A/N I don't own Twilight. I would have done it differently (but then again it would not have been suitable for children, cough).
Hello verybody. Thank you SO much for all the wonderful, wonderful reviews! Thank you too for being patient with me, I cannot tell you how much that means to me. Thank you for wishing me luck with my RL - as is, nothing has changed. I still have a job, sort of ;)
Special thanks to my lovely beta Sherryola and my prereader Deb. Thanks too to the twitterati nanas_mommy_, brittl76 and steph6446 for their unconditional encouragement.
Mood music: Sia - I'm in here.
This chapter was cathartic to write. Let me know what you think!
I don't eat the sandwich, of course. I do sit down with him at the table finally and when I do so, the biggest smile I have ever seen appears on his face.
If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was smug.
He doesn't speak much as he eats and I pick at my food, and I find I enjoy the silence immensely. No questions, no consequences, no deliberations for once. Just sitting down.
I didn't even know this could exist. I'm careful though. My body is tense as I watch and wait, my hands fidgeting in my lap under the table. There's always a catch, even though there doesn't seem to be anticipation in the air right now.
Edward is eating, quietly, calmly. He doesn't look like he's brooding. He's not shooting me warning glances.
He's just here.
When he is done eating, he sits back. "Nothing better than sleeping with a full stomach," he says, patting his belly contentedly. "Don't you agree?"
Caught off guard by his question, I wouldn't know what to answer.
"I'm sorry," he says, smiling kindly, "I know questions make you nervous. Yet I can't seem to stop asking you things. I guess I just want to know you."
I'm incredulous and I'm sure this shows on my face. I'm not worth to know. Honestly, haven't they figured that out by now? They all keep going on and on about wanting to know me. They are either exceptionally stubborn or exceptionally slow. And either way, they are wrong.
"You're so strong," he says so softly it's almost a whisper. "We can't even guess what you're been through and yet you're here, with us, holding your own."
I swallow thickly at his words. They sound so wonderful. He's wrong, though. Nothing strong in going through your life on autopilot. Nothing strong about doing everything wrong just by breathing. And certainly nothing strong about not being able to fight back, because it's all your fault. Always.
Looking down at my plate with the sandwich that smells like it fell out of heaven, I frown and sigh.
"Hey, Bella?" Edward asks and I look up at him, surprised at the sudden change in his tone. "I dare you to take a bite out of that sandwich."
He's grinning and there is a spark in his eyes.
"In fact, I double dare you."
Stunned and unmoving, I keep looking at him.
"Of course I wouldn't know what to wager, as I don't know what you would like to win, but I think you can eat something. Go ahead and try. I won't look if that makes it easier for you?"
What is he getting at? Annoyance washes over me and I sit back, crossing my arms and frowning. I don't eat with others present. I thought this was very clear and it is my only condition.
"Don't be mad," he says softly, surprised by my defiance maybe. And it only now occurs to me that I have indeed defied him and he's not angry.
I'm shocked at my own behavior. Stupid girl, no wonder you trigger a beating so easily.
"I just would like to see you try it. I know you ate ice cream with mom and we had that milk together. It's a good sandwich," he adds lightly. "Believe me, I know."
Scowling, I look from him to the sandwich that not only smells like it fell out of heaven, it looks like it did, too.
"I won't take it away, and I won't bother you while you eat. Try it," he coaxes. "Just that tiny slice of cucumber there. It's calling your name. Can you hear it?"
Two things flit into my thoughts simultaneously. The first is that he is being funny and that he looks like Emmett in his behavior. The second is that he is not manipulating, but trying to persuade me. He's leaving me the chance to opt out if I want to.
This is… new.
"Bella, eat me," Edward calls softly in a silly voice, impersonating said cucumber slice. My eyes fly back to him, incredulous but amused. His silliness is making me laugh.
He cocks his head for a moment, waiting for a reaction I'm not providing. Finally, he shrugs. "Okay, suit yourself," he concedes, smiling. He doesn't sound disappointed or angry. "You're missing out though. It's good food and I know you are hungry."
