Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, I just play with them. This story is rated M, and is not suitable for younger readers. Story contains violence, coarse language and sexual "situations". Please do not read if any of these things offends you.
Note: [Beta'ed by: adt216 & vasweetpea07]
Chapter 24 – "Trustgiving"
Isabella Swan POV
I had not been surprised by Edward's impromptu visit, nor was I surprised that he had stayed the night. I should have been, I guess, but I had been through too much to be surprised by anything anymore. Especially as far as he was concerned.
It didn't take long for him to fall asleep, and I could hear him snore softly from his chair. He still had his feet propped up on my bed, his feet crossed at the ankles. He also had his arms tightly crossed over his chest. A light frown was gracing his features.
I didn't question him being there. I got the feeling that he had enough inner demons to deal with, and I didn't need to add another by getting involved. Even though he was involving me by coming here.
I watched him as he slept, unable to tear my eyes off of him.
Edward Cullen was nothing short of an enigma; nothing about him made sense to me.
I remembered when I had been sitting in the window of the music room, a few weeks back. I had watched him as he parked his car in the principal's space before walking up to the main entrance. He'd had his shoulders slouched and his hands deep in his pockets. I remember thinking that the posture didn't make any sense. Why would he walk like he was trying to hide?
He was Edward-freaking-Cullen.
Why would he want to hide?
Was that what he was doing here? Hiding?
"Fucking blood… everywhere…" he muttered. I thought for a second that he had woken up, but his eyes were still closed and the light snoring continued.
Who knew Edward was a sleep-talker?
I bit my lip and scratched my arm mindlessly, but stopped my movements when I felt the unevenness of my skin. Dread immediately washed over me, as I realized I hadn't even tried to hide the scars from Edward when he came in. I had once again given him a show, letting him see them and judge them, without even realizing it.
"Blood," he muttered again, adjusting a little in his seat, and titled his head to the side.
I pulled up the blanket to my chin and kept my arms under it. I wondered if I was supposed to be concerned by his weird obsession with blood. What was he dreaming about anyway?
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. Maybe it would all make sense in the morning.
A bang echoed through the room and my eyes flew open. The room bathed in light and I blinked a few times in confusion. My eyes immediately went to the chair beside the bed – only to find it empty. The light wasn't coming from the lamp hanging from the ceiling but from outside.
It was already morning. How did that happen?
I turned my gaze to the door, realizing the bang had been from the door hitting the wall when Dad had entered. He shot me an apologetic look before stepping into the room.
"Oh, sorry, sweetie. I didn't mean to startle you," he apologized. I looked away from him and frowned. Where was Edward? "How are you feeling?" he continued.
"I'm… fine," I replied slowly, still a little confused from being startled awake like that.
"I spoke to Dr. Jenks. He says the ex-rays on your leg shows that it's healing quite nicely. That's good news." He smiled, but I didn't respond. "He also said you should steer clear of stairs for a while, so I prepared the guest bedroom downstairs for you. I even brought down your computer."
I shot my eyes to him, giving him an incredulous look. Was he kidding me? The spare bedroom downstairs was the size of a closet. It might even have been a closet once. It had just enough space for a bed and a small nightstand. Nothing more. And now he was going to lock me up in there? Why didn't he lock me up in a cell at the station instead? I bet I would be more comfortable there anyway.
"Thanks, but no thanks, I think I'm gonna stay in my room," I replied curtly.
"But Dr. Jenks said it's not good to put strain on your leg right now, especially not after what that no-good-boy Cullen did to you," he replied softly. "I'm only doing what's in your best interest."
I scoffed.
"What's in my best interest is to not be treated like a child. I can take care of myself. As for the no-good-boy Cullen… I told you, he didn't do anything! He helped me! Why can't you listen to what I'm telling you? Why is it so hard for you to believe me?" I asked, my body basically shaking in pent-up frustration. It was like talking to a wall, only the wall wasn't just quietly listening – it twisted your words before throwing them back at you, and making you think you were stupid for trying to convince it of anything else.
"Trust is something you earn," he replied.
