"With my heart like a stone and I put up no fight to your callus mind, and from your corner you rose to cut me down. You cut me down."
-"Holland Road", Mumford and Sons
...
Chapter Eight:
"Are you sure you have to go?" Michael's voice was somber in the stagnant air of the car. The noises that formed from his mouth had no where to go but to my ear, as if all the air had been sucked out of the car, making it impossible for them to go anywhere beyond that distance.
The campus had been deserted for summer break; only half of the university's buildings were still in operation for the overachieving, graduate students looking to lessen their lengthy curriculum. Mike's old Jeep sat idol outside of my dorm room. The air was warm and sticky, the humidity making it unbearable to set foot anywhere that was not being cooled by an air conditioner. The dark clouds that loom overheard cast a shadow across the entire campus, creating an eerie gloom. A storm approached, the first signs of lightening flashed in the distance, but the trees stood still, no sign of any acclimating weather moved the branches that withered in the humid air. Everything felt too heavy.
My mouth has gone dry and I tried to swallow back the thick film that lay on my tongue, "I'll just be a minute." I tell him.
Stepping out of the car, a thick cloud of hot, moist air smacked against my body, a bead of sweat ran down my spine almost instantaneously. I took a deep breath and made my way up the two flights of concrete steps that had me out of breath by the time I reached their summit. The large brass sign that labeled my sophomore dorm 'College Place' hung crookedly against the red brick exterior, next to the entrance. The sign that I had passes every day for two semesters no longer felt familiar or welcoming, but rather it appeared as to only have a single bolt holding the decrepit looking plaque from tumbling to the ground. Looking at the sign gave me a foreboding feeling that bloomed nervously in my stomach.
Entering the abandoned building was like having all the air sucked from your lungs as if you were traveled through a bone-dry desert. Every breath was like taking in a thick cloud of smog. The smell of chemical cleaner filled the space with a rancid aroma, almost suffocating me when I took a breath. I placed my hand over my chest fearful that my heart may give out from its excessive pulsing. It filled my ears with the deafening beats that matched the pace of my footsteps. The walls were bare, having been recently stripped of their once colored flyers and posters, advertising everything from a charity ball that Angela and I scoffed at, to an offer for $50 to any student who was willing to let the graduate psych students study their masturbation patterns.
Despite the stifling temperature, the brick wall was cool to the touch and I ran my fingers along it as I walked down the dark hall, illuminated only by a naked light bulb that swung back and forth without out any cause for such momentum.
After the seemingly never-ending wait for the elevator and an even longer trek down floor five's hall, I finally stood in front of my old dorm room. The door stood wide open, allowing any by passer to see the contents, or rather the lack there of, which furnished the small twenty by twenty foot room. It seemed like an eternity since I'd spent all night in this room with Angela, although it was just two weeks ago that we cuddled into my bed together and watched Sleepless in Seattle, screaming at the TV for Meg Ryan to cross the street and speak to Tom Hanks.
I was filled with memories of the days we spent piling books in front of our heavy door or even wedging a sandal underneath, in order to watch the routine chaos of those who passed by. It was coincidentally the way Angela met her now boyfriend Ben, an open door and one loud conversation regarding the difference between Star Wars and Star Trek. I trailed my fingers along the plain wall next to the door, where Angela's periodic table, once hung, the slightly darker color of the paint there told a story of laughter, use, and eventual removal. The four walls looked well lived in. Every chip of paint held a memory, every tape mark a story. As I turned my head from side to side, taking in every inch of the space, I realized that I did not remember why I had come all this way to see my old room.
Why was I here again?
The air around me grew colder, even though the air was sweltering just a moment ago. The chill brought no relief to the sweat that poured down my back. Instead, a cluster of shivers trailed down my spine, and my hands began to shake. Suddenly the door behind me slammed shut, pushing all the oxygen out of the space and making me jump back to stare at the now closed wooden door. I took one cautious step forward and the room flooded with light; a crake of thunder finally gave way to a downpour of rain. The glare of white lightning faded back to the darkness, just as quickly as it arrived. The silence that filled the room screamed out at me, and I felt the urge to scream back, if only to hear something other then my labored breathing. A light knock sounded from behind the closed door, startling me. I stepped backwards automatically, losing the stride I gained just seconds before.
