A/N: I was in the middle of writing this chapter – which contains themes of suicidality, depression and hurting oneself – when one of my best friends committed suicide. Four weeks ago she sent me text messages full of happiness and we made plans to meet each other. One week ago, I was standing at her grave. Nobody knows the reason. Nobody can understand why she did it.

It was too difficult for me to write about these subjects after that. I needed a long time to finish this chapter and I still don't think it's good enough. I planned it totally differently and I wanted to go more into detail but I just… couldn't. And I didn't want you to wait for months. The story itself doesn't need more details, so the chapter still works. But maybe I will rewrite it in a few months.

I hope you understand. I don't know when I will update again since I haven't written on other chapters yet. But I can assure you I won't abandon this story. I just need to get my own shit together for now.

I still don't own Twilight.

Recently in After Dark: Bella's POV
"Stop bawling and get in the car", he hissed.
"I'm not going into that thing", I stated, crossing my arms.
Him grabbing me and shoving me into the car was the last thing I remembered before everything went black.

Chapter 21 – (untitled) - BPOV

I was jerked into consciousness by my body hitting the floor and a sudden, violent urge to throw up. "Oh", I whispered, untangling myself from the sheets and crawling desperately towards the bathroom, afraid I wouldn't make it.

But I did. It was awful and it felt like hours. I didn't even have enough strength to keep my hair out of the way. My head was pounding and I felt worse than after my first and last experience of magic mushrooms.

I was confused about my surroundings and it took me a moment to realize which toilet I had been hugging. I had to stare at Charlie's shaving utensils to notice I was in Forks. How did I get here? I mumbled to myself. And when did Charlie go back to shaving with water, foam and blade? At least I was still wearing my clothes from yesterday. This had to be a good sign, right? No guy taking advantage of me would have bothered to put the clothes back on my body.

I finally managed to get into a vertical position and shuffled to the sink, leaning heavily on it, staring down the drain and waiting until the dizziness went down a bit.

I grabbed Charlie's razor and examinated it for a long time until I dropped it back on the shelf.

I closed my eyes and hummed to myself, trying to relax.

I counted to ten and opened my eyes. Seeing myself in the mirror after all these months was quite a shocking experience, but not really surprising. I had been there before.

The person looking at me couldn't be me, had to be a stranger. I could see pale skin. But it wasn't just pale. It was bleached, transparent, with freckles standing out like caked dirt. There were muddy-brown eyes, dull and plain and lifeless. Somehow the bags underneath them looked more alive than the eyes they belonged to. Even my eyebrows looked dead. Can eyebrows look dead? I never thought so, but mine did. Every part of my face looked dead. My lips were chapped. The hair was it's usual haystack like every morning, darker than ever, but no shine at all.

I have to be dreaming. This can't be me. But I knew this was me. The ugly, shocking me was staring back and winked. It laughed at me. Maybe I was really going crazy here. I examinated my pitying appearance again. No wonder he left you, I whispered to myself.

My hands balled into fists as memories flooded back to me. I could see myself staring at this mirror, like I did right now. Only it had been almost three years ago.

I looked at myself in the mirror and saw this ugly, plain girl. The ugliness that radiated out of her. The ugliness was pushing its way out of her, reflecting in the mirror and laughing.

I already knew it then. I was plain and ugly and boring. He was a perfect, beautiful angel. I literally stumbled through my life, falling over every doorstep and attracting bad luck. He moved fast and graciously. We didn't fit together. Not by our abilities. Not by our looks. He was way too good for me. I didn't have anything to offer to him besides my scent, my silent mind and my blood. He had only loved me for not being like any other human he ever met. I had been a new game to play after all these boring years of hiding, hunting and attending high school over and over again. He had been testing his limits with me. But after all these months, he had become accustomed to my scent. The blood and the mistery of my silent mind had lost its appeal and he got bored again. And I had nothing else exciting to offer him to pass the time. I was plain and ugly and boring. No wonder he didn't love me. No wonder he had left.

Before I knew what I was doing, my fist connected with the mirror, shattering it. Shards of glass brushed my arms, tumbled into the sink and onto the floor.

