September – November 2010: Another Unexpected EPOV

A/N: Edward wouldn't get out of my head, so he's getting another chapter. Please be advised, this chapter deals with depression and emotional abuse.

Chapter songs: From Above by Ben Folds, and O' Sister, City and Colour.

And, obviously, I'm not Stephanie Meyer, so I don't own Twilight.

"Oi, Edward lad, where's your head at, 'ey? Fuckin' wake up. Let's get out o' here."

Marcus' voice drags me out of my stupor, and I nod curtly at him, before I grab my guitar cases and backpack, and follow him out to the van. Leah squeezes my shoulder sympathetically, but most of her attention is trained on the phone in her other hand. She and Alec have been non-stop talking and texting since we left Vancouver. I'm happy for her; they suit each other perfectly, and I've never seen her so disgustingly cheerful.

I clamber into the backseat of the van, snapping on the seatbelt and pulling my beanie down over my eyes. The drive from Dallas to New Orleans will take us about nine hours, and I intend to grab a few hours sleep whilst Marcus drives the first leg. I hear him heave himself into the driver's seat, and he turns the radio on softly.

An unfamiliar tune starts up, and I grumble for him to turn it up. I immediately recognize the voice of Ben Folds, and it occurs to me that this must be a song from the album he and Nick Hornby have just put out. The lyrics grab me by the throat, making it hard to breathe.

It's so easy from above
You can really see it all
People who belong together
Lost and sad and small
But there's nothing to be done for them
It doesn't work that way
Sure we all have soulmates but we walk past them every day, oh no

My mind immediately goes to Bella. Although; my mind is always with Bella these days. That sweet, beautiful girl; she captured my heart with one tear, one look across a darkened room.

What was the first line? "They even looked at each other once across a crowded bar." It resonates deeply with me.

The connection I have with Bella is something I feel deep within me; she is a kindred spirit, someone my soul recognizes. But she's married. Unlike the people From Above speaks about, I've actually met my soul-mate; I'm even friends with her. I haven't walked past her, but still, I can't be with her. We belong together, I truly believe that, but we can't be together. She's already with someone else. So I must be spend this life "lost and sad and small"; "there's nothing to be done" for me.

The thought tears at me. My soul-mate is married to another man. I wonder pensively if it'd be better if I'd walked past her and never known her. My heart rejects the idea immediately. I'd always choose to have Bella in my life; I'd rather love her from a distance, than not have met her.

Love her? The thought startles me, but only momentarily. I succumb to the inevitable: I love Bella. I fell in love with her the night she introduced herself to me in Seattle.

But she's not free to love me in return.

I drive for four hours after Marcus does his three, but he makes me stop once we get close to the city itself so Leah can take the wheel. Neither of them will let me drive in cities, because it's taken me much longer to get used to driving on the wrong side of the road. I don't mind: I'd rather drive on the open road than try to navigate through an unfamiliar city. This way I get to take in the sights and sounds of the city without needing to concentrate on traffic.

I had been excited to get to New Orleans, with its rich cultural history, but I can barely take it in as we make our way toward the motel. My mind is more than 2500 miles away, wondering if Bella is doing okay. She's seemed so flat and down the last few times I've spoken to her. One of the things that drew me to her so completely was her vibrancy, but lately something seems to have dimmed her spark.

As soon as we are unloaded in the stuffy motel, I grab my phone and dial Bella's number.

"Hello?"

"Hey Bella, how are you, dearest?"

"Edward! I'm okay. Where are you today?"

"We just arrived in New Orleans."

"Oh wow. I've always wanted to see New Orleans. You're so lucky Edward, you've seen more of my country than I have."

"You should travel more, sweetheart. You get a long break over the summer, don't you?"

"I suppose. I've suggested it a few times, but even though Jacob enjoys being in a car for long periods of time, he has no desire to see anything outside of Washington, really. He's been to Portland, and Vancouver obviously, but he wouldn't come to Australia with me when I went to see Mom a few years ago."

I'm trying desperately to reserve judgment on Jacob until I actually meet him, but it's becoming harder. If I had the opportunity to show this beautiful woman the world, I'd grab it in a heartbeat. He may have no desire to travel himself, but he bloody well ought to have the desire to see his wife smile as much as humanly possible. I can just imagine the way Bella's eyes would light up as she took in different places for the first time. I catch myself wondering how she'd like London, and focus myself back on the conversation.