"What is that supposed to mean? I have done nothing to not deserve your trust!" I argued. "I'm your daughter, for crying out loud!" I was basically yelling now, and he was beginning to look more than a little uncomfortable. He walked over to the door and closed it, before stepping up beside the bed.
"Sweetie, how can you expect me to trust you when you don't trust me?" he asked quietly.
He made a valid point, and I resented him for it. We looked at each other, neither of us saying a word for several moments. We were stuck in the saddest staring contest in the history of the world.
"Why… why do you think I don't trust you?" I asked with a light shrug, pretending like I really didn't know. He sighed and scratched his scruffy cheek, before looking away and stepping over to the window instead. He had his back turned to me, as if he didn't want to look at me when he replied.
"If you trusted me, Bella, if you trusted your mother, then you wouldn't have tried to kill yourself. You would have come to us and let us help you. Instead you did the worst thing you could ever do to the people who love you," he replied quietly.
There were so many things wrong with that statement that I didn't even know on which end to begin. If he truly believed I tried to kill myself, how could he speak so freely about it? As if it wasn't a big deal at all, and that it had no effect on him other than to make him not trust me anymore.
I was tempted to yell at him and tell him what really happened that night, but I knew it would make no difference to him. He had no reason to trust me. After all, I was nothing but his suicidal daughter with a crushed leg, who was trying to defend the boy who put her here.
I was clearly the insane one.
He was right. He had no reason to trust me, because I had not given him a reason to. At least not during these past few months when I had lived in silence.
Maybe it was time to give him a reason?
I opened my mouth to speak, but he beat me to the punch.
"I spoke to your mother last night. She's very excited to come home," he said, his voice holding so much love that it made my stomach clench. If he knew the truth, would he still sound so loving when mentioning her? I realized that there was no sure answer to that question. I wouldn't put it past him to try to defend her and try to rationalize her behavior if he knew the whole story.
He turned around and faced me with a somewhat expectant expression. I sighed deeply. I knew he wanted me to tell him that I was excited too, but I also knew that he knew that would have been a lie.
"You know how I feel about her," I replied instead. He frowned and shook his head.
"As you keep telling me, but it doesn't mean I understand it or approve of it," he sighed.
"You don't need to approve of my feelings. I have the right to feel whatever I want to feel," I argued in my defense. I crossed my arms over my chest, feeling slightly childish by my behavior, but I didn't care.
"Yes, you do. But you still have to respect your mother and treat her accordingly; she's not the bad guy. She is coming home now, and she will stay home, whether you like it or not," he said sternly.
"As you keep reminding me," I scoffed silently.
He threw out his arms in a wide gesture and sighed in frustration.
"Isabella Marie Swan, what am I supposed to do with you? I really don't understand why you hate your mother the way that you do, so why don't you explain it to me?" he said exasperatedly.
I narrowed my eyes at him, but he didn't even flinch.
"You really want to know?" I dared him.
"Yes!" he yelled in frustration. "Because I don't understand how you can hate someone for trying to save your life."
Who cared if he was going to believe me or not? I had enough. I had to get it out.
"Because she's the reason why I almost died in the first place!" I snapped.
This made him flinch. He blinked a few times and his face was completely void of all emotion.
I stared him while wondering what kind of reaction I was going to get from him. After a moment, when he had let the information sink in, his expression changed and became one of outrage.
I should have known.
"I don't know what you're trying to pull here, Isabella, but to stoop so low as to suggest that she's the reason why you tried to take your own life… that's just wrong. This is not the daughter I raised. I'm ashamed of your behavior, and I'm ashamed of you," he said, putting real emphasis on the last word and barely keeping his anger in check. "There is nothing your mother could have done to you to make you think it was worth taking your own life!"
He had clearly misunderstood what I was saying. He thought that I was suggesting I had tried to kill myself because of her – and not that she had been the one trying to take my life.
I looked away from him. I tried to keep my face blank as to not let him in on how badly his words hurt. He was ashamed of me. Of course he was. Why wouldn't he be? I was a disgrace to the family. I must have done something wrong. Why else would she have done what she did to me in the first place? I refused to believe it was about love, because there was nothing loving about it.