One step, two, three, each brought me closer to the window that at one point had been the only solace for Angela and me during the winter months. Seeing the fluffy flakes of snow falling from the sky reminded us that this wasn't an insane asylum and gave us hope that one day soon we would see the green grass that lay beneath the cold piles of white.
"Isabella," A soft voice called from behind the closed door, a voice that I remembered but one that I could not quite place a name or face to. "Bella, won't you let me in." He spoke again, and a distant memory began to resurface slowly from beneath the murky water of my past.
That voice.
"Oh," I gasped a breathy noise, not so much one of surprise or fear, but rather one that came only when the breath had entirely left one's body, leaving them with just the emptiest sack of flesh within his or her chest, so taken back with the sight that they never wanted it to inflate for fear that they may never see something so wonderful again in their lives.
I watched with wide curious eyes as the doorknob turned in a precise and determined fashion. And then he was there.
Edward's green eyes met mine, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. His beautiful bronze hair hung raggedly in his face where the scruff of a day gone without a shave clung along his strong jaw spreading down his neck. The gentle smile that radiated across those rosy pink lips made the stifling heat feel like a warm bath, the chill that ran down my spine just seconds before turned into a pleasant sensation that had my feet moving towards the man in his dashing three piece suit.
"I've been looking for you." He said. "Oh, Bella, I've missed you." He pulled me to him as soon as I was close enough for his arms to reach me. His strong and firm embrace, as well as his clean and manly scent enveloped my every sense. I inhaled deeply and any remaining tremors in my hands immediately settled.
He creased my hair with his large hand, letting his long pianist fingers scratch along my scalp, causing my toes to curl over. My stomach fluttered and I pressed my lips against his neck, right beneath his ear. I felt his hard body against every part of my soft and pliable form.
When I thought of him holding me like this, feeling the way his hands could move my soft skin apart like no one else could, I always saw the sculpture of Pluto and Persephone, a work I studied extensively in an art class in high school. I remember marveling at how Bernini could show the attitude of such a relationship in a piece of marble. He captures the one instance where she is being swept cruelly from the earth by Pluto to be taken to the underworld, where she would become his unwilling bride. I stared at the chiseled planes of his body for hours, the way every muscle commanded the scene, taking what was his, barely struggling against the second figure of the pieces.
Persephone though, she was a wonder to behold. While Pluto fascinated me, she understood me. It wasn't the agony on her face, or the way her limbs flailed about the scene, but rather her softness next to that of her attacker's. The juxtaposition of the two figures enthralled me. The way his fingers molded into her sides brought me back to the sensation of Edward's embrace.
Suddenly we were not so much cradling each other in a mutual hold, but rather he was moving my soft skin to hold me to him, to move me where he wished.
In an instant that hold turned painful, his fingers sinking deep into my side. My back arched uncomfortably, bringing me closer to his chiseled form that no longer felt warm and safe, but rather like a heavy anchor weighing me to the bottom of the ocean floor.
His gentle grass green eyes sparkled now with a malice that shook me to my core, blowing in a stormy darkness much like the one that beat against the window from outside.
"You're hurting me Edward," my voice seemed to exit my mouth and immediately become lost in the air that swirled around us. It sounded like nothing more than the tail end of an echo, never reaching its final destination with enough clarity to be received.
I looked down at his strong arms that held me too tightly. His chest crushed my own, making the rushed pants that came out of my open mouth even more labored. I noticed that no longer was he wearing his smart grey suit, but rather a ratty old band t-shirt that looked as if it had taken too many tumbles in the washing machine. When I looked back up at his face, I was met with a much different Edward than the one who pulled me into his arms and made my heart pump in excitement. The stubble and sharp jaw line was gone and in its place a slightly fleshier clean shaven face of a young man just out of the clutches of childhood and on the brink of being a man.
I was confused at the sudden transformation, but I didn't have time to formulate a hypothesis or try and speak to him again. With his strength and steady grip on my waist he threw me to the stripped mattress closest to the window with little effort. The action left me breathless and stunned. I tried to gain my bearings and sit up, but soon he was upon me. The mattress springs squeaked in protest, as he pressed his form over mine. My arms were trapped painfully underneath me, but the punch that landed between my jaw and temple helped me forget what really hurt, or who I even was for an instant.