"Oh really? I bloody loved Australia. I can't wait to go back and see more." I sigh, "I love being on the road, I never want to take for granted all the places I get to see when I'm touring."

I'm aware I'm being a complete hypocrite as I say that; I just drove through New Orleans with my mind in Washington. I resolve to go out and enjoy some of the sights once I finish talking with Bella.

"Oh! Speaking of which, Bella, I heard Ben Folds new song on the drive from Dallas. Have you heard it, dearest? It's from the album he wrote with Nick Hornby."

"Uh, no I haven't," Bella mumbles.

I'm playing with fire encouraging her to listen to it, I know. Some part of me wants to find an excuse to make her understand how I feel about her. As quickly as I have that thought, I begin to chastise myself. I will never put Bella in a position to make her feel uncomfortable, or make her feel as though I'm asking her to choose between Jacob and myself. I resolve firmly to be the best friend she ever could ask for, but to never, ever cross that line that would make her feel uneasy.

"Actually," she confesses softly, "I haven't listened to any music for weeks. New or old."

Her admission startles and concerns me. Music is an enormous part of Bella's life, every bit as much as it is of mine. Bella may not be a musician; she doesn't create music, but she lives and breathes it. When she talks about music and lyrics and melody and song, she positively lights up. It's almost as though she glows from within as she expounds enthusiastically about her favourite bands and musicians and composers.

"Have you been too busy, Bella?" I ask carefully.

"No." She sighs, "I just don't have any desire to listen to anything at the moment. Everything just seems like white noise. I don't understand it."

"Sweetheart, don't be upset with me, but that worries me. I've been worried about you for a little while, Bella."

Bella laughs mirthlessly.

"I'm worried too, Edward. My life has always been filled with music, but I don't know, something's off. I can't lose myself in it the way I used to."

"Bella, you know I'm always ready to listen if you need a friend?"

"Yeah, I know, Edward. I appreciate that."

"And if you don't want to confide in me, that's okay. I'll understand, but it would be good if you could open up to someone, yeah? Maybe your friend, Alice?"

"I'd happily talk to you Edward, I just don't know if I have the words to explain."

"I'll be listening when you find them."

"Thank you, Edward. I, uh, I guess –" Bella cuts off abruptly and I can hear an abrasive male voice calling her name in the background.

"Listen, Edward, I've got to go, I'm sorry."

"No problems, dearest. I'll talk to you soon."

"Okay. Bye."

And then she is gone, and I am alone in New Orleans.

Later that night, I'm sitting in a crowded bar with Leah and Marcus. The evening is mild, and it's stuffy in here, with people packed in, drinking and dancing to a loud, throbbing beat. A few young women approach me, and I briefly contemplate allowing one of them to take me home with them. With Leah seeing Alec, our friendship is now without the 'benefits', and it's been a very long time since I had a good shag.

But the first girl is a blonde, and she's too tall. The second is a brunette, but she's too skinny, and she has blue eyes. The third is a red head. She seems friendly, and eager, but as soon as she shrieks "Oh my God, I like, totally love the music here!" I lose interest. I groan inwardly as I excuse myself, and begin to make my way back to my lonely motel room. None of the girls could measure up, because none of them are Bella.

"She's married. She's married." I tell myself, repeating it over and over in my mind.

I don't know what I'm going to do. The only girl I want to be with is on the other side of the country, married to another man. What will that mean for me, I wonder? Will I settle for someone else, be reasonably happy, but always know the connection will never run soul deep? Will I remain alone, longing for what I can't have, making do with being her friend? I tell myself to shelve this line of thought, to give it time. I don't need to make those kinds of decisions tonight.

"Edward! EDWARD!" Leah's voice pulls me up short, and I spin around. She's chasing me up the street, so I stop and wait for her.

"Bloody hell." She pants, "You took off in a hurry."

I shrug.

"That redhead was cute." She observes. I shrug again, noncommittally.

"But you prefer brunettes."

I ignore her and continue walking, not wanting to have this conversation here and now.

