A/N: Another update - yay! This one is shorter than usual, but I felt it was worthy of being a standalone chapter. I'm more nervous about this chapter than any of the others, so please let me know what you think!

Thanks to those that have stuck it out with me, and have reminded me of how much this story means to me. It feels good to be back at it.

*a gentle reminder that this story is rated M. Please take care when reading!*

Chapter 25 – Silence

The silence was thick and encompassing. I sat in the passenger seat of Carlisle's Mercedes, distinctly aware of how filthy I was, oddly preoccupied with thoughts of how dirty I would leave the beige seats, my mind desperate to find things to focus on that didn't include the events that had just transpired.

I watched the trees pass by in a blur of greenish shadow, wishing that I wasn't here, in this car, in this silence.

The silence was harder than anything else.

It was worse than the aching throb that was pulsating against the bruised bones of my face.

It was worse than the searing pain that was shooting across my shoulder and down my arm.

In the silence, I was left to contemplate everything.

I was left wondering.

I wanted to say his name, to call for him. But as I watched him from the corner of my vision, his eyes a pool of inky blackness, wild and unfocused, his hands gripping the steering wheel with an iron strength, I realized this wasn't the moment.

I realized he was lost, too.

He was lost in the silence as much as I was.

And so I sat quietly, watching the trees blur past us, admiring the dim glow of moonlight that illuminated them in the darkness of the night.

I listened to the sound of the rain beating against the windshield and the rhythmic movements of the wipers clearing away the drops as quickly as they fell.

I tried to push thoughts of Paul, and his body, from my mind.

The trees, the wind, the moonlight, the rain pattering against the window – these were what I held on to.

It felt like an eternity had passed. The silence did that, I think. It made time move slowly, inching along at an almost unbearable pace. I avoided looking at Edward, afraid of what I might find if my eyes met his.

When we pulled up to the Cullen's house it was clear that we were alone. Not a single light was on inside, leaving it eerily empty. The usual buzzing energy of his family was gone and all that was left was darkness and silence.

Edward helped me out of Carlisle's car, but I kept my eyes cast downwards. His hands held my waist as he guided me through the rain, up the stairs and inside the house. His hands never left my body, like they were stuck to me in an irreversible way.

The darkness was consuming, and I couldn't see my hand an inch from my own face. Edward seemed to realize this because a few seconds later I felt a tiny rush of wind, his arm waving past us as he flicked several switches on the wall behind us. He remained still, waiting, I figured, for me to decide where I wanted to go.

I moved instinctively, my body, not my mind, deciding where I needed to be. I climbed the stairs, one hand on the mahogany wood of the railing, holding against it to keep myself upright. Edward's hands never left my waist, supporting most of my weight the entire way upstairs.

My body moved, guided by memory and not conscious thought, towards Edward's bedroom. The room that had become my haven of recovery, my sanctuary.

The silence persisted.

Even as I made my way inside, standing in the middle of the room, my eyes searching the space, trying to decide why I was here, why my body brought me here. I scanned the room, noting that it was virtually unchanged.

A stack of clothing belonging to me was folded neatly on the dresser facing the windowed wall. A wastebasket sat empty and tucked away in the corner next to a desk that was overflowing with books. A bowl of unfinished soup sat on the end table next to the bed, exactly as I'd left it.

It was familiar.

But it was empty.

There were no signs of Edward here anymore, save for a few shirts that lay out on the bed. I'd pulled them from his closet, trying to find nearness to him. Trying to find a way to be close to him in the weeks we'd spent apart.

The room, which had been filled with him, was now devoid of him, even though he was standing inside of it.

I scanned again, finding him standing in the corner, his hands shoved into the pockets of his dark blue jeans, he was drenched from head to toe. His head was bowed and in the shadow of the corner it was impossible to make out the features of his flawless face.

It was empty.

And I couldn't stand here for a second longer.