He gets up, taking his plate with him. The moment his back is to me, I pick up the cucumber slice and put it in my mouth. My eyes close briefly without volition.
It's a sodden cucumber slice for fuck's sake, but it's the best damn cucumber slice I have ever had in my entire life.
Edward keeps busy at the counter, taking more time than needed I'm sure. Following his movements with my eyes, I give in. I pull the plate towards me, cringing at the dragging sound it makes on the table, and take a tentative bite from the crispy sandwich.
Before me, Edward doesn't look around, but he pumps his fist in the air in silent victory.
I am pretty sure that could I see his face right now, it would be very smug indeed.
He manages to stay busy at the counter until I have eaten about half of the sandwich. I'm decidedly full and when I push the plate away, he finally turns around again, leaning against the counter.
"I'd like to say 'well done' but somehow I don't think that's appropriate. Was it good?"
I look at him, not blinking, afraid to admit that it was, indeed, good, even though my stomach is already protesting with the amount of content that it has been given to process.
"This is a victory of sorts," he says, ignoring my lack of reaction and smiling as he straightens up and walks towards me. Following him with my eyes, I have to look farther and farther up as he approaches. I sit rigid, not sure if I should try to get up and away or stay put and see what will happen.
I grip the seat of my chair for some support as my traitor heart starts to pick up speed. Why is he approaching me, what does he want?
"Just getting your plate," he smiles gently. "Are you done?"
When I nod he leans forward over the table to pull the plate away from me. I exhale as he turns away from me again, my shoulders sagging and my breath shaking with the tension that escapes.
Walking back to the kitchen, Edward looks to his left.
"Oh! I completely forgot. Something arrived for you today. That box over there," he points and nods into the direction of the living room.
My heart is in my throat immediately. What could possibly arrive for me here, what can be in that box?
"I think it's your stuff. It was from someone named Dwyer?"
Dwyer! That's Renée's last name!
Getting up, and seeing if Edward won't stop me as I do, I walk into the direction of the living room and find the box on the floor. Checking the address I can see it's from Renée indeed.
"Do you need help to open it?"
Startled, I look up at Edward, who is leaning against the wall near me. Again, I didn't hear him approach.
Jesus Christ. I step back to put in more space between us out of reflex, berating myself for doing so immediately after. Trying to run never helps. Ever.
"Come on, let's get it into the kitchen," he says, apparently oblivious, and I have to step back further as he comes forward, picking up the box with little effort and placing it on the kitchen table.
He goes to get a pair of scissors from a drawer and holds them out to me. I stand looking at him. I don't want to reach out like that.
After a moment, he places the scissors on the table before he steps back a bit again.
I hesitate.
"Don't you want to open it? This is supposed to be your stuff, right?"
Without looking up, I nod. I'm biting my lip as I contemplate.
"Then open it! Or would you rather do it in your room? I mean, it's your stuff, after all."
Finally I look at him. I don't know what to do. It's not the question of where to open the box. It's more that I am apprehensive of what I will find in there. I was finally getting to feel the distance between my time with Stefan and my time here. I don't know if I can face my old life.
"Open it," Edward repeats softly. "You must want to know what's in there. Hell, I would want to know what's in there."
Biting my lip, I decide to just do it. It doesn't really matter if Edward is around or not. I've no connection with the stuff in this box, anyway. I'm not scared he'll take it away or mock me with it. I'm just scared of the memories that box holds for me.
Well, best to get it over with then. Picking up the scissors, I cut through the tape and tear off the letter that's on top of the box first. Opening the envelope with shaking hands, Edward steps back.
"I'll let you read," he says softly and he disappears into the living room.
I have to hold the letter against the box to still my trembling hands.
Swallowing hard, I read.
Dear Bella,
How are you doing? I haven't heard from you since I saw you last at the airport and I want to know how you are. Did you receive my emails? I hope you are well. Carlisle told me you caught the flu. He thinks it's a reaction to the exhaustion and malnourishment and I agree with him. I don't have to be a doctor to see that you were running low on reserves.
