Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is not mine.
Black marks on white background. That's all they were now: incomprehensible, snaking, flowing black marks that disturbed what should have been peaceful white landscape. Bella could remember the sight of a blank whiteboard. At school, at the beginning of the class, that expanse of shiny emptiness, waiting to be filled with knowledge. The innocence of a clean whiteboard.
She couldn't make out the words on the screen in front of her—she had been staring at it for too long. The whole room seemed hazy, the black marks seemed to merge into one another, and the white seemed to blaze.
She needed to get some sleep.
"Did you make breakfast?"
Bella turned slowly to see Diane in the doorway of her bedroom, dressed and ready for the day. What time was it? She hadn't even heard Diane get up.
Bella nodded.
The smell of pancakes, eggs and bacon hadn't entirely managed to hide the odor of cookies and Edward, but it wasn't suffocating her like it had been before. Smoke lingered in the air of the apartment from her first few failed attempts. When she moved toward the bathroom, it felt like walking through water.
She needed to get some sleep.
The sight of herself in the mirror wasn't surprising, but it was still disturbing. She looked as tired as she felt: her eyes bloodshot, the skin beneath them heavily bruised, her frown etching premature lines into her skin.
She had tried to sleep. She had tried to lose herself in the comfort of Diane's embrace, but it had just felt wrong. Diane's arms were too hot, they were too soft, they were too dark, and her heartbeat was unpleasant against Bella's back. She felt disappointed with herself that, after everything, she still longed for him. At what point had she allowed him to snake his way back into her world?
She got ready in a haze of movement, sitting down at the kitchen table after an indeterminable amount of time, waiting for the others to arrive. Diane moved past her in silence, with the tacit agreement that she would meet Edward and Jasper downstairs.
Bella caught her wrist before she could leave. "I thought you were taking the flowers?" she asked quietly.
There was a pause that felt long, but was probably only a few moments.
"It can wait."
"No, it can't."
Bella stood and walked to the beautiful flowers on the kitchen counter. They were undisturbed in the plastic jug Edward had placed them in, a memorial to that brief moment the day before when Bella had allowed herself to forget, and dared to pretend that everything could be as wonderfully simple as it had been all those years ago.
She took a single yellow flower from the bunch because Diane had once told her that Jo reminded her of yellow. She had not exactly understood what Diane had meant, but it was obvious now, thinking back on it. Every time Diane had looked at Jo, she looked as though she were being blinded by the sun.
Bella wordlessly held out the flower.
Diane sighed. "Bella, I'm not sure I—"
"Please," she implored. "For me."
Uncertainly, Diane took the flower. She looked sad as she leaned f orward and pressed a warm kiss against Bella's hair.
"I'll see you later," she promised, cradling the flower in her palm. "Love you."
Bella nodded, but she didn't say it back.
Diane left.
Bella tried to busy her hands with cleaning up the barely eaten breakfast, but just being in the kitchen made her body ache, so she quickly retreated back into the lounge. A few seconds of staring at the violent lines on the spoiled board forced her back farther until she stood in the doorway of her bedroom. The rest of the apartment stretched before her like a no-man's land.
Her sanctuary was tainted.
The knock on the door surprised her, and she hesitated before moving toward i t. She frowned when she saw Alice and Jasper on the other side.
"I thought you were supposed to be with Diane?" Bella asked, hating how weak her voice sounded. She was not used to feeling so fragile.
Jasper's eyes searched her face. "I didn't want to be near Edward today."
Ah. Her heart twisted. Strange how the idea of hurting Edward still felt like a betrayal.
The ride to the restaurant was silent. Bella stared out of the window, watching gray Nyy ew York flash past her as Jasper curled his hand around Alice's thigh in comfort, or perhaps restraint.
"Have a nice day," Jasper said, like he always did. He shot Bella a sympathetic smile that somehow managed to reassure her. She thought that Jasper understood, and maybe he even forgave her.
Alice did neither.
Alice hadn't said a word to Bella in hours, her face so intimidatingly closed off that even the other kitchen staff had kept clear. Bella could see how Alice's hostility had made them subconsciously aware—for the first time—that something dangerous was close. Their bodies curled in on themselves, as if to protect against attack—their shoulders hunched, their heads down. They flinched at sudden noises.
Bella was actually relieved by Alice's reticence; she didn't think she could have handled normal, bubbly, relentlessly optimistic Alice today. It almost made it easier for Bella, having Alice reject her.
