Truths
A/N for 2018-09-15: It's the weekend: amen. It was enlightening for me to hear thoughts on a canon revisit. Not sure how much more of that there'll be, but glad it tickled so many of you. I think this chapter might satisfy too.
~ Erin
AT FlamingMapleWrites on FB
In the morning, Billy was up and dressed, efficiently moving himself around the kitchen. "What do you like for a sandwich?" he called to Bella.
"Oh, um...actually, I'm meeting someone for lunch. Thank you though." She had trouble getting the last words out. They'd gotten stuck behind that damn lump in her throat again.
"Really?" Billy asked, "That's fast—oh, your friend Sally?"
"No."
The way she said it must have signalled some uncertainty, because he looked sharply at her. Then his face softened. "Glad you're making friends," he said softly, not pressing for a name.
She was just as glad not to have to give an answer.
The drive was soothing, the long ribbon of the road sweeping largely between forest and farm, the spectrum of greens finally fading to the more human browns and greys of town.
"You will not break your arm, you will not break your arm, you will not break your arm," she muttered to herself, before getting out of the truck.
This time she made it all the way to the school office.
"Good to see you again, Bella," a man's voice called.
She looked up at an unfamiliar face. "Um, hi."
"We met your first day here," he said, "I'm principal Green."
"Oh, right. Thank you, for—um—"
"You're welcome," he said, smiling softly. "I hope today treats you better."
"Me too," she sighed.
"Mrs. Cope will get you all settled with your schedule, alright?"
With a curt, but not unfriendly nod, he walked away, leaving her to the openly sympathetic face of one Mrs. Cope.
Oh God, thought Bella, watching the feeling ooze out of the woman's pores as she spoke.
"So sorry about your father, honey—"
Bella clamped her jaw shut and nodded, willing that now painful clod in her throat to stop anything more dangerous from erupting.
The office door jangled. Mrs. Cope looked up. "Oh, Mike. Maybe you can show our new student around?"
Turning back, Bella saw a tall boy, close to her own in age, blonde-haired, and smiling, waving at her. Then, like all men seemed wont to do, his hand slipped to his belt, which he nudged with an absent-minded finger.
Bella's face twitched. "I'm sure I can find my way—"
"Oh no, you need someone to show you things your first day. Mike's on the student council here. Don't worry, you'll be in good hands."
Bella had no interest in being in any man's hands, but this pairing seemed unavoidable, unless she wanted to be exceptionally rude.
She seriously debated being exceptionally rude.
Mike picked absentmindedly at a pimple on his cheek.
"Sure," she mumbled.
They walked out together, Bella skirting the near brush of his hand at the door.
"You got your schedule there?"
She handed it over wordlessly.
"Oh cool, we're in some of the same classes." He smiled at her.
She gave the most watery imitation in return.
"Hey, stop hogging the new girl!" another voice called.
"Hi Jess," Mike called back, grinning wider. "This is Bella."
"Hi, I'm Jessica Stanley."
"Hi," Bella said shyly.
Peering over at the schedule in Bella's hand, she started talking excitedly about the classes they had in common, and all the things Bella should watch out for with each teacher.
By the time they reached the first classroom, Bella was exhausted by Jessica's prattle.
The English teacher didn't make her introduce herself, but the next one did, and she stuttered through it, taking her seat with relief.
By lunch, she was ready to bolt for the parking lot, the press of so many bodies making her anxious. She imagined hands and bids at every corner. She hadn't even looked for Sally yet. Couldn't stand the idea of being inside a moment longer.
"Come meet everyone," Jessica said, yanking her head in the direction of the cafeteria.
"I'm actually meeting someone for lunch."
"Really?" she asked, a presuming eyebrow up. "Who?"
"Just a friend," Bella evaded. "See you later." Stuffing her books in her locker, Bella held onto her bag, feeling a pang for her journal, and the other things that'd been left in another locker, not so long ago.
Edward was leaning against her truck, his grin wide when he saw her.
He had a basket under one arm.
"Morning," he said, as she got closer. "You came."
She flicked her eyes up to meet his, almost a foot up. "Of course. You thought I wouldn't?"
"There are no guarantees in life," he said, a sly grin curling up a corner of his mouth.
"So um, where to?" Bella asked.
"The field, I was thinking," Edward said, looking in its direction. "You aren't allowed to leave campus during the day, without permission."
"Really?" Bella asked.
"Really. And somehow, I doubt it would be forthcoming, with me, anyway, from Billy."
Indeed, she thought, paling at the remembrance of the wolves.
They started walking towards their location slowly, and he glanced over at her. "You sleep OK?"
"Not really, no. But that's not unusual."