The silence was filled with things that were unspoken and consuming. His mind, I was sure, was racing with images of what Paul had done to me. How could it not be? My own mind was fighting against the very same images. I fought against them everyday.

Edward's gift allowed him to experience every single moment of torture with perfect recall. And from the perspective of Paul. The memories would never fade. The would never dull. They would never change.

They would remain there. As clear 100 years from now as they were today. I could feel what it was doing to him. I could feel the pain and anger and anguish rolling off him in devastating waves. I could feel everything that wasn't being said in our uncomfortable silence.

And I couldn't take it.

I could still feel the heaviness of Paul's body weighting down my own, crushing me in place, trapping me against him and the rain-soaked earth. I could feel his hands on my body, overwhelming and bruising, leaving reminders of him for me to look back on in the weeks to come.

I could feel him everywhere.

It felt like a thick layer of grime covering every inch of my body, holding me in place, weighing me down, anchoring me to Paul.

And worse, Edward could smell it. He wouldn't say as much but I knew it to be true. I was sure he was repulsed enough be me, now that the memories of what Paul had done to me were sitting freshly inside of his perfect mind. I imagined the stench of wolf rolling off my body wasn't helping.

I made my way into the bathroom, shutting the door gently before I started undressing, a task which was nearly impossible given the near uselessness of my right arm. It was hanging limply at my side, pain radiating across the shoulder and down my arm.

I slid my pants off, but left my shirt as it was, realizing I couldn't get it off on my own.

Stepping into the shower, I listened for the sounds around me, the sound of movement, the sound of Edward. There was nothing but silence.

I pulled the knob of the faucet, turning it to the coldest possible setting.

And I stood under the stream, grateful for the sound of the water. Grateful for the cold.

Grateful for the gradual dulling of the world around me.

I felt his hands before I saw them. One was placed on top of mine, the other was holding on to the faucet, turning it away from the coldest setting.

"It's too cold," he explained, holding my hand up against his, his eyes pointing towards my fingertips which had a bluish hue to them.

"I'm fi-i-ine," I said against my chattering teeth.

"You're not," he insisted "your temperature has already dropped from being outside in the cold and the rain for so long. We need to warm you up." His voice was soft, barely there, an echo of a whisper ringing through my head.

"Please," he whispered, his voice still soft, but desperate now.

I sighed, leaning my body back against the icy cold tiles of the shower, surrendering because I had nothing left in me.

I nodded, my eyes finding the drain and holding there as I watched the muddy water flow down in an almost rhythmic way. The dirt washed away, off my body, off my skin, off my clothes. Spiraling downwards while I spiralled with it.

The water was heating up, beating against my skin in a painful way. It was too much. Too much a reminder of him and where I'd just been – trapped under his body, held there by his fire.

I couldn't stop the deluge of tears that were running down my face, or the sobs that broke through my lips.

I was desperate.

I had to hold the memories of him at bay because my body was too worn for this. I didn't think I could survive a second more. I couldn't survive if all I could feel was the feeling of him.

"Please," I begged, my voice straining against my sobs "stay".

I looked up now, finally finding his eyes for the first time since the clearing near Charlie's house. For the first time since he was on his knees, held in place by a group of hungry vampires, watching as Paul's body meshed with my own, attempting to claim me as his again.

Edward's hand was still wrapped in mine, and his eyes were pools of blackness and sorrow. His brow was furrowed and his face looked wild with grief and worry. His jaw was clenched, the corners of his lips tightly mashed together in a way that made him look like he was struggling to remain composed.

Burning.

Again.

I knew that feeling.

I was feeling it too.

Nothing could stave away the flames. Nothing could stop the burning that was rolling through our bodies.

I was struggling in the silence. I couldn't understand how to interpret it. Was he staying silent because he didn't want to answer me? Because the thought of being near me repulsed him? Or was he burning like I was? Struggling to keep his head above the flames of fire that were attempting to pull us into their depths.

Was he struggling to stay afloat amid the darkness of the memories that were now planting roots inside of his mind?