Dad glanced down at his watch. He forced a smile when he looked back up at me. It looked awkward, as if the smile knew it had no reason to be there, and that it wanted nothing more than to go away.
"I have to get back to the station," he said, sounding tired.
I tilted my head to the side and snorted quietly.
"Dad… it's Saturday. Since when do you work on Saturdays?" I asked quietly. "If you don't want to be here, why can't you just come out and say it? You don't have to lie to my face."
"I'm going over to La Push," he muttered, the anger somewhat back in his voice. "I figured I would spare us another humiliating moment, since it seems as you don't like Billy and Jacob anymore either, for reasons unknown to me… and I have a feeling I don't want to hear them anyway."
"Have fun!" I said cheerily as I plastered on a fake smile for his benefit, but he obviously didn't buy it since he glowered at me, before leaving the room and muttering a lame 'bye' on his way out.
The door swung shut behind him and I stared at it for a moment as I tried to get my mind together.
What the hell just transpired?
Did I just tell my dad that my mother, his wife, was responsible for what happened, and he responded by telling me that he was ashamed of me? Really?
I had been right all along. Nothing good could come from spilling the secret now. He would never believe me. I knew that. Too much time had passed. Anything I said now would make him believe that I was crazy and making stuff up only to hurt my mother. Even though that didn't make any sense. Why would I want to hurt my mother for supposedly saving my life? Isn't saving someone's life supposed to be a good thing?
It was probably a good thing that all I said was that she was the reason I almost died. If I had given him any details on the whole story, he would have had me committed so fast I wouldn't even realize what was happening, before I was sporting a cozy straightjacket.
A movement in the corner of my eyes caught my attention, and I jumped in surprise when the door to the small closet by the corner of the room opened, and a very familiar bronze haired head peeked out. My breath caught in my throat and I gaped at him in shock.
"Is it safe?" he asked, looking at me. I didn't respond. I didn't even flinch. "I'll take that as a yes…"
"Wha-what are you doing here? Yo-you…Wha-what are you doing in the closet? Wh-wha-what?" I stuttered in bewilderment. I couldn't form a coherent sentence to save my life, and at that moment, I didn't want to anyway. Save my life, that is. I wouldn't have minded to die right then and there.
If he had been standing in the closet all that time, that meant that he had heard everything.
Everything.
If he had ammunition against me before, it was nothing compared to what he had now. I had given him an entire army's worth of ammunition. I bet I even threw in a few soldiers for him. Maybe even an atomic bomb.
This was going to be the end of me.
He scratched his neck as he peeked towards the door. For some reason he looked nervous.
"I woke up earlier," he explained, without looking at me. "I was just about to leave when I saw your dad in the hallway. I didn't have any choice but to hide… if he had seen me here, he would have had a restraining order put against my ass before I was even out of the room."
He put his hands in his pockets, slouching his shoulders a little, before looking at me. I was sure the horror was clear on my face.
"That was… eh…" he began and I swallowed thickly. It felt as though I had tried to swallow a baseball, and it was now stuck in my throat. It was uncomfortable, and I found it hard to breathe. Panic was beginning to set in, and if it had been possible I would have run away as fast as my legs would carry me.
But of course, my leg prevented me from doing that.
I opened and closed my mouth like a fish on dry land. I wanted to ask him what he had heard – had he heard it all? – and what he thought about what he heard. I was sure that he had a bunch of theories going through his head at the moment, which of all revolved around the fact that I was clearly insane. He already thought that about me, and this would obviously just fuel the already raging fire.
"I don't know what I should say," he said with an awkward crooked smile. "Thanks? Thanks for defending me?"
I furrowed my brows in suspicion. Was this how he was going to play it? Was he going to pretend he hadn't just heard all that, and that the only thing he was going to take from it all was the fact that I had defended him? No. I didn't buy it.