I hope you are better now and that you are starting to see that the Cullen family is genuinely nice. Please tell me your thoughts on them when you feel you can email me. I'm curious what you think of them!
Underneath this letter you will find the box with your stuff Stefan has sent to me. Don't worry, he does not know your address and he never will. You will never have to go back to him, Bella. And the Cullens will never send you away. You have done nothing wrong and you deserve to stay in a good home.
Don't shake your head at me now, because deep down I know you know I am right.
I have not opened the box Stefan sent. The contents are yours and yours alone, and it was not my place to check them. I hope you can use them still, but I am sure Esme will understand perfectly if you want nothing to do with the things from your old life.
You've been given a new start, Bella. I hope you will soon realize this.
I miss you.
Love,
Renée.
Tears are flowing freely now and I can't prevent a sniffle to prevent my nose from dripping. I wipe my face with the sleeve of my sweater and press my lips into a line, holding my breath and willing the tears to go away.
"You okay?" Edward asks softly from the entrance to the kitchen.
I look at him briefly, startled, again, before I look down again and wipe my face once more.
"Are those good tears or bad tears?" he asks tentatively. "I mean, are you upset by the letter?"
I shake my head, not willing to talk about this but unable to ignore him. He's going through so much effort. Even I realize this.
"Good tears then?"
Nodding now, he steps closer slowly. "Do you want to open the box?"
Shrugging, I pick up the knife and rip through the tape. Edward is on the other side of the table, a safe distance away. I am beyond caring if he sees what's in that box right now. There can be nothing of any value in it, anyway.
Finally opening the box, I look inside. My breath halts instantly and my heart explodes out of my chest with shock. Folding the carton back closed, slowly but determinedly, I step away from it, as if the contents could hurt me.
"Bella?" Edward asks, alarmed.
I could have known this. Sucking in air between my teeth in annoyance, I berate myself for not expecting this.
Stupid, stupid girl. What were you thinking? Of course something like this would happen. Of course I would get kicked in the back after all that happened. Of course he would not give in that easily. Of course. And I have myself to thank for this.
Fuck.
"Bella?" Edward asks again.
I stand, unmoving, scowling at the box and willing it to disappear from this table, from my life.
Well, at least the message is clear. I shouldn't have opened it.
"I am looking inside the box now," Edward announces as he closes the distance between himself and the table. Gingerly, he folds open the carton and peers inside.
"Oh, Jesus," he breathes. "Oh, my God." Looking deeper inside the box, he reaches to pick something out and hold it in the light.
No! Panicked, I step towards him and reach out to pull the fabric he is holding from his hands.
No need to see this. No need to look at it. Put it away.
He doesn't let go.
Desperation and fear washes over me as we both hold a ragged piece of cloth that may or may not have been a sweater. Bright white spots all over it betray where the bleach has hit the fabric.
"Bella," he breathes, still not letting go but trying catching my gaze now.
All that registers with me is the frantic need to not have him see this humiliation. I clutch the fabric, desperate to get it from his hands and to put it back safely in the box, unseen.
His hands move and suddenly they're over mine.
My breath halts with a gasp and I freeze immediately, my mouth still open slightly as I stare at where he touches me.
It feels warm.
"Look at me."
It takes some effort to tear my gaze away from our hands and to meet his eyes. I can only detect worry there and… compassion? Gah, I can't think like this!
"This is… Oh my God Bella, I am so sorry for you."
Still looking at his face, I am acutely aware of every inch of skin where his hands cover mine.
"Breathe," he whispers, and as he lets my hands go, breaking the contact, I inhale, gulping in much needed air.
I'm nauseous.
Dropping the ruined sweater back into the box, I hope he will let it go now. Just let me hide the box and nobody needs to know this has ever happened. I wish there was a way I could make this clear to him.
But he is not done and he starts rummaging through the contents, mumbling, "maybe not all is ruined," but he doesn't sound very hopeful.