She wanted to hate him. She wanted to disregard everything he'd said, because if he was lying, it would be so much easier. She had managed to convince herself for years that Edward didn't love her—why was it so difficult to believe it now?
My instinct to not let you get hurt is stronger than my instinct to protect you. I always thought they were the same thing.
She hadn't completely understood what he meant when he said those words a few days ago, the night they fought outside River's, but they fit with everything he had said last night. He had left all those years ago to protect her. He had thought that if he left she wouldn't hurt anymore, that if he removed himself it would also remove the danger that shrouded his world. What he didn't know—how could he not have known?—was that by leaving her, by protecting her, he was hurting her more than anything ever could.
Bella had been in countless fights: she had been beaten, suffocated, broken, exhausted, terrified, torn and bloody, but she had always recovered. She had never given up only because she had known there was worse pain, she'd already survived it, and nothing else really mattered.
And it had all been a lie.
He had loved her then and he loved her now. She believed him, and she believed that he was sorry, and she believed that he would change for her, but was he worth everything she would lose by loving him? Could she risk everything she had, everything she had become, on a promise from the person who had hurt her more than anyone ever had before? She didn't know, so she had run away. She still felt that urge in her body—the coiling tension that made her want to run, run, run as fast and as far away from him as possible.
"Are you going to stand here staring into space all day, or are you actually going to do what you're paid for?"
Bella thought about being a smartass for a moment, but knew it wasn't worth it. Everyone learned quickly to never talk back to Lynne, because she got disproportionately angry at any hint of rudeness.
So she just said, "Sorry, Lynne," and hurried over to the customers she had been effectively ignoring. She smiled at them, wished them a good morning, took their orders and refused to think about anything that was too confusing or painful.
"I'll get those coffees for you now," Bella said cheerily to the married couple scrunched into the corner table.
"What a sweet young girl," she heard the man say to his wife as she weaved her way to the bar.
If they only knew, she thought w tt ryly.
She was standing at the coffee bar, waiting for Chloe to churn out a coffee from the ridiculous machine, when she heard his voice. Her body reacted before her mind could comprehend what was happening. Her heart pumped faster, her hands became damp, her stomach twisted.
It took another moment before she realized his voice sounded wrong. For one thing, it was too soft and tinny—like a recording or a phone call. For another, it sounded scared.
Oh, God.
"…need to come here as soon as possible."
"Edward." Alice's voice was urgent. Bella held on to the bar and felt the wood splinter beneath her hand. "What happened?"
"It was Kahled. I didn't…it happened too quickly…"
"No," Bella whispered. She didn't realize she was speaking. "No, no, no, no, no."
"Where are you?" Alice was moving, she sounded determined.
"We're on our way to Coney Island Hospital."
No, no, no, no.
"We're leaving now."
"Alice?" There was a moment's hesitation. "Come quickly."
Diane, don't you dare.
This wasn't happening. She was sleep-deprived, she had finally lost it, this was some crazed fragmented dream and it would be over, over in a minute. It would turn into something else. Turn into something else.
"Bella, she's alive; she's alive, but we need to leave now."
Alice. Stop lying to me, Alice. Don't say these things because they're just not happening.
"Bella, please move."
Something was pulling her, and she was moving, but too fast, and she was standing still, and there was something in the way.
"What are you doing?"
"We need to leave; Bella's roommate…"
Diane, her Diane, the only thing that made sense. Don't you dare.
"You can't just leave; she's our only waitress today."
"I don't care. Get out of the way, Lynne."
"If you leave, don't even think about coming…"
She was moving again, and she was outside, and she was inside, and she wasn't moving, but things were rushing past.
Oh, God, this is happening.
"I should have been there—"
"Don't do that, Jasper. That doesn't help anything."
Help, help, I need help.
Diane was her help. Whenever she needed help, Diane was there because Diane was her partner. How was she supposed to survive without Diane?
She's alive, she's alive.
If she's alive, then you're alive, and look at everything whizzing by. You're alive, so she's alive. You can feel the leather of the car, you can smell the grime of New York and the sharp scent of vampire, you can feel the blood pounding in your body and the wisp of hair that has fallen into your eye. You can feel and smell and see, so you're alive. You're alive, so she's alive.
She's alive, she's alive.