I tried to move him off me by thrashing back and forth underneath him. My cry of protest was just another fleeting sound lost in the thick air looming in the room, and the terror of the present situation sunk in, making me want to retch violently. After another three quick blows to my head that I couldn't prevent from landing, I close my eyes tightly. Cloaked in the blackness of my eyelids, I saw stars sparkling in bright red and blue flashes.
"Why so quiet love, your screams are the sweetest music," he whispered harshly in my ear before taking the lobe between his teeth roughly.
I just lay there, waiting for everything to be over, for the temporary darkness to penetrate my mind and allow me a psychological escape from the physical torment. I thought for a second that maybe I could call out his name and draw the kind older man from the violent teenager, but I couldn't remember where my mouth was or how to form the syllables to speak such a word.
"I'm always here Isabella. I'm never going to leave you."
I'm startled awake by the sound of my own scream, as well as a piercing pain shooting up from my tail bone that radiated up my spine, in a trail of sharp agony. My eyes were blurry, caked in mucus and nearly swollen shut by a steady stream of tears that still ran down my face.
The room was quiet except for my gasps and hiccups that came with the hyperventilating that occurred with each spasm of my chest brought on by my inability to get enough air into my struggling lungs. My bed sheets are twisted around me tightly, soaked in a cold sweat that dripped down my back and between my breasts. I was sitting on the floor where I must have landed in a fit, explaining the sharp pains in my back.
I sat completely still for a moment, trying to come back to reality, but finding it hard to catch my breath, my eyelids feeling heavy as they rolled slowly over my eyes in a blink of exhaustion. Untangling the sheets from my feet, some minutes later, I pulled my heavy body against the side of the bed resting my head on the mattress. The room felt as if it were a hundred degrees. My cotton nightgown, much like my sheets, was soiled in perspiration; sticking to my overheated, slick skin. Every bone in my body was pulsing around their muscles, my blood pounded heavily in my ears. Hair stuck to the side of my face and I twitched uncomfortably as I sat on the wooden floor.
With one last exasperated moan I ripped the sticky clothes from my body, pulling myself back into bed, not caring about the state of my sheets or the fact that if anyone were to walk in they'd find me completely naked except for a pair of bright pink boy shorts. None of it mattered though.
My eyelids slid shut.
I fell into a half sleep half daze where everything was dark and noiseless. I could feel my body cooling into a chill that raked over my entire form. I fell further into my own perpetual darkness. No faces or familiar places plagued me this time, just a heavy obscurity.
"Bella?" Someone far away called my name, but it was too watered down to distinguish the voice. I just wanted to sleep, but the voice was incessant.
"Bella, sweetheart, wake up," the soft voice begged. The words were calm but trimmed with a twinge of alarm.
Far above the layers of clouds that covered my mind, I felt a faint touch on my face, or maybe it was my arm. I fought to find my way through the thickness that actually seemed more like smog, making the reconnection to consciousness nearly impossible.
"Bella, open your eyes," their soothing voice pulled me through the mist where I lingered. But a sharp scent of ammonia and Polo has my lungs expanding with a deep breath and my eyelids fluttered open.
I stared up at my ceiling for a minute before my eyes connected with a pair of brilliant blue orbs that were so vividly familiar that the sight pushed the remaining smog far into the corner of my mind, no longer threatening to consume me. For now.
"Carlisle?" I tried to speak, but my throat was horse and I only managed to get out the first syllable.
My pseudo father was bent over me, one hand pressed down on my shoulder, while the other held a small stick of smelling salts near my nose. This explained both the cologne and ammonia, a strange combination of smells that made my head swirl. I tried to sit up, but the hand on my shoulder pressed me down farther into the mattress, I winced as it created a spasm down my back, landing on my sore tailbone. The feeling of deja vu hung in the air. This participial moment reminded me painfully so of another time when I was woken up from a thick sleep only to meet the same eyes, that had the power to instantly calming me.
"Easy love."