"Hey!" Leah yanks on my arm, forcing me around to face her.

"I'm sorry, Edward. Christ, lad, I'm just worried about you."

"I'm fine, Lee." I say shortly. "I'm just tired. I want to go to bed."

Leah looks me in the eye, studying me carefully. Her expression softens, and she pats my shoulder gently.

"Look, I think I know what's going on, and if you don't want to talk about it, it's okay. I'm just worried, yeah? You haven't really been yourself for a few weeks. Are you still taking – "

"Yes. Every day." I cut off her question, knowing where she's heading with it.

Leah nods.

"Okay then. I'm sorry, lad."

"It's okay, Lee." I sigh, tugging at my filthy hair. "I understand your concern, but as far as that goes, I'm fine."

Leah hooks her arm through mine, and we make our way back to the hotel in silence.

New Orleans.

Chicago.

Cincinnati.

Knoxville.

Atlanta.

Charleston.

I channel the emotions that overwhelm me into each performance. I've never played better. I play every song for Bella. It's cathartic, being able to express my love, my despair, my joy, and my sadness in song.

I'm ninety-nine percent certain that I'm dreaming.

I'm lying in a verdant, flower-filled meadow. Bella is here. We're laughing and smiling. Her brown eyes are luminous in her happiness. Dream Bella props herself up on one elbow as she lies next to me. Her slender finger traces along my cheek, gently, tenderly. She looks down at me, a smile curving her full lips. Dream Me reaches up and cups her cheek, marveling at the silky feel of her porcelain skin under my calloused fingertips.

"Edward," she calls, her voice shocking contrast to the serenity of her expression. "I need you. Help me, Edward. Please, I need you. You have to call me."

The desperation in her voice is startling, and the next thing I'm aware of is leaping out of bed in my motel room in Charleston, South Carolina. I quickly dig through my backpack for my phone. Upon finding it, I immediately dial Bella's number, the urgency and sorrow in her dream voice causing me to panic.

The phone rings longer than usual, and my breath catches. I hear the call connect, and a soft sob comes through the earpiece. The sound, so laden as it is with desperate sadness, cuts through me like a knife.

"Edward?" Bella sniffles, her voice soft and scratchy.

"Bella, dearest, are you okay? Why are you crying?"

Bella doesn't answer, she sniffles again, and I hear her draw in a shaky breath; she's trying to compose herself.

"Bella, love. Let me in, please."

"I- … I, um." As she struggles for words, I feel my heart fracture just a little more.

"Sweetheart, I can't promise I can fix anything, but please let me in. Talk to me, dearest. Tell me what's got you so upset."

"That's the thing Edward, I don't know!" she wails.

"I'm so sad. So sad all the fucking time, and I don't understand why. And everything that used to make me happy, just … doesn't anymore."

Her words are so familiar, and alarm bells are going off in my mind. Knowing I need to tread carefully, though, I ask her a few cautious questions.

"Can you explain that to me, dearest? What doesn't make you happy?"

"Anything. Nothing. Nothing makes me happy." She sniffles a bit more, but begins to elaborate in a soft, shaky voice.

"Since I was a little girl, music has always been my escape. I love it. I loved it. I love old, familiar tunes that feel like home, and I love the excitement of discovering new music. But I can't remember the last time I turned my iPod on. I've lost any interest in; I can't see the beauty in it anymore. I used to be so passionate and enthusiastic about beautifully poetic lyrics, and intricately crafted melodies, but now everything just sounds like an irritating drone to me. Poetry doesn't hold my attention anymore. Imagery, cadence, clever use of words: they don't excite me anymore."

She begins to sob again, and I make gentle shushing noises, wishing I could reach out to her. I hate the immense distance that separates me from this beautiful, distraught woman. I murmur words of comfort as she continues to speak.

"It's like beauty has been sapped from my life, Edward. I can't see it. I can't feel it. And I definitely can't create it. There's no passion, no inspiration, no whimsical delight for me in anything. Colours are muted, like drab shades of grey, and vibrancy seems garish to me. Melodies seem discordant, poetry seems hollow and empty." The words continue to tumble out of Bella, and I sense she's been keeping her emotions tightly bottled.