I stand looking, frozen and feeling utterly powerless. I don't want him to see this, see my humiliation. Yet I don't know how to stop him. I am afraid to stand in his way. But this…
Fuck. I will my tears back. Don't cry now. Don't make it worse.
Stefan has shredded my clothes and if that wasn't bad enough, he has poured bleach over it to make sure they were ruined beyond repair.
I watch, helpless, as Edward looks through my stuff. I don't mind him seeing what used to be mine. I mind him seeing what Stefan did to it. I mind him seeing me getting what I obviously deserve for what I did.
"Hey, what's this?" he asks, as he grabs hold of something to pull it out. "A belt?" Confounded, he looks at the rolled up strip of leather.
Oh no. Oh no, no no.
My breath leaves my body as every hair stands on end.
"This is not a woman's belt," he mutters, turning the brown leather over in his hands. "Why would he send this?"
My stomach clenches and bile rises in my throat.
When Edward looks at me, his eyes wide in question, holding the belt up as if to ask me what he should to with it, my stomach turns for real and I have to run, fast, to the downstairs bathroom where my body gets rid of the sandwich that I have eaten only minutes before.
It takes me some time to calm down again afterwards, and to suck up the courage to leave the bathroom and face Edward. And the belt.
That belt.
Taking a deep breath, I step into the hallway and immediately hear voices in the kitchen.
Ah, fuck. Who else is awake?
Listening in for a moment, I can hear Carlisle and Esme. Did Edward wake them up?
Oh my God, will they be angry?
I halt. I need to see how the lands lay before I go back in.
"I feel so sorry for telling her to open it," Edward says. "But when she saw the belt she just ran off to vomit. I…"
"I'm sorry son," Carlisle says.
"It's just… She was so scared suddenly. What could I possibly do with a belt?"
The silence that follows is tangible.
"Oh sweet Jesus. This cannot be happening."
"You couldn't know." Esme. "Don't berate yourself over this. You were only trying to help."
"And here I was, being so proud I got her to eat something," Edward says desolately.
"You made her eat?" Carlisle asks, and the surprise is obvious, but genuine.
"Yeah," Edward says, sounding falsely off-handedly. "Although I think she wouldn't want you to make a big deal out of it."
"It's still quite the achievement, son. She must start to feel more comfortable around you."
Just as I start to walk again, a disapproving sound from the kitchen alarms me and I halt in my tracks, apprehension gripping me.
"This is horrible," Esme mutters. "Look at this. How could he do this?"
A silence falls and all I can hear is my own heavy heartbeat.
"She deserves so much better than this," Esme mutters. "He has ruined her almost beyond repair already and now he kicks her in the back. It's a good thing I don't know where he lives. I want to kill that man for doing this to her."
Esme's words rattle me. I'm afraid to believe she means what she is saying right now. But it seems to me that she's blaming Stefan for this.
"Her foster father?" Edward asks softly, and another heavy silence falls.
"Yes, Edward," Carlisle says quietly. "Her foster father."
"This… He… What… Dad?"
"Yes, son," Carlisle admits.
"But…And that belt?"
Some shuffling, some rubbing sounds.
"Shit."
"We know," Esme says comfortingly. "Ssh."
I wait for a moment, not wanting to interrupt this and not allowing myself to think that what is going on in that kitchen actually has to do with me.
"I can't believe what she must have been through," Edward says so softly I can barely hear it. "I mean… There's just so much good in her, and here she is, afraid to breathe."
"We know. That's why we let her come here. All she needs right now is a warm and welcome home. The rest will follow."
"I didn't know."
"We didn't either, son. Not that it changes our point of view on her stay here, but we never knew."
I have to swallow hard to hear them talking about me like this. Not a vile word, not one nasty thing. They're nothing less than kind and gentle. I'd expected them to at least be honest behind my back, so either they know I may be listening in, or they are speaking the truth.
Huh.
The one solidly rotten thing about this however, is that Edward now knows about my past. The delicate bond we have build — if I can call it a bond, no best not call it a bond — will now surely stop.