I looked back into the mirror, slightly shocked about the mess I had created. Seven years of bad luck, I thought. The ugly, plain, boring me was still there. And it wasn't alone. There were several ugly, plain, boring Bellas staring back from the fragments of the mirror that had remained in it's original place. So I hit the images again. And again. And again.

I waited for the rusty smell of the blood to hit me. I waited for the pain. But there was nothing. I was numb. I stared incredulously at my hands. My right hand was bleeding and there were shards of glass sticking out of it. There was a nasty, bleeding gash on my left arm. There was blood dripping onto the floor. This had to hurt. Why couldn't I feel anything? Was I going into shock? Why was I so numb?

I had been numb for weeks now. I needed to get out of this funk. I needed to function again for Charlie. I needed to apply to colleges or to look for a job. I needed to get myself together. I needed to feel. "Why can't I feel?" I muttered, grabbing a big, pointed shard, slashing it across my left arm. It didn't work. "Why doesn't it work?" I sobbed, making another cut in my porcelain skin. The deep red blood looked odd against it. It looked so… alive. I stumbled back, hitting the wall. "I just want to be normal again", I gasped, slicing the skin on my other arm. "Damn it! Why aren't you working?" I yelled, smashing the shard against the wall, sliding down and hitting the floor, my hands balled into fists, not knowing if I was talking about the shard or myself or about something else entirely.

I sat there what felt for hours, my hands clenching a towel in my lap, staring ahead. Every now and then I would look at my hands, closing and opening them, inspecting them from every side, noticing the mess I've made. I had crashed the mirror. I had torn my skin open. I had ruined the sink and the floor. I had splattered the walls, the shower curtain and the white, fluffy towels with red paint. And I still wasn't working right. Charlie would be so angry.

I shook my head, trying to get rid of these memories. I didn't remember much of what happened after that. But I remembered how I was sitting there, thinking about the irony of the situation. That I was spilling the only thing Edward had ever been slightly interested in. It was kind of funny, after all. Maybe I should have tried to bottle it and send it to him as a gift instead of wasting it.

The rest was all blurry. According to the paramedics, I must have been sitting there for at least twenty minutes, going into shock due to severe blood loss. Charlie had come back earlier from work and found me in there. It must have scared him to death. I remember him trying to stop the bleeding while yelling into the phone and into my face, slapping my cheeks so I would stay awake. I remember the sirens. And that was it. I must have passed out several times and I was told I had been unconscious for the rest of the day while getting blood transfusions and nutrition through an IV drip because I had been malnourished.

I had to stay in the hospital for a few days to gain some strength back. Actually, they had threatened to force feed me, so I complied. I was afraid of Charlie's reaction and started shaking everytime he opened his mouth to say something. Only to close it again. He never brought it up. He was just sitting next to my bed in the hospital, holding my bandaged hand, his eyes all red.

I had to see a psychiatrist before they released me. Hospital policy. I refused to talk to him. He was a creep and wanted to go all touchy-feely. So they sent Dr Gerandy in, thinking I would open up to him. He told me I was depressed and a danger to myself and I wouldn't be released without agreeing to see a psychologist for outpatient therapy. He handed me an address in Port Angeles and told me he had already arranged the first appointment for next week. And that even I was an adult, he could have had me committed in no time if I wouldn't show up there or if I would do something like this ever again. And that this would devastate Charlie.

He had me there, that bastard. He knew how much I cared about Charlie and how bad I felt about what had happened. I felt so guilty about bringing him into this kind of situation. The neighbours must have heard the ambulance. Some people surely had seen me on the stretcher, my wrists bandaged up, my clothes a bloody mess, blood all over my tear-stained face. People would talk. And they would even talk more if news got around I had been committed. So I agreed to psychotherapy and Dr Gerandy signed the papers for my release.

Nobody believed me I hadn't tried to kill myself. Not even my own parents. But they never talked about it in front of me. When Renée was standing at the doorstep of Charlie's house the same evening I was released, she just babbled about how she had missed me so much and wanted to see me. And that Phil had always wanted to see Forks, the town where she grew up. I didn't believe her.