"Oh sweetheart, I'm so sorry to hear that."

"But the thing is Edward, nothing is wrong. I don't lack anything. But I'm just so desperately sad all the time. I cry all the time. I hate it, but I can't seem to control it."

"Oh Bella. What can I do to help, my dearest girl? Say the word and I'll fly to Seattle tomorrow."

"I can't let you do that, Edward. You need to finish your tour commitments." Her voice is quiet, but she seems to have stopped crying for the moment.

"I'd do it in a heartbeat for you, my friend."

"Thank you Edward. But you've done everything I needed. You listened. And you didn't try to tell me I shouldn't feel the way I do."

"How you feel is how you feel Bella. It's never wrong. You're allowed to be sad. I wish you weren't. But you are, and that's okay, sweetheart."

"Thank you."

"Bella," I hesitate, unsure as to how she will respond to what I have to say.

"Yes?"

"Bella, dearest. It sounds an awful lot like you may be depressed."

Bella is silent for so long that I begin to panic, thinking I've offended her.

"Bella? Are you there?"

"I'm here Edward. I, just, I …" she pauses, and then the words tumble out, as though she's forcing herself to say them before she changes her mind.

"I think your right. I think I'm depressed. But I have no right to be. I haven't had a traumatic upbringing, I feel like I have no right to be so miserable. Jake thinks I'm just being self-indulgent."

"Bella, love, he's wrong, and unfortunately people's misconceptions of depression are one of the biggest obstacles. And as for not having a 'reason' to be depressed, I'm sorry love, but depression doesn't work like that. It doesn't need to justify itself. Yes, sometimes it's triggered by particular events in a person's life, but sometimes it just is, for no rhyme nor reason. Sometimes, it's just a brain that doesn't make the chemicals it needs to."

"I know that, I do." Bella sniffles again.

"It's scary, yeah? The word holds a lot of power and comes with a lot of baggage, and a lot of judgment."

"Yeah. It's, just, it's utterly terrifying Edward. I'm not really processing it very well at the moment."

"That's understandable, love. It will take time. But, Bella, I really think you need to talk with some one more professional than me. I will always be here for you, and you can call me any time, day or night, if you need to. It's really important though, that you talk with someone who can help you work through things properly."

"I'm scared to, Edward."

"I know, love."

"You're right though. I should talk to someone."

"Take some time to think about it, sweetheart. Make the call when you're ready. It can only help."

"I will Edward. I, uh, I think I need to go to bed now. My mind is shutting down."

"Yeah, that's perfectly understandable. Get some rest, lovely girl. I'm only a phone call away, yeah?"

"Thank you, Edward. I love you." She yawns.

Does she realize what she's said? My heart thumps wildly in my chest.

"I love you too, sweet girl." I whisper.

I collapse back down on to the bed, my heart pounding. Bella's three words play over and over in my head, "I love you." She gave them to me so easily, but then, that's Bella. She loves easily, freely, and completely. I have no doubt about the sincerity of her words; I just know she doesn't mean them the same way I do.

I'm convinced from what Bella has said that she's probably dealing with clinical depression. Just thinking the ugly word is the reminder I need to grab up my bag and swallow a tiny white pill from the bottle tucked in the front pouch.

I need to Bella the truth about myself; I need to show her I understand what she's going through. But I can't do it over the phone. It will have to wait until I can sit and talk with her face to face.

I'm supposed to have a few days off between the shows in Charleston and Philadelphia, but Leah decides I need to keep busy and is able to book me a last minute spot at a bar in Pittsburgh. I'm grateful to her, the money will be useful, certainly, but mostly, it gives me something to focus on. I'm desperate to return to the West Coast, but I need to get through the next set of shows first. After the gig in Pittsburgh, I play in Philly, and then I have three gigs to play in New York City.

The drive from South Carolina to Pittsburgh is long, but uneventful. Fragments of a new song are beginning to take shape in my mind as the van rumbles along. When Leah and Marcus take their turns driving, I sit in the back, with my guitar, fiddling with chords and melodies.

"Whatever you're writing is going to be bloody brilliant." Leah observes, catching my eye in the rearview mirror. I nod, but my focus is on a fragment of a lyric I'm trying to pin down.