As soon as his words were out, my dream came back to me in alarmingly vibrant flashes of my sophomore dorm room, Edward, and the way his finger felt as they dug into my arm. I looked down to where I expected for a fleeting moment to see dark finger shaped bruising, but I just saw bare unmarked skin. It was then however, that I realized what Carlisle must have walked in on when he entered my room, a naked me passed out on a stripped bed drenched in my own perspiration, which filled the room with a stagnant scent of salt and sour body odor. My sheets had been returned to cover my bare body. My face flushed red immediately as I gazed upon the thin fabric.
"Just a bad dream Carlisle, no need to come the whole way into town," I croaked out, wishing more than anything that he would leave the room. I was mortified. My flesh felt like it was going to crawl off my body at the penetrating gaze of his fatherly eyes.
"Your neighbor called me. She said she heard your screams coming for the apartment." His eyes already had an accusing glare to them. "She actually called Alice, who in turn called me. I doubt she even knew what she was saying when she reached me. It sounded like she'd been woken from a deep coma and instinctively called my cellphone. I believe her exact words were 'Bella's screaming again. Can you go see her?'."
I wrapped my warms around my chest, feeling neither comfortable, nor aware enough to listen to the doctor berate me.
"Carlisle-"
"Isabella," He cut me off. "Try to get some sleep. I'll be here to talk when you wake up."
With one last steady look in my direction he was off my bed and closing the bedroom door behind him, disappearing into the living room.
I huffed, getting out from under the covers in order to find a new set of sleepwear in which to cover myself. I ended up in one of Mike's over sized t-shirts that fell to my knees and still had the remnants of his distinct scent lingering around the collar. When I padded over to the bedside table, I switched on the light. It was the only thing left on the table that must have been a casualty of my tumble out of bed. The picture of Mike and I on my graduation day was laying face up next to the alarm clock that by some miracle hadn't been unplugged from the wall outlet. Its bright red numbers gleamed off the glass that covered our smiling faces of the past and I was both shocked and annoyed to see that it was barely passed five in the morning.
'Another miraculous nights sleep', I thought sarcastically as I placed the fallen objects back onto their rightful place and proceeded to strip the bed sheets off my mattress. There was little hope that this night would end with even another minute of sleep. This wasn't exactly unusual. I couldn't remember the last time I had not woken up before my seven o'clock alarm rang out every morning. By the time it did, I most likely was already dressed, packed for work, and just about to finish my first cup of tea or coffee.
Sunday's miracle, in which I slept well into the late hours of the morning, seemed to be a memory of the past already. An occurrence that was unlikely to ever happen again.
I never slept very well, even before the…incident. I was a colicky baby who wouldn't sleep through the night, who grew to be a little girl who never napped, who became a teenager that kept all hours, and eventually ended up as the woman who had tried nearly every sleep aid mediation on the pharmacy shelves and still didn't get more than four or five hours of uninterrupted REM a night. The anxiety worsened it and after Edward, it never got any better. Mostly the night terrors such as the one I had tonight, had me jerking out of bed around five, or even more fun were the nights that my ulcer ached so instantly that my cries shook me awake. I would lay curled in a ball until the sharp pains subsided enough that I could actually breathe full breaths again. Seeing how Michael would react to such late night disturbances once we shared a bed as husband and wife was a fear that I'd managed to push back to the deepest corners of my thoughts, vowing to deal with it when the time came.
I threw the sheets into the corner of the room, before unlatching the window over my desk and letting the cool night air into the stuffy, pungent smelling space. I shivered as a strong gust blew right through me. It smelled like rain after it hit the hot pavement below, I closed my eyes to take it in for only a second.
I opened my eyes and stared down at my cluttered desk. My hands gripped the edges as I balanced my weight onto the vintage hardwood. My typewriter sat exactly where it always did, looking old and regal to some, but practical and unexpected to me. I always like old fashion things. There was just something about their simplicity that calmed me and called me to them, whether a black and white movie or an old typewriter. I wished to fill empty spaces with objects of the distant past, object that would have been forgot about. I gave them new purpose.
The unfinished sentence seemed to mock me as I stared at it, the paper it existed on fluttered as the summer air blew in from the street. I read it once, twice, a third time, but still nothing come to me, so I pushed off the desk and went to run a bath. I was sick of looking at the black smudges.
The hot water of the bath was heavenly against my sticky skin. It washed away the grime of my night terror. The one that I've managed to keep locked away from my overanalyzing mind. But I knew it wouldn't be long before I obsessed about every aspect of it. For now however, my head rested against the side of my bear claw tub, the best part about this shitty overpriced apartment.