They stayed for two weeks at a hotel in Port Angeles, but had nothing better to do than visit everyday and doing "family stuff" with me like cooking and having dinner together. Although it was obvious they just wanted to make sure I gained some weight and keeping me under surveillance. Although they claimed wanting to do things together, I wasn't even allowed to help. At least not with anything dangerous like cutting vegetables or boiling water. Or doing the dishes. Obviously they didn't even trust me handling breakable plates. They sent me to the living room to rest until dinner was ready, although neither of them could really cook. The food was barely edible. But I had to rest while they were trying not to set everything on fire. I guess because they had a good look at me from the kitchen.

They never left me alone. There was always someone checking up on me. And they even thought I wouldn't notice. They couldn't explain to me why the key to the bathroom had suddenly disappeared after all those years. Renée was hovering constantly over me, trying to make small talk and pointing out the nice things in life. She insisted on driving me to therapy every time and waited outside until my appointment was over. At home, Phil would pop up randomly, asking if I needed anything. Charlie would sit down on the couch with me, pretending to watch TV. Everytime I came back from the bathroom from having a shower or brushing my teeth or even doing something mundane as peeing, someone was lurking in front of the door. Everytime I was turning my back on them, I could feel them staring. I could see the pity in their eyes. The worst thing was when Phil suddenly hugged me one day out of nowhere, whispering in my ear how he loved me. That was awkward.

It was really annoying and embarrassing, especially when Renée droned on and on about how much I would like it in Jacksonville. But I knew they were just worried, so I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at them. I resisted to snap at Renée on the way back from Port Angeles when I noticed she was glancing at me every two minutes, wanting me to talk about therapy. I resisted the urge to yell at Charlie when they would abruptly stop talking everytime I came into the room.

I was so happy when Renée and Phil finally had to leave again. But it didn't stop then as I hoped. Jacob and Billy started visiting almost every day and strangely they stayed frequently over night, Billy sleeping on the couch and Jacob on an airbed on the floor next to him. Charlie didn't go fishing anymore, but spent the Sundays with Billy at our house, celebrating the art of grilling fish and drinking beer. I wasn't allowed to stay in my room while they were behaving like men from the stone age. At least not alone. Jacob was following me around like a shadow. It was as if Charlie didn't trust himself with keeping me alive.

I only left the house for going to school, to therapy or to the hospital to let them check my healing wounds and my weight. I made sure I was wearing long-sleeved shirts all the time. But as I said before, news travel fast in a small town like Forks. Especially the news about the crazy, suicidal daughter of the chief of police. Especially when her chief of police dad brought her to school every day and drove her to Port Angeles three times a week.

School was hell. The first day at lunch Jessica was sitting next to me and suddenly started crying, not able to stop sobbing until Mike consoled her. Everyone looked at me as if it was my fault. I couldn't go anywhere without everyone giving me stolen glances full of pity and whispering behind my back. Tyler and Eric had this strange look on their faces everytime they crossed my path and Lauren kept staring at my arms as if she wanted to see the proof of my insanity. Surprisingly she was able to keep her curiosity in check for three days until she blurted out the question if I would show her. Before I could answer anything, Angela slapped her hard and the people in the hall erupted into cheering. I thought I was having a panic attack until Angela tore me away.

Angela was a real friend. She spent the afternoons with me, doing homework together and helping me with all the assignments I had missed during my absence. I noticed Angela glancing towards me every now and then with sad eyes, but at least she kept her mouth shut and didn't ask any questions. It was as if we had this silent agreement not to talk about it and I appreciated it. I didn't want to talk about it. I just wanted to forget. Even the nurses in the hospital seemed to talk about me and the teachers had the brilliant idea to hire a part-time school psychologist and handing out flyers about depression and suicide prevention. I just wanted to crawl into a hole and die. I must have been a real bitch in my former life to deserve this.

I waited for almost two months until I dared to go out again for doing other stuff like grocery shopping or having a walk.

