"Here she is," he coos, holding her towards me. "Say hi angel, say hi mommy!"
I smile at her, wanting to hold out my hands in silent request. He places her in my arms of his own accord, not looking away from her.
She is a beautiful baby, truly. I know I am biased, as her mother. I expected babies to be a bit strange looking, and cute, but not necessarily beautiful. I do not recall ever holding a baby before my daughter.
A little doll, born with eyelashes and a quiet disposition. She latches well and easily, thank God, since I naively assumed all babies do. Mrs. Cope and Esme have both said she is an incredibly easy baby. Her brother is as well.
I want her to always stay this small… but I am also so thrilled by the prospect of her long and promising future.
"Bunny…" Edward sighs, his lips in a bit of a pout. "I need to go to the meeting soon. The support group." He adds the last bit quickly, strangely, since I know what he means.
I nod, shifting Kit to free my breast and feed her.
He pouts a bit longer. "I want to stay here, with you two, forever."
I smile, but quickly frown. "It is very important to go, Edward. I want to hear if there is any news on the missing children, or little Mack…" I trail off, not wanting to seem to demanding.
He kicks his heel on the edge of the bed, looking for all the world a petulant little boy.
"I don't want to go."
"Stephanie says—"
Quickly, and without much warning, he lurches forward and grasps my jaw under my ear. He pulls our faces to meet, catching my surprised lips and forcing them open. My eyes are still wide and shocked.
Kit is between us, I do not want this. My nipple slips from her mouth and I can feel her moving… Edward is kissing me almost angrily, I want him away!
I free a hand and shove him off. He cannot use me as a pacifier, a stress reliever!
He pulls back, wounded and breathing hard. His eyes come to mine in a questioning look, but I see anger, rejection, sorrow, and fear. The anger panics me.
I wet the bed, holding my daughter, who continues to nurse. I begin to cry.
Edward extends a hand once more, and I flinch away from it. He looks down at his own open palm, splayed fingers, and looks horrified. He casts his eyes down and leaves the room, striding quickly, in an effort to get away from my crazy, I am sure.
I bite my lip, shifting uncomfortably in the wet space. I am not sure what to do.
My brain tells me that Edward was looking for reassurance, which I owed him as his ridiculously spoiled houseguest and charge. He has been caring for me to little reward. He tried to be sweet to me, someone who owes him so much, and I rejected his compliment. I then soiled my sheets and caused more work for everyone in the house. If I am here, I need to be here for Edward.
But it also tells me, no, screw that. As hard as it is to think this naughty language, it rises unbidden. It tells me that Edward cannot kiss me if I do not want to be kissed, especially since the reason I do not want to is our daughter between us. It tells me I was right to shove him away, though I ought to work on my fear responses. I have not done this since the hospital.
Another thought: I could be punished for this, and it would be with clear and unequivocal reason. Esme could punish me for the disrespect for her house. I am not sure if Mrs. Cope ranks above me or not, since I have been bizarrely elevated as a houseguest, but she could punish me with all sorts of treachery. Carlisle could punish me as the man of the household… Edward.
As sweet as it would be to imagine that Edward and I are in love, and he will not harm me, that is not true. Edward has taken part in my punishment from the first moment I knew him.
Punishment, too, is a part of the love of men. My father, who ought to have loved me most in the world, expressed that quite clearly.
If I am a bad houseguest, I could be very easily returned to Charlie.
Somewhere, deep down, I know this is all irrational. But the voice of reason grows quieter as the silence grows since Edward has left. As the wet seeps into the material.
Before I know it, Kit is returned to the nursery and I am stripping the bed. I want to change from my clothes, but it is not the proper day for the next set. I am at a loss as to what I should do.
Once the bed has been stripped, save the unaffected pillows, I stand before my dresser. It is a lovely piece of furniture, though imposing. It is mostly empty since Esme changed over my wardrobe again. I twitch my fingers out towards the correct handle, and I draw them back in again. They dig into my palm.
After some time (an eternity? A breath?), I feel even more wet and look down. My bright blood oozing out from my clenched fist, landing on the flooring of this gorgeous home. This house where I have been ungrateful at every turn.
I blink and I am in the corner of the room, behind the floor mirror.
"Bella, please come out." His nails are so unevenly cut. His fingers implore me. I hate his fingers for a moment, and then hate myself for hating him.
All he wanted… all he needed was a kiss. Why am I changing in this way? Why do I imagine I have any right to contradict him?
Because you do.
I am crying hard, I notice. It does not feel quite like me, but is exactly in line with my usual behavior, so I do not doubt it for a moment.
He is crying too. Softly. I wonder if all men cry.
I never, ever once saw my father cry. Or any other man. But Edward cries.
He went through what you went through.
I forget this sometimes, now that we are in this foreign and strange outside world. Where everything is topsy-turvy and Edward cannot correct me. Where there are no rules anymore.
"Bella, Bella…" he sobs. "Please, sweetheart." His sob is like the throaty exhale of an animal. He lies down on his belly, extending his hand further. I resist the urge to leap back away from it.
"I think you had a panic attack, sweet girl." Maybe. I did experience panic.
"You haven't done that in so long…" he sighs, and I hear him sag. His poor lonely hand. Someone (not me) moves my arm down and causes my hand to clasp his fingers in mine. My hand is so small… I clutch onto his index and middle finger, like our sweet son is wont to do.
His relief is palpable. My breathing begins to slow. I feel myself, as she steps cautiously back into myself.
He has stuck his other hand under the mirror and is tracing my disgusting thin wrist, stroking the skin like he is soothing a spooked horse. He is, I suppose. I did not notice how hard I was shaking until he touched me.