Deciding to put an end to all of it, I round the corner and make myself known in the kitchen.
"Oh honey," Esme breathes, turning to me. "I am so sorry for this. Are you okay?"
What a silly thing to ask. Edward, standing behind Carlisle, looks uncomfortable. See? He'll want nothing to do with me now anymore. Carlisle just looks at me with a look of concern etched on his face.
I stare down again, fidgeting, not knowing what to do or what they expect of me now.
"Do you want to go through the clothes to see if anything can be salvaged?" Esme asks softly.
I shake my head, no. I don't like that they all have seen the ugly truth in that box and I fidget, uncomfortable.
It's obvious. Stefan always told me I ruined him. I guess that by leaving, I did. And now he gets back to me the only way he still could.
And he sent the belt along. Just to be helpful for the Cullens. Just to make clear that he expects my life here won't be too different from what I knew with him.
A wave of nausea washes over me again and my empty stomach contracts so fiercely it hurts. I hold my breath and wait for it to pass.
Carlisle disengages himself from the tiny group at the table and walks towards the kitchen counter, not speaking. I follow him with my eyes, waiting to see what will happen. The atmosphere is decidedly tense, yet I do not sense any danger.
Pulling something out of a drawer, Carlisle walks back to the table. His face looks grim, which alarms me. When he picks up the belt, I take a step back, heart once more picking up speed and eyes going wide. I bring my hands up in front of me in a half-defending, half-apologizing gesture, waiting.
Without a word still, his lips pressed into a tight line, Carlisle unfolds the belt and cuts it in half. It's tough work through the broad strap of leather, but he's succeeding. The two smaller parts undergo the same faith and finally he cuts off the metal clasp. The leather belt that has caused me so much grief, no longer exists.
This belt at least will not be used on me anymore and the relief I feel about this is palpable. Fighting my evil mind, who is in a hissy fit right now, I do not fail to see the ritual in Carlisle demolishing this belt.
When he is done, he leans on the table for a moment, before his face relaxes and he looks up at me.
"Come on, let's get rid of this."
Stepping back, he beckons me to come forward and pick the pieces of the table. The belt feels heavy in my hands, the leather feels like tiny needles against my skin. Taking a shaky breath, I look at the pieces of what once could hurt me so much.
"No more," Carlisle says softly, but almost authoritatively. "That's over and done with. No more."
Looking up at this man, I can see hurt in his eyes. There is nothing threatening about his demeanor at all as he talks to me.
Stepping ahead of me, he holds out his arm in a gesture to follow me. "Esme, if you would join us," he says softly, and Esme moves immediately, preceding me out of the kitchen, out of the house, towards the small dumpster they have under the porch.
None of us are wearing coats, but I barely feel the cold.
Carlisle opens the dumpster for me and holds out his hand. "Go ahead," he says invitingly.
Gingerly, I step forward, for once not entirely alarmed by his close proximity, and I drop the belt in the bin.
"Good riddance to bad rubbish," Esme says. "This is your new life, Bella, and it doesn't contain any violence. Let this be the sign to start it for real."
~O~
I think I have a ton to think about.
But most importantly, I think I am starting to believe that nobody is going to hurt me here. Because had they want to do so, they would have done a long time ago. Also, Carlisle's words and him cutting up the belt have touched something in me.
I have been unguarded, sleeping, ill. I have acted out, defied, and asked for things I needed. I have been too weak to fight and even then nobody approached me.
Esme has been a kind and patient companion throughout and as my body gets stronger, my mind remembers more and more from the time I was sick. She's been by my side almost non-stop, keeping watch over me. Although I feel guilty about it, there is this strange tug in the pit of my stomach when I think of Esme's constant vigil.
I should do something back for her.
I know now it is Sunday morning. I have been delirious with fever for well over a day and a half, and the rest of the time I have either been slumbering or sleeping.
As I get better, my body is starting to make its needs known. These sensations are altogether new to me and I'm mostly annoyed by feeling hunger, thirst, headaches, back aches, even itches.