Was she supposed to tell Diane's mother? How would she even begin to find—Diane always took care of the bills, she didn't even know what electricity provider they—Diane curled around her, wet hair clinging to her skin—what are you supposed to wear to funerals? She had that black skirt that always looked nice on—don't think that because she's not dead and no one cares about what clothes you—Alice would have cared, Alice always thought about that—Alice never liked her, was she glad she's hurt?—Diane stealing a cup of coffee from Jo, leans her head against her shoulder, looks like peace—oh, , Jo, you're never going to get that flower now…
Stop thinking. I don't like what I'm thinking.
The car had stopped. A door was opening.
"I'm sorry, Bella, but we can't go in, not with the…"
Bella ran away, tripping over the curb and righting herself easily. Funny how it was her body she trusted most.
"Diane Knox," Bella panted to the lady behind the welcome desk. She couldn't get enough air into her lungs. "Where is she?"
The woman typed the name into her computer in a steady, I-will-not-be-rushed manner. Bella recognized another warrior. They both surrounded themselves with death and mayhem every day, and so destruction had started to become a way of life. It would have taken something truly terrible to shatter their worlds.
"She's in surgery," the woman said in a bored voice. "Third floor. East Wing."
She was off.
Bella probably moved too quickly through the corridors of the hospital, and perhaps nurses, doctors, visitors and patients stared at the girl who ran faster than any human had a right to run, but maybe they would blame it on the medication, on the lack of sleep, on the stress. Bella didn't care.
She finally slowed when she saw Edward. He was sitting on one of those awful washed-out waiting room chairs, elbows on his knees, hair wet and plastered to his forehead and his fingertips pressing against his lips. His gaze was a thousand miles away, but there was an acute tightness in his face that made her stop. When he eventually looked up, his eyes were darker than she had ever seen them.
She must have moved too quickly again, because she was suddenly standing in front of Edward, gripping his wrists and demanding, "How is she? What happened?"
"Bella, I'm so sorry."
Her grip tightened. "What happened?"
His eyes flickered away, and she followed them to a girl with purple hair, who was eyeing them with unabashed interest. Bella sat down and leaned toward him, taking her hands from his wrists but keeping one on his arm. She needed something solid to ground herself to and Edward was there. Like he said he always would be.
I'm not leaving. Not again. I'm never leaving again.
"It was Kahled," he told her quietly, his eyes not quite meeting hers. "I was only across the street, and I got there as quickly as I could but…"
"How?" she wondered aloud. "How is that possible? She was at the police station…"
"No, she wasn't. Jo asked to talk to her alone, so they went outside, around the back of the station."
Nausea crawled up Bella's throat.
"Did…did she know? Jo?"
His eyes searched hers briefly before darting back away.
"I don't know exactly what she thought. She was excited—she thought she was giving Diane a treat, a surprise. I might have seen what was going to happen but…"
She waited for him to continue, but he seemed unable to speak. She could feel the tension in the muscles of his arm.
"But what?" she prompted.
"But she asked me not to." He exhaled heavily. "Diane lifted her shield and asked me to not listen. She wanted some privacy, and I…I gave it to them."
Bella screwed her eyes closed and pressed the palm of her hand again her forehead until she felt a horrible pressure build behind her eyes.
"Idiot," she muttered darkly.
"I know, I can't—"
"No, not you," she interrupted. "Diane should have known better than that. She should never have made you choose between giving her privacy and keeping her safe."
He shook his head, and she wanted to touch his face because it looked too distraught.
"I shouldn't have let her go so easily," he said. "The truth is I just didn't want to hear."
Bella knew she should be angry with Edward, because he was right—he should have ignored Diane's wishes and listened to Jo's thoughts anyway—but damn if she wouldn't have done exactly the same thing. She knew she wouldn't have been able to listen to their reunion, to Diane's apologies and Jo's acceptance. Their admissions of love. A repeat of last night, but with a happy ending.
"Jo!" Bella cried suddenly. "Is Jo all right? Did she get away?"
She knew what he was going to say before he said it.
"No, he killed her."
"Oh, no."
What a pathetic response, but she had no idea what to say, what to do. She hadn't known Jo well at all, but she'd loved her because Diane had loved her. She felt part of herself plummeting away, becoming hollow.
Oh, Diane.
She buried her face in her hands. She felt inadequate for mourning.
"She loved her very much," she heard him say from what sounded very far away.