"Mm," he said. It sounded suspiciously informed.
"How 'bout you?" she asked suddenly, turning and narrowing her eyes towards him. His eyes were lighter again, the smudges under them not so purple.
"Oh, not much of a sleeper myself." There was something in the way he said it that suggested a smirk.
"Or an eater." She observed, an eyebrow up.
"No," he said, returning the expression.
They were staring at each other, a mutual dare in each face.
Bella broke it. "Here?" she asked, not quite ready for the conversation she knew was waiting. A revelation she hadn't quite put words to. Yet.
"Looks good to me." They were at the edge of the treeline, a few scattered maples providing some privacy from the building's windows. Not enough to completely obscure them, but enough to let her feel they were screened from the most overt prying.
A compactly folded blanket sat over the basket. Edward unfolded with an easy snap of his wrist, settling it down on the grass.
"Very organized," Bella commented.
Edward dipped his head in acknowledgement.
Sitting, Bella pulled out what passed as her journal: a simple coil-ring notebook, full of lined paper. As Edward unpacked the rest of his basket, she sketched out the lines of their place, and then him, a set of rapid small lines catching the moment's essence.
"You draw," he said, his voice full of admiration. Appreciation.
"Not well," she mumbled.
He glanced over. "Well enough. The quality of the paper doesn't match your skill though," he added, reaching over to finger it.
"Yeah," she agreed, "didn't get a chance to get my old one in Seattle."
"Why?"
She hadn't told him about the group home. Or the one before that, so she did, tracing out these parts of her life, as she did her sketches—with the barest lines.
He listened, nodding, accepting what she said with an undemanding silence.
"So your things are still there?"
"Maybe," she shrugged.
"You haven't asked after them?"
"No." The thought of connecting with those people again was frightening.
Again, a comfortable acceptance.
"How're your classes so far?"
"Oh fine," she shrugged.
"Who've you met today?"
"Would you know any of them?" she asked, genuinely curious. If he was in medical school, surely he was too many years removed.
"I graduated three years ago, so I'll know a few."
"Three years ago? But—"
"Took a lot of summer session courses, and challenged most of the first year material."
Her eyes widened. "Wow," she muttered.
"So?" he asked. "Who?"
"Um, Mike…"
"Newton?" he suggested.
"Yes, and Jessica...Stanley."
"Mm," he said, the sound a careful, and obvious noncommitment. Then he nodded at the small set of items he'd put out. "Please, help yourself."
"This looks amazing," she said. "You really are a renaissance man." This came with a more confident grin.
"If it pleases you, if pleases me."
A blush flared up her cheeks at what felt like an ostentatious compliment, which she hid her discomfort in by looking down, letting her hair be a curtain between them as she nibbled on one of the succulent grapes.
"How's Lady Susan?" he asked, laying down on his side, resting his head on his hand.
She was seated, cross legged, trying not to stare. If she passed him a stem of grapes, he'd look like Bacchus, and she, a mindless, fawning nymph.
"Oh, I haven't been able to finish it. The police took it—evidence." This too was coloured with a blush, but a more embarrassed one, and a shrug.
"That is most unfortunate. But I just happened to be at a few bookstores yesterday." From the bottom of the basket, he produced a book, similar to the one he'd initially bought her.
It was the same one she'd looked at the evening prior.
"You—"
"Want to finish it, yes?" He put it down on the blanket beside her.
"Yes." She looked at him, eyes full of questions.
"You haven't made any other guesses today," he commented, picking a stray piece of clover, twirling it between his fingers, not making eye contact.
She pulled in a breath, and then put the words out that she'd herded together. "I don't think I need to guess."
"Oh?"
"You're a cold one." These straddled the border of whisper and air.
He didn't say anything for a moment, putting the stem between his fingers down on the grass. "It's not an inaccurate term, but it dances around what I am."
His movements seemed to have shifted, subtly, somehow, becoming even more careful. Like he was afraid of frightening her with them. He was watching her this way, too.
"Are you afraid of what I am?"
"No," she said, without hesitation. "Not of what you are." She wondered if he would notice the distinction.
"But you're afraid of me."
Her smile, if it could be called that, was bitter. "Let's just say the last few months haven't taught me to trust most people."
He winced.
"That's not your fault, Edward."
His lips twisted over something, but he shut them again.
"What do you call yourself, if not a cold one?"
When he didn't answer, she brought her eyes up to his, her fingers still toying with a stray thread on the blanket. She dropped her gaze again, fixed on the small bit of fibre. It was red, a nick in the tartan weave. Wool. She let go of it with a guilty squirm, realizing she was damaging the blanket. His fingers picked it up in her place.