I was lulled into a daze by the rising steam of the hot water and the way it covered my broken and battered body. I closed my eyes only for a second…
The Bridal Chorus sounds from behind the large solid oak doors, and my stomach filled with butterflies but I feel practically weightless. The wide smile that stretched across my face felt like a permanent fixture that would never fade.
"Ready to go Ace?" Charlie whispers into my ear, his arm hooked with mine.
All I can do is keep my wide smile and nod as Alice and Rose drape the, white veil over my face, kissing me for good luck before disappearing from view.
The doors open and give way to my grand entrance. Before I know it we're halfway to the alter and I can see Mike's suit clad back. I want to move faster, but Charlie is holding me back with the too tight grip he has on my arm.
Suddenly I'm standing next to my soon to be husband, cursing the veil that is hanging in front of my face. It blocks my view of Mike and makes me even more impatient for the priest to finish speaking.
I don't remember saying anything, but now there's a ring on my finger and the Father shouts out to the audience of friends and family seated behind us, "by the power invest in me by the state of Washington and the grace of God, I now present you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride."
My husband slowly lifts my veil, and I'm thankful to finally be rid of it. He grabs my face roughly and a pair of soft, plump lips move sensually against mine. The stubble that scratches across my jaw line confusing me for a moment, but this kiss is like nothing I've ever felt. It sends sparks the whole way to my toes and I cling to him like he's the last thing holding me to this Earth. His mouth opens for my tongue to mingle with his and he wraps his arm around me, pulling me impossibly closer. I want more from this man, but he ends our passionate connection far too soon.
However, it isn't the soft crystal blue eyes of my fiancé I find when I'm pulled away from the hearty kiss, but rather it is a pair of glistening green orbs that come into view.
"Edward," I whisper in surprise.
"Smile," the way his face lights up as he looks at me takes my breath way. He grabs me by the waist; posing us for the flash that temporary blinds me.
Spots obscure my vision and it takes me a few slow blinks before I can see what's in front of me. No longer do a hundred rows of pews line each side of the church where we got married, but a dozen rows of white chairs placed in a lush meadow, comes into view. The beautiful wood beams with painted angles that once hung over our heads were replaced with a cloudless blue sky. A summer breeze blows around us, carrying my thin gossamer veil around my head, my beautiful hand sown lace piece replaced by a delicate crown of white silk flowers. My expensive off the shoulder designer gown was gone and in its place, a high neckline white sundress that could only fit the body of an eighteen year old perfectly, hangs off my form. And indeed, I was no longer a fully developed twenty five year old women. Looking down I found my long forgotten awkward curves and shapeless chest.
At my side was my new 'husband' clad in a pair of Dockers, brown loafer, and a blue dress shirt- no tie. The button up was pushed up to his elbows… just the way I liked.
"I proudly present the new Mr. and Mrs. Edward Cullen," the monsignor of Forks' only Catholic church addressed us to the small audience, who clapped enthusiastically. But I couldn't be bothered to see who was in attendance; I was too busy staring into the vast green oceans of my husband's eyes.
I dropped the small bouquet of pink roses, which I didn't realize I was holding; in favor of reaching up to hold his still scruffy face in my hands. I was younger, but he appeared to be the same man in the suit at the church, all sophistication and sharp edges. But all together he was softer somehow, in the way he looked at me, the why he pulled my waist towards him. I smile, incandescently happy, as he placed his own large hand over my small one, engulfing it completely. The arm that held me to him pulled me so close I could feel every inch of him against me. I wanted to kiss him again, to feel those sensual lips pulling mine open for him. I longed for his actions to make my toes curl and my heart to race against the inside of my chest.
"Is this real?" I whisper against his lips.
They part and his beaming smile takes my breath away. His eyes held on to mine as he spoke.
"It can be."
I gasped as my body jolted up right, sending some of the now lukewarm bath water over the edge to be soaked into the rug next to the tub. I gripped onto the porcelain with my right hand as my left covered the naked flesh over my heart, where I was afraid the organ would pound out of my chest.
The panting noises I was making were the only sounds that filled the room. Green eyes and puffy parted lips lingered on the edge of my mind.