"We both need to see someone, bad." He mumbles it to himself, and I think to myself that I do not want to see anyone ever again.
"I fucked up."
My skin heats. I hate swear words. I stay silent. He clutches my hand and arm harder with both of his.
"I just need you, bunny. I need you as much as you need me. Maybe more."
I know he does. I wish, for the thousandth time, that I could speak to him easily and have him know my thoughts, rather than me conducting this inner monologue.
"I need you so, so much." My response surprises him, but surprises me more. I shudder another breath in. In and out. Speak to him. Let him know you. "I just… things are so hard here, for me."
It's so much easier to talk to him with this mirror between us. I stare at the antiqued paper backing, crisped with age. "Please don't…" I sigh, wanting to throw up but resisting the urge to react in fear again. "Please don't kiss me with Kit between us. I am so afraid I will crush her… I couldn't… if we ever hurt her…"
I trail off, wondering at how I feel with those words hanging in the air between us. He clears his throat. "I hear you, baby girl."
He does not explain himself, or justify. He only hears me. He does not reject what I said. Or even comment on it one way or another. He just hears me. This is alarmingly vague and comfortingly without a response of anger.
I crawl out from behind the mirror, slinking with regret to his side. He turns his head, cheek pressed flat to the floor. His eyes are puffed from crying.
I shrug out of my shirt and pants. I don't know what to wear, but I cannot bear them any longer. The stronger part of me says that I don't have to.
I lie down beside him, worming as close to him as possible. I want to draw strength from his skin, the way I used to. He turns over and clutches me to him, smothering me with his massive form. I marvel for the thousandth time at how thick and well muscled he is. My strong man, who will not hurt me. Not if I can learn to speak with him.
"My father… my father used to kiss me, sometimes.
He would hit me, and kiss the place. He would burn me, and kiss that place. He would cut me, and kiss me there.
When I got older, he kissed me still. His kiss felt like a promise of more to come- more hurt, and more kisses." I shake harder, and Edward clutches me even tighter, like if he holds on tight enough he can keep me still.
"He… he would kiss me, um…" I sob, incapable of the words. Edward is trembling himself now, his body locked and tight. He is holding me so tight it feels like my bones are grinding together.
"He will never fucking touch you again."
His voice is the lowest growl. A snarl. It makes me shiver, but not out of fear. This Edward sounds like he could kill someone. I wonder if he has. The naughty, strong, insolent part of me wishes he would kill again. Everyone who has ever hurt me. What a terrible, terrible thought.
I nod. "I know."
"Seriously. I don't think I could even handle seeing him. I want to destroy him, Bella, and you haven't even told me half of what he did to you."
"I worry that you think I don't trust you, since I don't tell you this stuff…"
"No, I don't think that at all. I know how hard it is to talk about." He gulps, thinking a bit. I wait him out, since I can feel him gathering thought.
I am rewarded for my patience. "I don't talk to you enough, either. Stephanie told me that too, in group."
"It's okay."
"Yeah," he sighs, blowing strands of my hair with the air from his nose. "Not really. But okay for now."
I turn to him, in his arms, looking up into his eyes. Such green eyes. "I feel like…" I look down again, unable to maintain eye contact. "I feel like everyone expects us to be able to heal so fast. And it almost makes it worse, that they wait for us to talk about what happened."
He nods fervently.
"I think that answering direct questions is so much easier. Like… with specific answers, and rules."
"Yes, you're big on rules, doll."
I glance up at him quickly, worried he is joking about my own bad behavior, tendencies to break rules. But his eyes are light and sweet. He is just joking to soothe. I smile tentatively.
He moves his hand over my skin, which is shivering now from chill rather than panic. He traces my ribs as delicately as any finger can move over edges so jagged. He frowns down at my body, where it lies between his own thick arms. I wonder what he sees.
I wiggle closer to him to hide from his inspection. My bruises make him angry. He never means to touch me roughly, but he grasps me for comfort, in contemplation, and without meaning to.
He begins to hum us a little something, something he hums to Kit and Cal sometimes. I like it.
I can hear his great big heart, pressed up against him this way. I hear it beat steadily on. I ignore my imagination, which shows me how strange we must look from the third party observer perspective. A little skeleton, clothed only in the barest skin, trying to make herself disappear inside the body of a large man.
A man who can lie on the ground, for her, if she needs him to, and hum her a little something when even whispered conversation seems much too loud.
AN: Hello dear hearts. As you saw this morning, I bucked up and finished ch24 (which I began in July). I returned from South Africa to a hectic summer in the States, and then an unbelievably busy fall semester. I am now, at long last, at rest. And I have come back to you (hopefully for a good long time of regular updating). In the event that I fail you and myself once more, I will burn out as many rapid fire updates as I can before my schedule picks back up. I will try my hardest to write once weekly through until April 2018 (with the exception of January, during which I will be in Peru with sporadic access to Internet). I would write them, stockpile, and release to you as needed/scheduled but I cannot bear to hold anything back. When it's done, it comes to you immediately! Take some comfort in that, at least.
Your constant faith in me, your lovely reviews... these keep me hoping for myself as well. I know so clearly where I want this story to go, it is simply a matter of making the time to get there.
A quick story recommendation: I just read Corrupting Influence by author-self-insert and it might have actually changed my life. I have never read anything so fantastic (fan fiction-wise) ever, and I mean it sincerely. I invite you all to take the time to experience that story ASAP. It is a highly intellectual story, full of rich culture references, and it will make you a better person for having read it. It really inspired me to try and reach new heights with my own work.
So, so much love to you. Two updates in one day! (short ones, but...) that's how much I love you. Be sweet and send me a note so I know I have not lost you all- is someone still listening?