Chapter VII: Glue

*I'm making a serious effort to make all of the new chapters longer than they have been in the past. I'd also like to thank CrystalPrison for inspiring some of the things in this chapter, and for giving me so much support. My thanks also goes to hansbmd for being such a fan of my stories.*

I gasped softly. I had never viewed my suicide attempt from that perspective. What she was saying made some sense. I never meant to abandon my family. I never would have wanted Alice to feel the pain of losing her lover, and I never would have wanted the rest of my family members to lose a brother or a son. I had always been selfless to a fault, and the fact that I had almost committed such a selfish act baffled me.

I also was not raised to cower in the face of adversity. My mama and papa had raised me to be a strong young man. I had learned to triumph over adversity rather than to crumble in its wake. Through all the years, I had done just that. I knew not what made me react the way I had on that day. It was usually my style to bear things quietly without questions or complaints. When suicidal ideation arose, it went against everything that I had ever believed, done, or thought about before. Come to think of it, I did not remember actually thinking about the action, weighing the pros and cons, and making the best choice based on the information gathered. That is the definition of a decision, or rather, that is how I have made most of my decisions in my life. I just somehow knew that dying was what I needed to do.

Charlotte was saying that the illness and the experiences took control. That they flooded my mind, and my judgment was occluded by them. By that logic, what I had done was not a rational decision, or a decision at all. It made me marvel at the complexities of the mind.

Perhaps my biggest problem with her logic was one phrase. "Mentally ill". Was that what I was? I knew I was experiencing a lot of emotional trauma, and that I had flashbacks and sadness that were so severe that they rendered it impossible to live normally. I suppose it was ridiculous that I had never thought about it that way before. But when I was young, the term was not in use. Even as the words left Charlotte's lips, I was surprised by her use of them.

It was a heavy thing to think of myself as fitting that label. I suppose it could be said that I was in denial. However, it was important to come to terms with the reality of the situation.

I gazed into Charlotte's eyes. They were gentle and sincere. I smiled softly at her, and she offered an emotional climate of caring and sisterly love. I acknowledged her feelings by sending her my appreciation and love.

I turned my attention back to Peter. He had stopped crying, but he was still leaning up against me, as if he was so afraid of me going away forever that he needed to have as much contact with me as possible. He was still upset. I held him closer to me.

The two of us had fought battle after battle together. We had both been hardened by the evils of life. It was hard to believe that either of us could have been bothered by anything after that. However, the fact that something I had done (or almost done, rather) had reduced him to tears was a true testament to how he truly felt about me. He considered me a brother as well. I could tell by the love he was exuding that he adored me.

And I adored him. I felt much closer to Peter than I did to Edward. I even felt closer to Peter than I did to Emmett, and that's no small feat. Peter had been there for me during some of the hardest parts of my life. Not only was he there, but he experienced them with me. He felt my pain, and I quite literally felt his. He was there to see the aftermath of our experiences, and comforted me through my insanity. When I was in a dark alley on feeding night surrounded by a pile of bloodless corpses, sitting in the fetal position, rocking back and forth, he was there. When I had was having flashbacks so vivid that I felt that they were seared into my mind, he was there. When I spotted a female civilian with long, black hair, and for a split second, my mind told me it was Maria, he was there. When I was in so much pain that I could not even speak, he was there. When I caught a glimpse of myself in a reflective surface and broke down at the sight of my scars, he was there. Through everything, he was there.

Charlotte was there, too, of course. I had not been easy to live with, and they were exponentially more patient than I deserved. They were nothing short of angels. They were the ones who had stolen me away from the chains of my previous life and delivered me to a place with endless possibilities and relative freedom. They kept me around, despite my problems.

I had always thought that my leaving them would've been a huge burden that was lifted off their shoulders. They would no longer have to keep me from falling apart. They could live their lives as a young couple in privacy. They did not have to schedule what they wanted to do around my mental state. However, I could now see why there was some truth to their denial when I questioned them about it.

One reason, as previously mentioned, was the fact that they considered me family. Another reason, which had gone unnoticed until that moment, was that I was a tool with which they helped shape their existence. In a way, Peter depended on me for his own emotional stability. Helping me was a welcome distraction when he did not want his mind to focus on his pain. Also, his positive contribution helped him validate the fact that he truly was a good person underneath it all, thus raising his self-image. Charlotte needed me for Peter's sake, and she also enjoyed having a big brother around. Moreover, people frequently underestimated her abilities, and she found that comforting me gave her all the confidence she needed.

I would have given anything in the world for them not to have had to deal with my pain. I would have also given anything to be the one who was comforting them. Every time I used to send them comforting emotions, it would either exhaust me or sadden them. Sometimes it was both. It used to make me loathe myself. However, I realize now that I served my purpose, and that I was delivered into their hands for a reason. There was a reason that Peter and Charlotte risked life and limb to rescue me, and there was a reason that they wanted to be my therapy, so to speak. We were, undoubtedly, the glue that held each other together during such a turbulent time.

With all these realizations swirling through my head, I realized that I missed Peter and Charlotte immensely. I would have loved nothing more than for them to join my new family. However, I knew that they would decline. I had ascertained from what they had said about their life together that they enjoyed every moment of it. They were not ready for a life of meticulous responsibility and self-discipline, and in a way, I wasn't sure I blamed them. I wasn't particularly ready when I started, either. And I could remember spending long days with Alice, hoping that we would never find the Cullens so I could spend eternity with my little pixie all to myself. I knew what Peter and Charlotte were feeling, because I had felt it myself. The least I could do was show them that my family would be willing to accept them if they ever wanted to join us.

We sat a little while longer enjoying each others' presence, and then we all seemed to know what was next. Peter and Charlotte had to get to know these people I called my family. We all stood up and headed back to the house without saying a word.