"What the hell?" I whispered into the silence.
~ ooOoo ~
"I see you've remembered where everything is." I sat down at the kitchen table where Carlisle was reading yesterday's newspaper and drinking a cup of tea, his third from the looks of the amount of grounds left at the bottom of the china.
"Quite well Isabella."
I sighed at the sound of my full name. He avoided my stare as he continued to read around the giant hole on page A4 where I clipped out my article on the latest whereabouts of the city's mismanaged funds. I got up and grabbed myself a teacup from the drying rack by the sink. I poured the last of the Earl Grey from the pot he had brewed, adding a dash of milk and one spoonful of sugar. When I looked up from my task he was watching me carefully, the newspaper long forgotten.
"How long?" They were two words that could mean anything, but only questioned one subject in this case.
I watched my spoon as it went round and round my cup, transforming the billow of cloudy milk into an incorporated mix of creamy colored tea. I remembered watching the man across from me now when I was younger. There was something transfixing about the way he made tea. He spoke to me in his charming voice, educating me on the process of boiling the perfect pot. "It's all in the steeping", he always said. I held him personally responsible for the way I took my morning beverages.
"Earl Grey?" I try to divert away from the seriousness of the conversation.
It worked for a moment. He smiled, "I thought English breakfast would be too bland for a Tuesday morning."
"Yes, it definitely gives off much more of a Sunday afternoon, 'who cares' kind of attitude." I quipped back at the English man.
"Indeed," then that moment ended. "Isabella?" The words come out in a stern and commanding manner that made me remember that he was a father, and had a lifetime of 'let's talk' strategies under his belt. Mike was always saying that if Carlisle hadn't gone into medicine he would have made a brilliant lawyer. With that tone, I would agree.
I took a sip of the tea in my cup, liking the way the liquid soothed my throat and gave my hands something to hold onto as I answered.
"They began again right after I moved back." My words were quiet, not quite a whisper but several notches lower than my normal speaking voice. A hushed reply was what I would have called it if I were to describe such a tone in written words.
"How often?" He fired back almost as soon as my answer left my mouth.
I sighed again. The doctor was in.
"At least once a week, mostly two or three times depending on the type of week I have."
"So that explains why Alice was so nonchalant, even in her groggy state." He ran a hand through his perfectly pushed back blonde and grey speckled hair. There were so many things that Carlisle did that reminded me of the boy I tried to forget. That action alone made my stomach twist and I tried not to bring back the thoughts of my early morning dreams.
"She's only had to come a few times. I tried to explain it to Ms. Cope next door, but I can't ways help the noise I make and I think she worries about me being alone…" I trail off, not wanting to make eye contact.
"Do the sleep aids deter them at all?"
"Sometimes. Mostly the medication just leaves me in a dreamless sleep, but that's only if it works, which is just about as infrequently as my nightmares are frequent."
He thought for a moment about what I had said, using that same calculating stare that all of his children inherited.
"How physical do you get during these terrors?" I cringe at that word, but shrug it off quickly.
"I fall out of bed sometimes, knocking over a picture or two from my nightstand, nothing serious. I don't sleep walk and I haven't seriously injured myself."
"What are they about?"
The question took me completely off guard and I felt like a fish out of water, opening and closing my mouth without a coherent thought coming to mind.
"Are they about him?" His kind blue eyes hurt to look at, especially when they clouded over with such vehement anger for his own flesh and blood. It made me sick. He couldn't even say his own son's name.
I looked back down at my milky tea, tracing my finger around the rim in repetitive concentric circles. "Mostly," I told the truth to the best of my ability. I was not willing to share the more gruesome details. "Sometimes it's about Alice losing the baby." It was easier to say when I didn't have to look at the man who delivered his stillborn grandson, so I kept my eyes on the cup. "…and what happened to Rose."
I can almost hear the dry swallow that came from his throat. I know the feeling of trying to swallow down the teas that threaten to leak out of your eyes. My heart ached as much as my ulcer.
"Have-", he had to clear his throat, "have you considered going back to seeing your therapist?"