Esme brings me food in my room where I stay, as Carlisle as told me to keep resting. If I feel like it, I can come out later for an hour or so. No pressure. He just wants me to get better first and although I am itching to be up and about again, I no longer feel like the bed is on fire.
The cough drags on a bit and still I try to suppress it when others can hear me. Screaming when hallucinating is bad enough — I prefer to be quiet.
When we came back into the house yesterday night, after throwing out the belt (oh my God), Edward was still in the kitchen, a silent witness to all that had happened.
I didn't meet his eyes and it was clear he felt uncomfortable about it all. I have steeled myself and mentally stepped back from him. If he now decides he doesn't want anything to do with me anymore, I am prepared. If he now decides he wants to be mean to me, I am prepared for that, too.
He must be wondering what I have done to deserve this all. He's a curious guy.
Oh God, I hope he's not going to ask me about this.
It's a shame, though. Especially after last night, with the sandwich and his joking. My mind keeps replaying the silent fist pump he made, without looking around at me. He must have done that because I was eating his sandwich. He must have heard me sliding the plate towards me over the table, somehow registering that I was eating.
Did he really celebrate my own victory there?
Sighing, I try to come to terms with the fact that it will all be over now. He knows. He was upset when he learned it yesterday. That must be because he's disappointed, right?
This doesn't seem coherent however with what I heard Carlisle and Esme say. What did Esme say? That I had been ruined, almost beyond repair? That she wanted to kill 'that man' for doing this to me?
Why? What Stefan did to me I brought on to myself, surely?
Before I came here, nobody ever stood up for me. Yet here, it has happened numerous times in several weeks, by various people in this house.
Reaching to scratch the healing bruise on the inside of my left wrist, I think back to how Edward touched me. He didn't do it to hurt me, but to stop me from moving. His hands were gentle, covering mine, softly but surely. And warm on my skin.
Such an alien feeling and yet I didn't recoil. So confusing.
Would I want that again? I know it's normal, for normal people, to touch. Everyone in this house does it all the time. I know it doesn't always have to mean bad things, or pain. It's just something I have never experienced. Will never experience.
Could I ever want it, to be touched in normal ways, like normal people do? I've been hugged twice now, and Esme washed me when I had the fever, although that didn't feel nice at all. Edward's hands felt alien but he didn't hurt me. Nobody hurt me here. I don't want to think too much about this. It's too upsetting, too much to try and comprehend. It's all so new to me and I am confused. Moreover, if I think about it too much I might start wanting things and that's a dangerous, dangerous thing indeed.
My mind can't process it all anymore and I try to distract myself by turning on the TV and watching the news.
In the late afternoon, Alice knocks on my door. When I go to let her in, she looks up at me with a face-splitting smile, but I can see the insecurity in her eyes. What is wrong with her?
"Hey," she says, tentatively. "Can I come in?"
Stepping back, I let her into my room. She's holding three, maybe four bags full of stuff and I wonder why she would carry this into my room. Has she been shopping? Does she want to show me what she bought for herself?
Somehow that thought moves me. I don't really think she'd want to rub in my face what she got. I am starting to think that Alice can't be that type of girl at all. Maybe she just wants to share her enthusiasm with me. Oh, that would be nice of her.
"How are you?" she asks as she puts down the bags, looking around the room. "Better?"
I nod. I feel better. I have showered and combed my hair and I feel… lighter.
"Good," Alice smiles, and there is genuine happiness in her eyes. Her gaze wanders around the bedroom again. "You should have some furniture in here," she muses. "A couch, or maybe a rocking chair? Would you like that? We've one extra in the library and nobody ever uses it. Would you like to have it here?"
Stunned by her question, I don't dare to admit I would dearly love to have a rocking chair I could curl up in. Maybe even read some in. Oh I like the thought of that, indeed.
"I'll ask mom and dad of course, but if they are okay with that, you could have some more furniture here. Make the room more your own, you know?"
Hmm, didn't Esme say something like that too, about an eternity ago?