"Hey, Eddie, you never played me whatever you wrote in Portland. You know, the night I met Isabella."

"Bella." I correct, automatically. "And no, I didn't."

"Have you played it for her?"

"Yeah, in Seattle. After the second gig there." Leah's eyes widen, but I'm not really paying her any attention. I'm suddenly remembering Bella's response to the song I wrote for her.

What was it she'd said?

"… a few nights before your Portland show I had the most humiliating, degrading experiences of my entire life, and it was at the hands of the one person I ought to be able trust above all others."

My fists clench as I start to piece a bit more together about Bella. The one person she ought to be able to trust above all others has to be her husband, Jacob. What the fuck could that bastard possibly have done to her that humiliated and degraded her? The fact that he caused her to feel that makes me see red, and my jaw flexes in response. If I manage to meet the bloody git without punching him in the face, it will be a miracle.

"Oi, Edward? Hey!" Leah's raised voice drags me away from my violent thoughts and I look up, meeting her eyes in the review mirror once again.

"I'm sorry, Lee. What were you saying, dearest?"

"When are you going to perform it? Bella's song?"

"Uh, I'm not sure." I hesitate, scrubbing at my beard. I really need to shave. It's longer than it's ever been, but I just couldn't be fucked doing anything about it.

"You know, we could film you playing it, and you could send the video to her." Leah suggests, clearly understanding that the song is not one I'll just add into the mix with most of the others. There are a few songs I almost never play at gigs, because they're too personal to share.

"That's not a bad idea Lee. Actually, we can put it on YouTube, because I think I need to say something important before I play it."

"What, like a PSA?" Marcus laughs.

I don't respond. I'm not in the mood to joke about an issue that has affected me so much, and is now impacting Bella.

We arrive in Pittsburgh in the late afternoon, so I have 24 hours before I'm required to be anywhere. Rather than head out to watch some local musicians like I usually would, I hole myself up in my room after dinner.

I'm contemplating going to bed when my phone chimes.

From Emmett McCarty:
Skype. Five minutes. Do it.

I briefly think about telling him to fuck off, but I miss the bastard, so I drag out my laptop and log on.

It's only a few minutes before his giant, dimpled face fills the screen of my MacBook.

"Mate, you look like shite!"

"Fuck you, Em."

"I'm sorry lad, but you do look terrible. Is everything a'right?"

"I don't know Em." My hands tug at my hair as I stare at the screen.

"Does this have anything to do with the American bird you brought around in Vancouver?"

"What? How did you-"

"Edward, I know you. And I saw enough of her to know she's a perfect fit for you."

"She's married, Em."

"To an arsehole." Rosalie chimes in unexpectedly, and her head appears sideways on the screen as she bends down next to Em to get a look at me.

"Hi Edward," she adds.

"Hey Rose. Why do you say Bella's husband is an arse?"

"How much of my conversation with her did you hear?"

"Not a lot, I heard her mention orgasms and decided to get her home before she said something she'd regret once she was sober. She couldn't possibly keep up with you in the drinking stakes Rosie." In fact, Rose could probably drink more than Emmett and myself combined, and still leap out of bed the next morning without a hangover.

"She was actually talking about a lack of orgasms, lad. Her fuckwit of a husband has her convinced she's anorgasmic."

"What?" Bella and orgasms are not something I want in my head at the same time, it will lead me places I can't return from, and I'll only end up with my heart torn in two. As beautiful as Bella is, I refuse to allow my thoughts to travel down that path. I told Leah the first night I met Bella that it wasn't about wanting to shag her, but it's getting hard to keep denying that my attraction to her extends to that dimension as well.

"Edward. Concentrate. The stupid git has never made her climax. And rather than put any effort into her pleasure, he's made her feel that she's somehow defective; that there's something wrong with her. I suppose there's a chance she is actually anorgasmic, but it's a pretty rare condition. It's far more likely he's just a selfish fucker in bed."

As much as it pains me to think about Bella in bed with anyone, I feel the fury begin to build in me again. That beautiful, passionate woman ought never be left wanting. What the hell is wrong with the bastard that she isn't his entire universe; that his life doesn't revolve around treasuring her and making her happy?