"What do you think?" he asked, now teasing this ruby wick of to stand.
It was either ridiculous, or real, and standing on the precipice of understanding, she didn't so much jump, as let go of her disbelief.
It was like falling, the feeling in her stomach telling her she was groundless. Tumbling in a descent like no other.
"Vampire." Her heart thudded in her ears. "You're a vampire."
Then she dared to look at his face.
She gasped.
All the things that marked him as human were gone: his posture, the features of his perfect face.
He crouched, teeth bared, hands curled and ready to clutch—a predator in every way..
He was stunning.
Beautiful.
And then he was gone.
She blinked. "Edward?"
After a moment, she heard him. "Here," he called, his form dimly visible amidst the trees.
She stood, not quite so confident in her balance, but more confident in her understanding of what had happened. He could move at speeds that were beyond her.
"Sorry," he said. "Please stay where you are."
Heeding this request seemed wise.
Then, in the space of a blink, he was there again, some few inches from her.
Her stomach had stopped falling, but now her head was taking its turn. Just like it had the night before, her body had better sense than her mind, and sought the protection of severing the one's control over the other.
This time, it was Edward's concerned face that hovered, but closer than Jacob's had been.
"Just stay put," he said. She felt his hand on her arm again—just a touch, and then gone.
She wished he'd put it back.
Her feet were resting on something hard—the basket, if the wickery creak was anything to go by.
These seconds of thinking and realizing were enough for her, to be prone in. She moved her feet, and turning to her side, went to sit up.
Then another wave of dizziness hit her, and she laid back down.
"Are you still dizzy?"
She closed her eyes, and nodded.
"Do you faint often?"
"Just yesterday and today," she murmured, wanting her head to stop spinning.
"Can you try to eat something?"
Risking the opening of her eyelids, she blinked, and the world stayed still. The plate of food was sitting in front of her—largely untouched. She soldiered through more grapes, and the water he presented.
"How're you ribs?" he asked suddenly.
"Pardon?"
"Your ribs. Are they still sore?"
"How do you know about that?" The fear, that his father had discussed her information with him, made her stomach turn.
"You were favouring that side, yesterday."
How could he possibly—?
"How could you know that?" Her curiosity sharpened her focus, the dizziness lessening..
He frowned a bit. "You're not sleeping well, either."
"OK," she said, moving to sit up more. "How are getting this? Because I know your dad is my doctor, but—"
"Of course it's not that," he said, shaking his head. "Carlisle would never—"
"You call your dad by his first name?"
He was kneeling, while she was almost fully sat up, supported by her hand. He reached over, taking her other hand, seeing her up and stable before he let go.
"Technically, he's not my father."
"Then why do you call him that?"
But Edward was looking at her with narrowing eyes. "How're you feeling?"
"Fine," she shrugged.
"But you're not," he murmured.
How he could know that, she had no idea.
"Bella, I know you have questions, but I think you need to see a doctor."
"I'm fine, I'm just tired, I—"
"No doctor, no questions."
She stared, her eyes widening with growing anger.
But she really wanted answers.
"Fine."
"Good," he said, and then, without asking, slipped his arm around her, helping her up, using the other to quickly gather the other things.
"I should sign out at the office," she said, as they approached the parking lot.
"No need," he said, "I will call. Mrs. Cope will not mind."
Bella didn't press this point. She had no interest in securing more of the woman's oozing sympathy.
For the second time in several days, she found herself at the hospital with Edward, this time walking into the office of one Dr. Carlisle Cullen.
He looked up at their arrival, but the expression on his face didn't register quite the right amount of surprise.
Either he knew, or Edward had warned him.
A paranoid wondering slithered up her back. Had he? Or, had he done something to make sure she would need to see a doctor? She thought of the drink David had given her.
Her face, the open register for all of her feelings, must've paled at this misshapen speculation.
"Not feeling well?" Carlisle asked, watching her.
Edward murmured what had happened, mentioning the night before, too.
"I was actually going to call you today about your results," Carlisle said, coming to sit beside her. He looked up at Edward, dismissal clear there.
Bella caught Edward's look, him searching for an answer from her.
She thought of the tests Carlisle had run, and nodded her farewell. Still wondering. Still trying to sort out logic from paranoia.
"Are you still feeling lightheaded?" Carlisle asked.
She shook her head, hearing the door click behind her. She was suddenly very aware that they were alone together, no nurse or other staff nearby. Even so, she refused to give way to her irrational fears, or to ask him to call Edward back.
"Your blood tests all came back negative," he started.
She could actually feel the tension leaving her shoulders.