"Anyway, want to sit down? I've got something for you," Alice says. She takes the chair by the bed and pats the mattress invitingly, urging me to sit down and look at what she got. For me.
For me?
"All right," Alice says, taking on an air of business as she places the first bag between her feet and rummages through it. "Bare necessities."
She starts to get out things and holds them up to show them to me.
"Notebooks and pens, for your schoolwork or any other writing you'd want to do. Do you keep a diary?" she asks incoherently, and I shake my head, no. I still haven't opened the notebook Renée gave me when I moved here.
Other items appear from the bags and are held up to me. Alice has thought of the most random things. A USB stick. Strawberry scented shampoo (honestly). Body lotion. Socks, both neutral black and with funny prints. Bed slippers. A robe and a pair of pyjamas. Some basic tops she 'hopes are my size'. The fiercely apologetic look she wears on her face when she says this confirms that she has seen the box with my ruined clothes, too.
Fuck.
I stop to register what more she has bought as panic washes over me — I will never be able to pay them back for this.
Seeing my concern, Alice frowns, but not in disapproval I think. "Just so you know, mom gave me money to buy this for you, and apart from the fact that you need this stuff, they are gifts. You don't have to give anything back, Bella, that's the essence of a gift."
I'm not comfortable with this. Not at all.
"I hope I'm not barging through your boundaries too much," Alice says suddenly, apologetically. "I bought some blue things, because I know you like that color, but I realize I have made a lot of decisions for you by buying all this stuff. But you needed it, and I didn't think you were going toe be able to go out shopping anytime soon…"
She trails off, discouraged by my lack of reaction, maybe. But she's getting me wrong completely here. When she looks up, again I see that insecurity in her eyes. I'm just panicked over how I am ever going to pay back for all this.
"I didn't mean to upset you. I guess I thought I could make you happy with this."
Oh no. I know I should be grateful and here I am, fucking this up, too. Shit!
Alice swallows. "Jasper warned me it would be too much. I'll leave you now. I'm sorry, Bella. You can keep this all, it's yours now. Do with it what you want. I hope you're not mad at me for doing this. I should have waited until I was sure what you wanted."
I don't know how to fix this. I don't know what to do.
"I'm sorry," she repeats. She stands up and leaves the room, and I feel so bad, so bad about myself right now.
I look at the heap of stuff piled on my bed before me and finger the things she has brought me. She really has thought of everything, even if I wouldn't call all she bought a 'bare necessity'.
Face wash, with cotton pads to use it with. Lip gloss. Hair ties. A decent brush. A nail file. Notebooks in different sizes, with pens and pencils. A week-to-week diary. The socks and tops. No underwear, fortunately — I wouldn't have been able to bear that mortification. The robe, thick and fluffy. The bed slippers. Razors. It's all there, and it was a gift for me.
I didn't even acknowledge it.
I am such an ungrateful bitch. Maybe Stefan was right after all. I don't deserve to be here. I can't even react properly.
Stepping off the bed so I can pace my frustration away, my foot hits something. It's a fourth bag with things. Wary, I pick it up and peer inside.
My heart skips a beat when I take in the contents; tampons and sanitary towels. Swallowing thickly, I count back the days in my head. I have not taken my pill in ages.
And my period has not yet started.
Oh no, no, no, no.
This can't be happening. Oh help no. Stepping away from the bad I start to pace, albeit for a different reason this time.
Think, Bella, think! Gripping my hair, I try to focus. They gave me something at the hospital, now a month ago. Until I got sick, I have been very careful with taking my pill. Before that, I was rigidly on time, always.
Maybe it's just stress. Yes. Periods can be late due to stress. I'm underfed and I've been sick. And I've been under stress.
God knows I've been under stress.
In four long strides, I am at the laptop and boot it up. If it's stress, then I need distraction. But first I need to know for sure if it really can be stress-induced. I open Google and search.
No breaks for Bella... But at least that belt is gone.
Next update around the first weekend of April. I am off to Paris next weekend so I won't be able to write :)