"As much as it pisses me off to hear that, it's not so much her relationship with her husband that I'm worried about. She's seriously depressed." I sigh, resting my face in my hands.

"Oh shit, the poor lass," sighs Emmett.

"Edward, I'm sure she genuinely may be depressed, but I wouldn't be surprised if that's not actually a separate issue to her relationship with Jack."

"Jake." I correct.

"Don't care," huffs Rosalie. "From the short conversation I had with her, I gathered that she's not only, er, unsatisfied, but that she's basically completely neglected by him. That's me reading between the lines, of course, but I think I'm a pretty good judge of character."

Rose is right, she is an excellent judge of character, because she's incredibly observant. She doesn't say a lot, but she takes a lot in. Actually, it occurs to me that that's probably why Leah wanted Bella to meet Rose and Em in the first place. She probably wanted Rose's opinion on whether Bella was a crazy fan, or whether she was completely genuine.

"Um, he has to travel a fair bit to find work, I gather. So he's absent a lot."

"That's not what I mean, Edward. I mean he pays no attention to her emotional needs. He makes no effort to make her feel cared for or loved. And if that's the case, I would imagine it's a pretty big factor contributing to her depression."

I nod my understanding as Rose continues to speak.

"When you're back over here, lad, I think we should create an opportunity to meet Jacob. I'd like to see Bella again anyway."

"What's going on in your head, Rosie lass?" Emmett speaks unexpectedly, and I see that he's watching his wife carefully. She shakes her head, and sighs.

"No, nothing. I'm just worried for her."

"As am I," I admit. "I'm fairly sure tomorrow will be a bad day because I'm so emotionally overloaded at the moment."

Emmett and Rose murmur their sympathy and comfort. They've both known me for long enough to understand what my bad days look like.

"You should sleep, dearest." Rosalie says gently, and I nod in agreement. We say our goodbyes, and I promise to keep them updated on Bella. I'm utterly drained, and I slam the laptop closed and collapse into bed far earlier than I have in months.

When I wake up in the morning, I can't make myself get out of bed. Leah stops by to see if I've taken ill. She takes one look at me and understands.

"Bad day?"

I nod, unable to form an articulate answer.

"Can I do anything?"

I shake my head.

"Okay, lovey. You know where I am if you need me."

I close the door and shuffle back across the room to the bed. I curl up in a ball and stare at the cracks in the wall. I feel completely and utterly numb. The last few days have taken their toll, and consequently, I'm not coping emotionally.

It's only for Bella that I drag myself out of bed in time for sound-check. I force down some toast and a beer, before taking the stage. I put everything I have left into my performance. I save Bella's song for last, knowing I'm going to crash badly when I come off the stage.

"Uh, thanks. It's been lovely Pittsburgh. You've been great tonight, so thank you. I'm sure I'll be back soon." I tug at my beanie as I speak.

"Um, this next one is a song I wrote for my friend, Bella. Um, I've never performed it for anyone but her, and I hope she doesn't mind me sharing it. Sometimes the people we care about are in a really dark place where they can't see hope, when all they feel is despair. If you have a someone in your life like that, it's so important that you keep telling them that there is hope, that you'll believe for them, until they can believe it themselves. Uh, okay, this song is called When You Can't Believe."

Tears slide unchecked down my face as I play her song; somehow it means even more than it did when I first played it for her. Knowing her struggles, it's become both prophetic, and a promise to her that I'm determined to keep.

After the gig, I'm desperate to beg off early, I am in no state to meet and greet right now. Leah pokes her head into the green room when I come off stage and shoots me a sympathetic smile before disappearing. When she comes back, she flops down next to me on the couch and squeezes my hand.

"I've made your excuses, lad. You're not up to socializing tonight."

I nod my agreement, thanking her for looking out for me. She shrugs it off complacently.

"It's nothing mate. You haven't had a bad day like this in a while, yeah? Anyway, we don't need to be in Philly 'til the day after tomorrow, so you can sleep late again tomorrow morning. Come along then."

Leah stands, and I follow her gratefully, shouldering my bag and grabbing my guitars. Marcus meets us as we exit the green room.

"I've already uploaded the video, Edward."