"Please," I begged again, ridding myself of my shame long enough to beg for his presence. His closeness was my only tool left for survival. Paul had invaded every safe space I'd ever known, and perhaps he'd invaded the only safe space I had left: Edward.

Maybe he'd effectively ripped us apart.

Or maybe not.

EPOV

"Please."

Our eyes met, and I could see where she was. She was reliving it all. She was caught in the moments of time that she fought so hard to move passed. His presence, his body, his violence had reawakened in her all the pain she'd struggled to contain.

"Help me," she whispered, her eyes avoiding mine while she fought against the wet fabric of her shirt.

Her shoulder was dislocated.

I'd watched him do it.

I watched him rip the arm from the socket and I could do nothing to stop him.

I couldn't protect her.

I hadn't then, and I didn't now.

That realization alone was enough to destroy me.

But I couldn't dwell. She needed me now, and I needed to move beyond wallowing, beyond the hideousness of my failure.

"Your arm, Bella."

"It hurts," she agreed.

"It's dislocated."

Her eyes tightened and her mouth pulled into a hard line. She nodded, understanding what it meant.

"It'll hurt," I explained.

"It's ok," she said gently "I've had worse."

My body tensed at her words. She was right. She had. Her eyes were solemn, aware and present.

This was helping, I realized. My presence, speaking to her, holding her in some capacity, it seemed to change her disposition. It made things more manageable.

I clasped a hand in hers, the other moving to her upper arm, steadying it. I moved her arm, assessing the dislocation of the bone from the joint, gaining awareness of the direction I would need to move it in to ensure it was relocated correctly.

"I'm sorry," I said softly, trying to find her eyes, but failing. She was staring down, shame apparent in every inch of her body, covering her like a weathered veil.

I pulled on her arm swiftly and she yelped in pain as the bone found its place back into the socket Paul had ripped it from. I swallowed back the venom that had been pooling in my mouth, fighting against the murderous rage that was coursing through me at the sight of Bella in such agony.

I had to remain focused. She needed me and I wouldn't fail her again today.

She was doubled over in pain, breathing in loud bursts, struggling to regain her breath.

I placed a single hand against her back and she arched into it and groaned.

She stood upright, her eyes finally finding mine, telegraphing her desperation and her pain. The need I found in her eyes was oppressive, overwhelming, consuming.

"Help me," she pleaded, using the hand of her uninjured arm to pull my body against hers. She began pulling at the fabric of her shirt, silently conveying to me what she needed help with. Some distant part of me warned that there was more to her pleas for help than what appeared on the surface. The help she was looking for was more than just this.

I battled momentarily with warring parts of myself. The part of me that felt this was invasive, indecent and inappropriate. The part that was still trapped in an archaic world, where seeing one in such an intimate way was strictly forbidden until marriage.

And the other part of me, the part that was more driven by my need to protect and care for Bella than the arbitrary rules of a long forgotten world, understood her needs.

I pulled at the fabric, tugging it over her head pulling her uninjured arm through and feeding it along the injured arm while aiming to disturb it as little as possible. She had no undergarments on – those had been torn off her by Paul.

She stood before me, completely bare.

Her eyes were locked on mine, her breathing ragged and her eyes teeming with a desperation I couldn't quite place. Her shoulders heaved with the force of her laboured breathing.

Her hand reached out and pulled on the soaking wet fabric of my shirt, pulling it up, trying to guide it over my head with the aide of her only functioning hand.

Where was this going? What were we doing?

Bella leaned forward, standing directly beneath the stream of water flowing from the showerhead, and pulled my body back against hers, our bare chests pressing together. She sighed, a sound of relief, and then pressed her lips against mine, gently.

Her lips moved against me, alone at first until I joined her, moving in tandem now. It was slow and gentle, my hands finding the smallness of her waist and wrapping around it. I was overcome quickly with my own desire, the agony and despair I had been feeling was quickly and easily transformed into something more powerful: lust.