Leah Clearwater was a forty-year-old psychiatric therapist who, Carlisle originally recommended when I returned home from college and lost access to my on campus doctor in Connecticut. She was friendly; easy to talk too, and never seemed to pry when I didn't want to talk about something. However, our time together was short lived. She had several theories that she thought steamed to the core of my 'issues' that I didn't exactly agree with and refused to indulge in our sessions together. But after the first two months of seeing her those were the only conversations she wanted to have. She dug too deep and less than twelve weeks after our first session I decided I was finished with such people and places, much like my decision to stop taking my daily medication. It might not have been the smart thing, but it was what I wanted. I couldn't sit through another meeting just as much as I couldn't bring myself to swallow another pill.
I avoided his stare as I answered. "I've had more than enough psychological evaluations."
"I'm not talking about a routine check up Bella," Anger leaked into his voice, causing me to look into his broad stare, surprised at such a tone. " I'm saying someone to talk to."
"I have-"
"No. I know very well that you don't share the truly terrible things with anyone, let along your fiancé." The truth behind his words silenced me.
"You can't keep it all to yourself Bella, because one day it will all be too much. I've seen what that does to people love, and I don't want to have to be the one to call your father and tell him you're dead. I don't want to have to be the one to find that you bottled it all up until there was only one solution to it all."
The intake of breath I breathe in is sharp. His icy blue eyes hold nothing but concern and the honest truth trimmed in anger, an open book begging me to help myself.
"There's too much pain in this family my dear…please say you'll consider my words." His hand reached the short distance across the table and gripped onto my own. A single hot and heavy tear fell from my thick lashes. It rolled down my cheek and landed loudly on the kitchen table.
~ ooOoo ~
"Rose, I love the man, but I can't have him showing up at my office rambling on about being too nervous to talk to you about baby names." I complained into my cellphone as I crossed Second Street, trying to right some of the wrongs that occurred yesterday.
My friend tried to apologize half heartedly, before demanding information on what said baby names may have been.
"Rosalie, he's your husband. He sleeps next to you every night. Just lean over and ask him yourself and keep him away from me or I might just go full on bridezilla in these last few days!"
She grumbled on the other line but agreed reluctantly to speak to Emmett.
"Great! I'll see you Thursday night. I gotta go. I have another call coming in." We shared 'goodbye's just as my phone's call waiting demanded my attention again, buzzing against my face as I crossed another street with a cup of coffee in my hand.
"Isabella Swan," I answer in my professional voice, not recognizing the number. I waved at a cab that allowed me to cross the walk. The flats I opted for today allowed me to jog effortlessly across the street and right up to my building without the pinching and rubbing that yesterday's heels inflicted on my poor feet.
"Good morning Isabella," That voice practically caressed my ear even over the phone.
My steps faltered and I nearly slammed face first into the concrete sidewalk after tripping over my own two feet. My coffee began to leak down the sides of the paper cup I carried and I cursed as it started dripping down my hand.
"Did I catch you at a bad time?" He spoke with concern in his voice that confused me and left me searching for words.
"Ah…no!" I practically screamed into the phone. "I just got coffee all over me, sorry about that."
"Well I hope it wasn't my call that caused such a calamity." I could almost hear the smirk on his face.
"To what do I owe the pleasure Edward?" I spoke through gritted teeth, hating the idea that I appeared not so composed due to his call.
"If I must remind you, you called last night to accept my dinner invitations. Did you not?"
Shit. After the drama of Mike and Alice last night and than the night terrors of the morning as well as Carlisle's frank conversation with me, I had almost completely forgotten about that stupid fucking call I made. It seemed like days ago not hours.
"Yes," I answered hesitantly, my mind too full with the conflicting emotions that the sound of his voice brought on. I was pulled away from reality remembering only my dreams, both the one where we stood in my dorm room, and the one where he kissed me passionately in his parent's backyard telling me that it could all be real.
"Bella?"
"Oh, right, sorry. It will have to be tonight or I can't promise anything until after we come back from our honeymoon." I press the phone between my ear and shoulder, allowing my free hand to pull my date book from the pocket of my backpack.
I was taken back slightly when he responded to my statement, his voice sounded cross, completely unlike his usual calm and cool self, "fine. Seven thirty tonight. La Vita Bella, on Fifteenth Street." Before I could even agree to his plans the line went dead. I stood motionless on the sidewalk, staring at the traffic that went by.