I nod my thanks to him. As soon as we're back in the hotel, I grab my laptop and shoot Bella a quick email with the link. Shutting it off, I bury myself under the bedclothes and desperately seek out the sweet oblivion of sleep.

It seems like it's only minutes later that Van Morrison startles me out of the fitful sleep I've finally crawled into. It's the only tune that could rouse me after a day like this. I reach across the bed, scrambling to find my phone.

"Bella? Is everything okay?" I manage to croak out.

"Edward." She sobs. The one word is laden with such distress, it's overwhelming, and I feel tears of my own begin to gather. I fight them, unwilling to succumb to my own emotion when Bella is clearly in such desperate need.

"Bella, love, what's going on? Are you okay, dearest?" The hopelessness in her voice has me in full panic mode: I'm throwing on clothes with my free hand, preparing to bang down Leah's door to beg her to get me on the next flight to Seattle.

Bella's next words cause me to freeze, my hand on the doorknob.

"Edward. There's something else I haven't told you. It's … It's about Jacob."

"What about him, love? Did he hurt you?" My heart rate accelerates as I contemplate the possibility that she's about to confirm all of my worst fears.

"No. NO! Well, no, not physically, Edward. He'd never raise a hand against me. It's just …" she trails off, and I gently prompt her to continue.

"Bella, love, you can tell me anything. You can always be honest with me."

Bella takes a deep breath, like she's preparing herself, and then the words begin to tumble forth, gathering speed as she struggles to explain.

"Edward, it's just, I'm so miserable. He's just- he's just awful to me. I know it sounds stupid and childish, but he's so mean to me all the time. I'm never, ever good enough. And I'm so, so tired of being called lazy and useless and psychotic. And I keep telling myself that maybe I am all those things, because that's easier to accept than the fact that he's just being deliberately nasty. But then I have these moments of clarity and I remember how fucking hard I work to keep him happy and I just can't take it anymore!" Her sobs overtake her, and she breaks off, crying piteously.

My already battered heart aches for her, as she continues to sob and tell me in a shaky voice about the cruel things Jacob says to her, about the expectations he places on her, the demands he makes of her. From what I gather through her halting explanations, he treats her as a cook, a cleaner, a body to fuck - his personal slave. She tells me how differently he behaves in public, and she weeps as she tells me how her friends all believe him to be an amazing husband.

I murmur words that I mean to be soothing, but I have no idea what to tell her. Do I tell her to leave the bastard? Do I tell her to fight back? Will his emotional abuse, and I realize that this is indeed what it is, of my beautiful, sweet Bella turn physical? I'm absolutely terrified for her, and for the first time in my life, I feel truly murderous. I could kill the bastard for the cruelty and misery he's inflicted on this precious woman.

She confesses he's working in Olympia for the next two weeks, and that he'll probably only come home for the weekend. This gives me some peace of mind, but I don't know what else to do, so I do the only thing I can at this point in time.

I tell her how precious she is, I tell her how beautiful and special and wonderful and amazing she is. She laughs at me, and though it frustrates me to know that she doesn't see herself clearly at all, it warms my broken heart to hear the smile in her voice. I tell her that I'm always here for her, that I'll always listen, that I'll always care. I tell her that she is loved.

When she starts to yawn, I encourage her to go to get some rest. I can see dawn is beginning to break here, and she is three hours behind. She needs to sleep. We murmur our goodbyes, after I secure her promise to check in with me every day.

After the call disconnects, I sit on my tiny motel room bed, my head in my hands. The tears I've been fighting since I first heard the distress in Bella's voice overpower me; hot salty water streams down my face and into my scruffy beard. I let them flow, my heart aching for the sweet, sad girl on the other side of the continent. The sweet girl I love more than anything in the world. The broken woman I so desperately want to hold. My soul-mate: who is bound to another man. A man who doesn't care for her, treasure her, cherish her, or honour her the way I so desperately want to. Anger and frustration and despair threaten to overwhelm me, and my tears give way to desperate, gasping sobs as I sink to my knees on the hard floor.

I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter. It was very emotionally draining to write. I had no idea Edward was having such a hard time as well.

I have a question for you, lovely readers. If you were Edward, or Alice, what would course of action would you encourage Bella to pursue? What things would you say to her?