I was stunned by it. By the force of it. By the inappropriateness of it. Part of me could feel it, that this didn't fit, that we should stop. But other parts of me felt like this was the only thing that was holding us together, the only thing that was helping us through these unbearable moments.

Before long our lips grew more desperate, more fervent. We were encouraged by the intensity of one another. Bella's lips were more permissive now, opening in some moments, moulding against mine in others.

My tongue darted out, swiping along the fullness of her bottom lip and in seconds I had pulled my body from hers, my back pressed against the tiles of the shower. The flames of thirst lapped at my throat, scorching me from the inside out. For a second, a fraction of a moment, the animal inside of me was thrown off course, thirsting only for her blood, distracted from all else.

I felt the venom pool in my mouth as I imagined my teeth slicing into the thin skin on the column of her neck, my lips pressing down around the open wound, lapping at the blood, sucking it into my mouth and allowing it to slide down my throat.

I was pulled quickly from the despicable, devious thoughts by the look on her face.

Her eyes were confused, hurt, desperate.

Her brows knit together in confusion, her question evident, even in her silence.

"Your blood," I grunted out, and realization dawned on her sorrowful features. Her fingers pressed against her lip, dragging across the small cut that was clotted and healing.

She looked dejected for a second, but then she stopped and stilled. She moved across the space between us, closing the gap, pressing against me once more.

Her lips met mine but I remained motionless.

They were moving against me, their softness pulling me in, tempting me, inviting me to replicate their tempo.

She pulled away, breathless and whispered "you won't hurt me."

I gazed at her longingly, overwhelmed by my desire and lust, my thirst fading to the background in the wake of the other, more powerful emotions.

"I can't, Bella. I can't hurt you," I groaned, agonized.

"You won't," she explained, her confidence evident. She didn't waver. Her lips found mine again and the soft skin of her upper body was pressing against me, setting me aflame in the intensity of her heat.

How could I be so careless?

How could she be so sure?

And then I understood, the realization hit me all at once.

I tasted her blood. Her blood had hit my lips and while the thirst had ignited, the painful, familiar burn scratching at my throat without mercy, the foremost thought in my mind hadn't been my thirst. It had been her. Her safety. My lust. My desire.

I moved my lips against hers again, gently, testing the waters. Testing myself.

Her lips parted, inviting me in, her intoxicating scent travelling up and around me, calling to me like the song of a siren. My tongue swiped again across her bottom lip and I tasted her blood, the flames bursting inside of me, lapping at my throat, thoughts of her blood swirling around in my mind, mixing in with the thoughts of her body, the softness of her skin, the scent of her and her arousal.

It all mixed together, a powerful cocktail of desire.

I pulled away from her, grabbing the white cotton washcloth off the wall of the shower, pushing it under the stream of water until it was soaked through. I placed it on her bottom lip, patting against the healing cut, wiping away the congealed blood that was sitting there without reopening the wound. I guided the cloth across her lips, down her chin and her chest, wiping away all the traces of her blood, leaving only her pale, inviting skin instead.

"I trust you," she cooed, reassuring me while her mouth pressed against my jaw, travelling down towards my neck where she left small kisses in her wake.

My hands travelled along her body, moving from her waist, one scooping around behind her back, resting just above her bottom, right in between the small dimples of her back. The other travelled upwards, towards the swell of her breasts where it stayed, pressed against the warm flesh, the pinkness of her nipple pressing against my palm.

She moaned softly when I moved my hand to her breast, cupping the flesh, easily covering it with the palm of my hand. She pressed against me, encouraging me further, arching her body against mine until the heat of her core was flush to me.

Her hand raked across my chest, travelling down my abdomen, catching in the musculature there, raking further downwards. She stopped when she met the button of my pants, her hand pulling at it, trying but failing to undo it.

I moved my hand from her breast and placed it atop hers, stilling her.

She looked up at me with pained eyes.

