Chapter 11
Bella
October 1998
Edward is so polite and so attentive, but today it's just not enough. "Bella, wake up. I have all of your clothes ready. I'll brush your hair carefully."
I'm lacking the energy and motivation to get up and out of bed. I stayed up all night like I normally do, but today my chest is heavy, and I am sad. So, so sad. Too sad to go to school with Edward.
"Tell me what's wrong. I don't know what to do." He sounds miserable, but it's not my kind of blue. Not the bone crushing, suffocating sad … a sadness that has been building in me for a long time now.
A sorrow I can't overcome at this moment.
"Why are you crying? I didn't mean to make you cry. Is it because you don't have your glasses on? Which ones? Purple, pink, green?"
I shrug, crying some more.
"Okay." His hands are in his hair, looking around my room. "I'll chose."
Edward lifts the blanket, but only a little. Only enough to expose my face and slip the glasses on. "I like these green ones because they're the ones you wore the first day I ever saw you, and that was a special day for me. Don't tell Jasper and Emmett. They'll make fun of me because of it. Even though I should make fun of Emmett for kissing Rosalie Hale all over school."
The green helps. It makes the room darker, and that's what I want.
"It's been three days, Bella," he whispers.
After Edward leaves, I sleep; it's all I can do. My mom comes in and out of my room and speaks to me, but I don't speak back. She asks me questions as she talks to the doctor on the phone, I don't answer. I only want to sleep.
Later that night, my dad comes home. He and Mom argue over my unhappiness. It makes me feel worse—guilty.
"What's wrong with her, Renee? You're with her all day, you have to know something, Renee. What do you mean all she does is sleep? Make her get up. You're the parent, she's the kid. Is it that freak boy next door? Did he break up with her, Renee? Of course he's her boyfriend!"
He doesn't understand, but how can he if I don't? Mom made me a doctor's appointment. Hopefully this is curable.
"This isn't like the sunglasses, Charlie. This isn't a little anxiety, Charlie. This isn't a little girl who likes to be invisible, Charlie. This is real, and this is serious. I'm scared. Really fucking scared, Charlie."
I'm scared, and I'm sad … so, so sad.
Once the sun goes down, I get out of bed. I'm not hungry, but my mom's left a muffin next to my bed. Opening my drawer, I see my favorite gems sparkle. They make me want to smile, but I can't. Physically can't, and this makes me sad all over again. My joints hurt and eyes burn. I feel worthless and less than. My hair is dirty, and my mouth taste like yuck.
Opening the door quietly, I come out of my room for the first time today. My parents are down stairs watching TV; they don't hear me. I sneak into the bathroom, clean up a little, and head back to my room before Mom and Dad catch on.
My feet drag and a full breath is hard to come by. Tears flow from my eyes for no reason at all. Nothing makes it better. In fact, all that happens when I lift my blinds and see that my beautiful best friend is there looking back at me, is crying—more and more crying—because I am so, so sad.