"I imagine that's a relief." He was sitting, his forearms resting on his knees, hands clasped together, eyes holding her gaze, but gently.
"It is."
"You don't look very relieved."
She swallowed.
His son—no, not his son. Someone who called him a father, sort of, had just told her he was a vampire. There were giant wolves running around the woods where she lived.
That didn't bother her much.
No.
But she found herself panicking in the most unthreatening of circumstances. Having a door closed. Hearing a belt buckle. Having someone come too close.
Imagining someone drugging her, whenever they offered her food.
"I'm—," she looked around, like the words she needed would appear. "I think I'm losing my mind."
"And what makes you think that?"
She sort of half-laughed, half-sobbed, "I think people are going to hurt me. People who've done nothing but help me. I'm afraid you're going to hurt me." The last words shook with their utterance, and she had to clench her jaw, and force herself not to shrink away in the chair.
Carlisle breathed out. "That's completely normal, Bella, given what you've gone through."
Normal. This was so far from normal, she didn't even know where she'd look to find it.
"How long have you been feeling this way?"
"Since I got back."
He nodded, as if expecting this. "You're safe, Bella, even if you don't feel that way. Your body, your mind—they kept you from feeling those things, until it was actually safe to do so."
It made a strange sort of sense, and she huffed out more air.
"There's a name for it," Carlisle went on.
She looked up, waiting.
"PTSD."
She frowned. "I thought that was just veterans."
He shook his head. "No. It can happen to anyone."
"How do I stop...this?" she asked, curling her hands over, gesturing to herself.
He seemed relieved now too, the tautness in his legs gone.
"Talking to someone is a good start. We have counsellors here. Everything is confidential," he added, seeing her face crease.
She was biting her lip. When he held out a tissue, she coudn't understand why. Then she tasted the coppery salt on her tongue.
It was bleeding.
She took the tissue, and pressed it there.
"But you need to take care of yourself, too," he said. He went on to ask more detailed questions, and within the hour, had an xray, and several other checks done.
Sitting back down again in his office, he started with the results. "The good news is that there are some fairly straightforward things to do that can help you. The two most important ones are eating and sleeping regularly."
There was a wan smile that played out on her face. "Those are hard to do right now."
"I can imagine," Carlisle said sympathetically. "I can prescribe something—"
"No." She said this quickly. The thought of pills made her even more uneasy.
"Alright," Carlisle said carefully. "You also have a hairline fracture in one of your ribs, which is making breathing painful—which I think is what is related to the fainting. I'd like you to manage that pain, so you're breathing deeply."
She knew what 'managing pain' meant. "I really don't want pills."
"Can you tell me why?"
She could almost feel Mac's hand over her mouth, and stood up, pacing in the small space. "I was made to take them."
"I see." He pushed his eyebrows together. "Cold packs are good on the ribs, but you'll need to do it regularly. On the hour, if you can. And," he said softly, "I'll write you a note for physed. No strenuous activity for at least six weeks."
And there's the silver lining, Bella thought: no physed. She'd been glad to miss it today. She sat down again. "Thank you," she said, meaning it, making herself really look at him.
"You're very welcome, Bella," he smiled. "The best thanks will be seeing you better."
It was almost too personal, to hear it, and she shifted in her seat, not sure what to do with this clear expression of care.
"I suspect Edward is waiting on you. Would you like me to get him?"
She nodded, turning to watch him slip behind her to open the door.
Edward's voice reached her in all its beautiful velvetiness. "Bella?"
"Hi," she said, standing up, "um, thanks for waiting." She looked at her watch. It'd almost been an hour. "I've taken up almost your entire afternoon."
He shook his head, dismissing this. Then, nodding to Carlisle, he held out his hand towards the door.
"Wait," Carlisle murmured, writing something down. "In case you change your mind." Two slips of paper sat between his fingers. Bella hesitated before pinching them between her own, and then crushing them into her pocket.
She and Edward walked away from the office silently, her mind full of equally silent questions. If he could read minds, had he heard Carlisle's thoughts? Did she need to tell him what had transpired? Would he want to know?
Why did he want to earn her trust?
Why did she want to trust him? Because she realized, as she walked beside him, that a very great part of her wanted to trust him. Very much.
She glanced sideways and up at Edward, now walking placidly beside her. He caught her eye, and let a smile curl the subtleness of his lips, and then his eyes. The enchantment of watching this made her miss the small linoleum lip in the floor. His hand snatched at hers, bracing her against a sure fall. Steadied, his fingers relaxed their grip, but she tightened hers, not wanting the contact gone.
Neither said anything as they walked out of the hospital, hand in hand.
DISCLAIMER: S. Meyer owns Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended.