Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight


When I came to, I could hear the gentle humming of someone nearby. The fact that someone was with me freaked me out and I felt a bubble or two start to form-until I remembered that Edward had found me. My lack of remaining conscious disappointed me, but I refrained from berating myself for the time being. I knew that sometime later I would regret the wait, but I knew that if I wanted answers, it would have to wait. I wanted answers first, and I'd be damned if I didn't get them.

I opened my eyes and saw that I was no longer in my room, or even my house. I was in Edward's house, his room to be exact. He hadn't noticed I was awake even though he was facing my direction. His nose was in another book, one that looked suspiciously like a medical text. I sat up.

He looked up immediately and put the text down on the chair after he stood. Slowly this time, he made his way towards me and I could see the worry in his eyes. He was concerned that I'd pass out again, that much I could tell. What he didn't know, however, was that I was much too focused on my questions and much too determined to obtain answers to even subconsciously consider passing out.

"Exactly what were you thinking? First you left and then you cut yourself and then immediately do drugs? Do you have a death wish? The drop alone from the balcony to the ground is thirty feet Bella, you should have a broken ankle at least. I'm amazed that you aren't hurt any more than you already are." I interjected venom into my voice, just as dangerous as the venom that resided on his teeth, but in a much different way.

"When I woke up, you weren't here. No note, no sign that you had even stayed after I went to sleep. I didn't feel welcome. I felt like shit, actually. I figured that you wanted an insight to the freak Bella's life. That you wanted me to tell you why I do everything and that was it. That you didn't even care, like I was some sort of science experiment or something. So I jumped onto the tree just there and climbed down.

"I may not be the smartest, but I know when going far enough is going too far. Thirty feet is too far past far enough. So I took the slightly less risky way down.

"And when I got home, I found a note from Charlie. Him and his damn job-he couldn't care less about me. He's a cop and he has no idea that the people he's busting and putting into jail are the people that I run deals with and the people that I've known for years. He has no clue because HE DOESN'T CARE! So don't tell me that you really care, because I know you don't. No one cares about the freak Bella, not really. No one would care if I died from an overdose and no one certainly cares that I take a blade to my arms on a frequent basis. No one gives two shits about me.

"That combined with your absence sent me over the edge, because it only proved that not even you could care about a lost and corrupted soul." I ended my rant with very little breath left, and just sat there awaiting the awesome response that everyone sooner or later gave. The 'fuck off' response, the one with so much pity and disgust it made me want to puke response. But he didn't give it.

Instead, he just looked like I had hit him in the balls with a two ton brick. His face held an expression of shock, and I couldn't understand why. His hands were by his side, and I could see an ancient sadness from within his eyes and the silence emanating from him.

"Look at your arm if you don't think I care." His voice was soft and hurt, but still gentle. It took me off guard and I watched him walk from the room. He paused in the doorway. "I was in the other half of the state, helping a friend of mine get some paperwork done. It took longer than expected, and I ran back as fast as I could as soon as I saw the time. I'm sorry you woke up before I got back." He said all of this in the same small voice riddled with guilt and I instantly squashed the beginnings of guilt.

It wasn't until he was in the hallway that I looked at my arm.

He had bandaged it, taken the time to apply a cream or two and to put individual bandages underneath of a few layers of gauze. My eyes widened at this-it meant that he really did care. There was no pain emanating from it, meaning that he had taken the time to make sure the pressure wasn't too much or too little. I was amazed that he cared enough to even put a few band-aides on, let alone actually do it right. Trailing a finger lightly over the white gauze, I looked up at the spot he had disappeared from, mouth hanging open, questions running through my mind.

I got up quietly and walked downstairs expecting to find everyone there. It was only him in the kitchen, standing silently at the counter, his lower back resting against the ledge. He was slightly curled in upon himself, his hands propped next to his lower back, completely exposed. I had never felt like more of an ass in my life as I did in this moment.

He looked up when I stopped his eyes and posture clearly wary of what I had to say next.

"I'm sorry." It was the first time I had ever spoken those words and truly meant it.

It was also the first time I had ever felt a tear slid down my face in shame.