"I don't want to hurt you," I said again, my lips pressed against her ear.

She pulled away and looked at me, her eyes contemplative and serious.

"You won't," she encouraged.

"You don't know that, Bella. I'm barely holding it together as it is," I explained, pushing my hand through the tangles of her hair, letting it rest on the space where her heart was thumping wildly.

"I need you," she whispered, "he's all I can feel and I need to feel something else. I need you. Make me yours, Edward. Please."

All hope was lost at those words.

Mine. Hers.

The words echoed in my mind, twisting together with every other convoluted emotion I was warring against. Melting together with my desire, burgeoning against the uncontainable lust pulsing through me.

"I'm yours," I kissed her neck, my lips travelling along the bluish bruises beginning to form there, "and you are mine," I assured her, lapping at her skin with my tongue, savouring the taste of her flesh.

"Show me," she encouraged "take me, Edward. Please. I trust you… I love you."

I was powerless.

The war inside of me came to a halt.

My hands returned to the hidden corners of her body, my fingers finding the hardness of her nipple, gently rolling it between my thumb and forefinger while my other hand came to rest against the flesh of her bottom, gripping it tightly, pulling her closer against me.

She moaned and the sound pushed me further outside of my control.

I dipped my head down, my tongue and lips trailing across her neck, down to her chest until the flesh of her other breast was pulling across my face. I parted my lips, my tongue finding her nipple as I pulled it into my mouth.

Fire was burning inside of me.

Everything else fell to the wayside. I couldn't recall Paul or the images he'd permanently implanted into my mind. I couldn't see anything beyond this moment. Beyond Bella. Beyond the softness of her flesh or the pinkness of her nipples. Or the way her mouth fell open as a soft moan rolled out of her.

I found her thighs and pulled them up and around my hips, resting them there, my mouth never leaving her breast. I moved back until she was pressed against the wall, her back against the tiles with my body holding her in place.

My hand travelled downwards, my mouth on hers again while my fingers came to find the hottest part of her body. I rested there, unmoving, at the apex of her thighs. I waited for her to adjust, for her to consent, for her to agree to this.

She was rocking against me, her entire body gyrating, her heat pushing against me with more intensity than before.

"Bella?" I ground out, my voice barely a whisper.

"Please," was all she could say in reply.

And it was all I needed.

I allowed my fingers to move now, finding her heat and exploring it, marvelling at the way she responded, at the way she arched forward to increase the contact. She moaned softly, her hand tangling in my hair as she kissed me anywhere her lips could find purchase.

I held her against the wall, her legs wrapped around my hips while my fingers worked through her folds.

Her heart was thumping loudly, her breathing growing ragged, her hips moving, never stilling.

She was close, I could tell. Her cheeks, which had previously been ashen white, were flushed and red. She threw her head back and closed her eyes, moaning all the while.

"Edward," she breathed.

"I love you," I whispered into her hair, kissing the top of her head while my fingers dipped lower, pressing into her, moving in and out with a gentleness that stunned me.

I was in control. I was managing. But there was no way I could move beyond this and still make sure she was safe. I was on the edge of my control, barely clinging to it.

She offered me more encouragement, her movements growing more feverish by the second. I moved faster, my fingers playing with her flesh, dipping inside of her, rolling against her. Her release was building, her chest heaving and her shoulders rising and falling as she moved closer and closer.

I watched in awe as she came undone in front of me, her muscles tensing, her mouth falling open, her body shaking lightly in her ecstasy. Her head dropped, falling against my shoulder, her body slumping forward.

I could hear her crying, but before I could launch into a tailspin of panic she pulled her head from my shoulder and pressed a finger against my lips.

"Thank you," she cried. I nearly doubled over from the weight of my lust. Her wild, tangled hair splayed across her forehead and shoulders, her pink lips, swollen and reddened from their ministrations, her pale skin, pinked slightly from her release.