"Yes, she did," she whispered.
Bella had been confused the first time she had met Jo. Diane had worked her name into enough inane conversations that Bella's suspicions had been roused, and she had used one of her holidays from work to visit Diane at the station to attempt to catch a glimpse of the woman who obviously had Diane's attention. Bella had taken one look at her and dismissed the evident attraction between them because Bella was shallow.
Diane had a type. All of the women in her life whom Bella had met before were very beautiful, with intensely dark skin and long black hair. They were all very glamorous, with voluptuous figures and impeccable dress sense. They wore short dresses and red lipstick and were very femme. Jo was not like them. She had insane curly hair, light olive skin, and she dressed in baggy clothes that made her look like a boy. She had an obnoxiously loud laugh, terrible baseball alliances, and she carried her gun like it was a substitution.
So Bella had ignored her instincts and convinced herself that Diane—with her unwavering taste—could never fall for frumpy, tomboy Jo.
Therefore she was surprised when one morning, a few months ago, when Bella was feeling sorry for herself after a sleepless night, Jo stepped out of Diane's bedroom wearing her police uniform and a smirk.
"Morning, Bella," she had chirped in a disgustingly satisfied manner. "Have a good night's sleep?"
Bella had tried to arrange her face into something that wasn't slack-jawed shock.
"No," she said, rather bluntly.
Jo snorted, looking remarkably unembarrassed. "Yeah, me neither. Got any coffee?"
Bella had really needed to go to work but she'd been just too curious, and after making Jo some rather repulsive-looking instant coffee, she'd sat down and waited for her roommate to emerge from her den of sin.
Diane had a rather dopey smile on her face when she finally appeared. She curled an arm around Jo's waist, stole her coffee and leaned her head against her shoulder. Bella had left quickly after that. Seeing that much contentment had made her uncomfortable.
Bella was disappointed, but not surprised, when Diane broke it off only a week later.
"I just don't have time for a girlfriend," Diane had said dismissively. "It's not like it would ever have worked out anyway—we didn't have anything in common."
So Diane had faded back into her old self. Bella had never realized how sad she had been before.
Diane should have tried harder.
"So, what do we do now?" Bella asked, trying to escape from her thoughts.
His eyes were far away again, and she found herself leaning even closer to him.
"They've managed to stabilize her, but they're being very careful. The surgery is going to take a long time—all we can do is wait."
Bella stared.
"You…you can see them operating on her?"
He tilted his head. She had forgotten how difficult it was to read him sometimes.
"It's not easy; their minds are unfamiliar. But if I concentrate, then yes, I can watch the operation."
"What are they doing now?"
His eyes shifted until they were scrutinizing her. "Do you really want to know?"
She could see that, despite his hesitation, if she asked him to describe every detail, he would have done it. He would explain to her exactly how these strangers were cutting into her best friend.
"No, I don't think I do." Bella continued, because somehow, talking was slightly comforting. "Are they good doctors?"
He smiled faintly. "Yes, they are very good."
"Are they concentrating?"
He let out a breath of laughter. "Yes, they are concentrating. Although…"
A sliver of panic. "Although? Although what?"
He calmed her down with his reassuring smile. "They're talking. It helps them to relax—relieves some of the pressure."
Bella understood that. "What are they talking about?"
"Honestly?"
She steeled herself, and nodded.
"Doctor Who."
Bella let out a loud, rapid burst of laughter, like machine gun fire.
"Seriously?"
He smiled at her, and she felt a swooping sensation in her stomach, as though she had experienced a sudden drop.
"Seriously."
"Well then." Bella sat back in her chair and let her hand fall from his arm. "They are obviously brilliant. They have my utmost faith."
She sank down into her chair, her leg brushing against Edward's as she settled herself in for a long wait. Despite everything that had passed between them, despite the thrill of fear and desire that rushed through her whenever she touched him, despite the anger toward him that she could feel—even now—thudding in her blood, she was more relieved than she could say that Edward was there beside her. At any other time, she would tear her feelings apart, examine them disinterestedly, as if they were the results of a particularly difficult scientific experiment, but sitting in that hospital room, she just let herself feel them.
There would be repercussions, she knew, but that would be later. If Edward, of all people, could give her comfort during one of the most terrifying days of her entire life, then she would take it. He owed her that much.
A/N: Please leave your thoughts. I really love your reviews, and they keep me excited about writing this story.