

"Well, yeah but there's more to it than that. Seriously, how the hell are you talking to me?" I questioned.

"That's an answer for another time; this is your nightmare you know. Anyway, you made it. You survived. I have to tell you we are all okay. Obviously we didn't want to die that night but seriously we are all okay. But you, on the other hand, are not. You have a life to fight for. A child to fight for. You can't keep tormenting yourself with this everyday shit like you have been. What? You think we aren't watching you?" she said.

I quivered and shook trying to grasp everything in my mind. Currently I was standing in a river of dark red blood talking to a charred corpse of my former best friend. Odd, huh?

"I promise Bella you will get your head out of your ass. You will get better it's just going to take some time. You have to let it happen and let all of the guilt slip and fade away. Do you understand or do I have to start doing a little song and dance for you?" she asked.

I shook my head and actually laughed. This was fucking insane. I answered her though and said," I understand but I don't know where to start. Look where I've gotten myself this time."

Bending my knees due to my inability to comprehend what was going on, I felt like I was going to pass out. Gradually everything started turning to black and I could no longer see Karen. I tried to shout out to her in the pitch black darkness but it began to over take all of me. All of my senses were being tossed around like a life boat in the ocean. I couldn't understand what was happening but I let the darkness take me over once again.

I wake up to an annoying beeping sound and a hushed voice speaking to someone. I want to open my eyes but they won't budge. I feel like I've had an elephant sitting on my chest for the past week. This sure was a turn of events. I don't know how I was talking to Karen one minute and being woken up the next by an ever increasing beeping noise. Did I seriously die? Is this what my guys saw when their heads were blown away?

A grisly image of twenty one men, my men, sitting in a line and all being blown away by a firing squad shoots across my mind. I try to cry out to tell them to move but I'm stuck. I'm stuck again in nothingness and I'm numb. I must have made some sort of noise because what I thought was a nurse was right by my side assuring me that everything was going to be alright. I fought to get my eyes open and saw what I thought to be an angel. My nurse, the angel.

"Her heart rate is increasing too much. We have to do something to get her to calm down." she says to the doctor standing right beside her.

"Shhh, sweetie. You are safe now. We need you to calm down so that we can take care of you." she whispered to me.

I try to answer her and all that comes out sounds like a groan and that's when I realize I've still got this damn tube down my throat and I struggle to pull it out. I couldn't get the right grasp around the thing and they had it taped down like freaking Fort Knox or something. The nurse fully envelopes me as she tries to calm my body and my ill fated attempts to pulling out this stupid, irritating tube.

"Calm down, it will be removed as soon as you can calm yourself down. That's it just calm down. Nothing here will hurt you." the nurse said to me.

"Dr. Marcus, we need to get her to calm down. Do you recommend a shot of Versed or Ativan? I really don't know what else her heart and body can handle after tonight," she said quietly to a doctor that I couldn't fully see.

"Yeah, go ahead and give the Ativan to her so you can remove her tube. She will have to be moved to the Psych Ward for a 72 hour stay after we get her sedated, anyway." this Dr. Marcus, who I was beginning to not like, answered the nurse.

What the hell did he just say? 72 hours in a Psych Ward! I'm not crazy I try to say and all it is, is some sort of mumbled groaning again.

"I swear!" It comes out clearly in my head but it's just a jumbled mess outside of my body apparently. Fuck! I would have never gone through with it. That's why subconsciously I called Rose. Don't they see that? That's when my angel approaches and steps in.

"Marcus, why don't we talk about this later outside of the curtain. All this is doing is shooting her heart rate up again." she chided him.

"Ssh, Ssh sweetie. I promise we're going to get you straightened out in no time. You'll see, just don't worry and I will be here for you no matter what." the angel who was now leaning over my bed whispered to me, again. It was such a maternal voice. One that I hadn't ever heard from Renee, even as a child. Being the boisterous and overly excited woman that she was there was no time for her to actually be maternal to me. It was excitement always, 24/7. I internally wondered if this nurse had kids of her own or if she was like this with every disastrous suicide attempt gone awry.

They were gone for what seemed like forever and I tried using all of my calming mantras that my therapy leader taught us when I first arrived home. He told us to think of something that was important and something that would help us in certain situations. Like if we sat and said something inside of our minds that the anxiety would magically go 'poof' and disappear. Just a crock of shit if you asked me, but I had concocted so many different mantras, I didn't know which one to use now. I guess there's a first time for everything.

"Quit being a little bitch", no that wasn't the right one, that's the one I tried to use while I had been running. Trying to run the demons out of me. I figured if I ran myself into the ground there would be no more pain other than what my body was feeling at the moment. The running had been a therapy of it's own for me before I truly hit rock bottom and quit going to all and any therapies. It had worked for a little while but it never had the lasting effect that I so badly craved. At least maybe I could have died of a heart attack or heat stroke but again this is Washington so I never had that hot of weather with no rain. I had never been athletic when I was a child but I could actually run. It was the one thing that my Drill Sergeants didn't bitch about to me every day that I was at Basic Training.

Eventually I settled on "It can never happen again. I am in control of my future". It was one of those that I had thrown together for a therapy session so I wouldn't get the stink eye from my second shrink. She was a scary little thing. I remember her name being Mrs. Jane. One scary bitch. I think the mantra actually might have worked and I'm feeling somewhat calmer or whatever the hell drug cocktail she gave me is really doing its job this time.

I don't think I've been this relaxed in a long time. All of the tension, the over active heart beats, the sweats, the constant waves of nausea and over all feeling of walking death seems to be washed away for the time being. I really hope I can get some of this shit when I get out of here. If I ever get to walk away from this hospital. Who the hell knows they may end up locking me up in some mental institution. I kept thinking about how annoying that beeping really was and more quickly and quietly than I can ever remember I eventually drifted off into a different kind of sleep.

Thanks for reading! Leave me something, anything... Okay, I'm on my knees begging for a little review. :)

Oh just a little plug for a great story that I've been reading. It's called "Disjointed" by Simone and Marie. It's definitely different from their other stories but it's just as captivating. Go check it out and review for them! Definitely worth your time and if you haven't read anything else that they've written you need to check out their stories "Sex On Fire" and "Beautiful Nightmare".

Jen