It was consuming. The most glorious sight I'd ever seen. The most beautiful memory my mind contained.

And then her hand was pulling against my zipper again, grazing her fingers across the bulge pressing against the denim of my pants.

I caught her hand in place, stilling it.

"We can't," I explained, fighting against my lust, forcing the words out of my mouth.

There was nothing more I wanted than to lay claim to Bella, to be inside of her, to feel her in her most intimate places. But I knew I shouldn't. I knew I couldn't.

I knew this wouldn't be safe. I couldn't trust myself. The tensions of the night were worked into my muscles, woven into the joints of my body, coiling inside of me, tightening like a spring waiting to snap.

"I don't trust my self-control right now."

Her legs dropped from around my hips, falling to ground as I placed her gently down.

Her head was bowed and her body tensed.

I placed a finger underneath her chin, pulling it up so that I could see her eyes.

"You're exquisite, and I love you. I want nothing more than this right now, Bella. I want nothing more than to be with you in the most intimate of ways, but I can't assure your safety. Not right now."

"Why not?"

I sighed, pressing my lips to her hair as I pulled her into my arms.

"I know that tonight was painful for you beyond measure, Bella." She stiffened at my words.

"Seeing you in pain… seeing you hurt and in danger… it does things to me. I'm not a man Bella, not really. There are parts of me that are no better than an animal and those are the parts of me I'm battling with right now. It builds up and I need to unleash it, but I can't risk that happening when we're together. Being with you… it's changes me in irrevocable ways. It opens parts of me that have never been opened before. I'm afraid of what will happen while I'm still in this state of rage…"

It was painful, the honesty. But it was necessary. I couldn't keep concealing the truth from her, not when it had hurt her so many times before.

"I need you…" she said softly.

"You have me," I assured her, "always, my love."

"It's the only thing… it's the only thing that holds me together."

"Let me hold you, love?"

She nodded, resting in my arms, her muscles relaxed and untensed for the first time in what felt like years. I scooped her up in my arms, walked out of the shower, pulling a clean towel from the shelf and draping it over her body.

I took her into my bedroom, sat her down on my bed and worked at drying her off, taking care to be gentle as I did. My hands roamed across the planes of her body, my lust growing uncontainable as I surveyed her majestic body, glowing in the pale light of the moon.

For the first time in a very long time her broken body wasn't the first thing I saw when I looked at her. Instead, I noted the delicate curvature of her body, the way it swelled in some places and pulled in in others. The fullness of her lips, the softness of her skin, the heaviness of her eyes, laced with lust and fatigue.

"You're surreal, Bella."

Her eyes widened a bit, and she smiled a small, but purposeful smile. I reached across the bed for one of my shirts, pulling it over her head and down her body. I slipped off my wet pants, pulling a pair of pajama pants from my drawer, tucking into my closet to undress. Then we settled in under the thick blankets of the bed, creating a barrier between us because I was worried she'd be too cold. She pushed the covers away, protesting the lack of contact between our bodies.

I surrendered and held her against me.

It was all I could do amid the grief and the sadness. It was all I could do to hold her. To feel her next to me, to know that she was safe, in my arms. To know that I could bring her pleasure that clouded out her perpetual pain. I was high on the feeling of it, while simultaneously aching with the intensity and depth of her pain.

I wasn't sure I could ever be enough. I wasn't sure this could ever be enough to heal the parts of her that she shielded from me.

But for now, this could be enough.

A/N: So, this chapter was originally going to be part of a much longer chapter, but it felt right to leave this as a standalone. As I said above, I'm nervous about this one - so please tell me your thoughts.

This doesn't give you the answers you might be looking for about what happened to Paul, but I promise we'll hear things from Edward's perspective next chapter that will clear things up. For now, they both needed this moment to find each other again.

Special thanks to those that reviewed and to those that have reached out to let me know what this story means to them. You're gems and you keep me grounded and remind me of how important this story is to me. Thank you.

xx,

-missmarlee