I noticed then that Charlie didn't bring his revolver back home in the evening anymore, but left it at work. Billy kept Charlie's rifle at his place, locked up securely. And after over twenty years Charlie suddenly started shaving with an electrical device, stating it was more practical and faster in the mornings. I felt horrible for the inconvenience I caused.

*****

I shook my head again and took a quick shower. Then I shuffled back to my room and pulled on a black shirt and an old pair of black sweatpants. They were too loose on me, which surprised me a bit. I had brought them with me the last time I visited and they had been sitting fine then. So I was still losing weight.

I sighed. I didn't like how I looked. I knew you could count the ribs on my back. I was always very careful not to walk around in a towel or a short-sleeved shirt in front of Charlie.

I made my way downstairs and frowned at the sight in front of me.

There he was, an apron tied around his naked waist, making pancakes.

"I didn't know you still have nightmares."

I grunted something incomprehensible, making my way to the table.

"And I forgot you're absolutely no morning person."

I plopped myself in a chair and massaged my temple. "Lost your clothes again?" I grumbled.

"Shit happens", he mumbled, flipping the pancakes. "Bad hangover?"

"Just a headache", I mumbled. "I feel weird, tough. I think my drink was spiked."

"What?" he barked, turning from the stove.

"I think he spiked my drink", I repeated, still rubbing my temples.

"Good thing I broke his nose", he chuckled, turning back to his pancakes.

"You what?" I shook my head. "Please tell me you didn't get yourself in trouble."

"Bells, I didn't get myself in trouble. It's you who-"

"Yeah, I get it", I waved him off, "danger magnet and all."

"No, Bella", he placed a plate full of pancakes on the table, looking angry. "This has nothing to do with attracting bad luck or being a danger magnet. What you did was absolutely stupid."

"I was just having a drink", I defended myself. I waited for him to yell something about being stupid accepting a drink from a stranger, but he didn't.

"Eat."

"I'm not feeling so well."

"Eat", he pointed to the pancakes, his glare menacing. Two could play this game.

We stared at each other for two minutes until I gave up, grabbed a fork and loaded my plate with one of the pancakes. Jacob took five for himself and shoveled them into his mouth within three minutes. Then he took the remaining pancake and dropped it on my plate.

"I'm full", I protested, still finishing my first one.

"You're just skin and bones, Bells", Jake insisted. "You don't look healthy at all."

"Yeah, I know I look like crap."

"I didn't say that", he frowned. "And you know I didn't mean it like that. You just don't eat enough."

"I know", I sighed. I didn't want to fight again. I was too tired and worn out for this. "You look good, though", I noticed. "You look… older, somehow."

"Yeah", he tapped his fingers on the table. "We all do."

What? My hand lost its grip on the fork, which clanked onto my plate loudly. "What happened? Did you…?"

"Paul stopped phasing a few months ago."

"And the others?" And you?

"We're still phasing. It's just… different. It's like… our power is getting weaker, you know? Like… it's more different to hear each other's thoughts, especially over long distances. And it's more difficult to phase. You really need to concentrate. Kind of like in the beginning when it all started."

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know", he shrugged. "At first, it was only Paul. The elders assumed he was sick or emotionally troubled or just really unhappy or something. But then, we all started having difficulties and started changing slightly, getting older over time. The legends say it will stop when it's not needed anymore. So it would make sense. We didn't come across a vampire for over two years, after all."

I cringed slightly when I thought about the last time they had come across a vampire.

"We always assumed that it will just stop. But maybe we just… grow out of it. So we get used to it and can adapt easier being normal again or some shit."

"It makes sense", I nodded.

"Yeah, it does. Or at least it did until yesterday."

I stared at him. "Seth", I guessed.

"Seth", he nodded. "He phased yesterday. Which doesn't make sense at all. There is no rule that there is a fix number of werewolves or that one can replace another one. It makes no sense that Seth would start phasing while we're losing it one by one. And why would he start now? I never heard of late blooming werewolves", he chuckled. "And it's not like he came across a vampire lately."

Oh. Crap.

Reviews are better than Bella feeling guilty about Seth phasing.

Coming up next: Some Bella, some Emmett, and… I don't know yet. We haven't heard of Edward lately…