"Edward… don't…." My tone was almost pleading. I hated myself for stooping so low. I was supposed to be strong, damn it. Edward wasn't supposed to see me like this.
He shook his head quickly and gave me a somewhat reassuring smile.
"Don't worry… I won't say anything," he mumbled. I don't know why I believed him, but there something in his tone that made me relax. He rubbed his neck and chuckled. "My fucking neck is killing me. I guess I'm paying the price now for falling asleep in that damn chair." He stretched his neck and I smiled timidly.
"You have only yourself to blame. You probably have a more than decent bed at home you could have slept in."
"Yeah, but where is the fun in that?" he asked with a light shrug.
"I guess that depends on what you do once you've climbed into it," I mumbled in response.
His eyes widened in surprise, before he threw his head back and burst into carefree laughter. I couldn't help but smile at the sound. It reminded me about the time I heard him laugh in the parking lot at school. Such a joyful sound, and it still made me jealous. Although, I guess I should have known better than to be jealous of him now. He had demons of his own to deal with, and I had just been too ignorant to notice it before.
I'm not the only one who's hurting.
He met my gaze again. His laughter died down and his smile faded.
We looked at each other in silence. It felt as if we were having a silent conversation with our eyes, and when his signature crooked smile graced his lips, it felt as though we had come to an understanding.
"What happened in this room stays in this room," he declared.
I frowned and bit my lip.
"You don't have to do that… you don't owe me any favors," I replied, even though I had no reason to argue with him. Why didn't I just shut up? Why did I have to push my luck? Hadn't I pushed it enough for one day?
And it's not even noon yet.
I glanced at the clock on the wall and almost rolled my eyes at myself.
Correction, it's not even ten thirty yet.
He looked down at his shoes and scoffed.
"Let's just say that I know one thing or two about parents' lack of trust," he admitted, and shuffled his feet awkwardly. It was evident that it wasn't easy for him to talk about, especially not with me. He looked up and snorted softly with a light shaking of his head. "But I guess you know all about that… seeing as my dad suddenly thinks you're the daughter he never had." His tone was resentful. I could see a flash of anger in his eyes as he mentioned it, but it was gone just as quickly as it came.
"I'm sorry, Edward, but I never asked for your father to care so much, and I didn't ask for your friends to care either. I didn't ask for any of this! I wish it would all just go away so I could…. I could…" I didn't know how to end the sentence, because I didn't know what the end was.
"Kill yourself?" he ended it for me. I sighed and looked down at my lap – just to find my arms on display again. I quickly hid them under the blanket again, even though it hardly mattered anymore. He had seen them, and by hiding them now, I would only bring more attention to them. He seemed to agree with me, because he shook his head. "You are one freaky pigeon," he said.
"Are your seriously insulting me… again? Seriously, Edward, did you come here and spend the night just so you could insult me?" I asked incredulously.
"No, I didn't mean it like that, fuck," he said defensively. "I was just making a damn observation. You are one freaky bird, you know. It's just you who chose to see it as a bad thing. That's not my damn fault."
"Yeah? You're saying that being a freaky pigeon is a good thing?"
"Who's to decide what's what?" he retorted.
I quirked an eyebrow at him and pursed my lips together in contemplation. If I didn't know any better, I would have thought he had found some weird pills in that closet, because he didn't make any sense.
"What happens in this room, stays in this room, right?" I asked just to make sure.
He nodded.
"I was never here," he clarified. "I have a reputation to uphold."
I had no reason to trust him, I knew that, but I still chose to believe him, because it was better than the alternative.
"Anyhow, I should go," he said, turning and walking over to the door. He grabbed the door handle, but he didn't open it. Instead he just stared at it for a moment before throwing a look at me over his shoulder. "Between you and me, pigeon… don't waste your breath by trying to make your dad believe something he doesn't want to hear. I've been there, done that. There's no fucking use. Parents will believe what they want to believe, no matter what you say."
"It's all about trust, isn't it?" I said softly.
"Yeah, and our dads obviously don't think we deserve it… but who says they deserve our trust? I sure as hell don't trust my damn father anymore, and from what I gathered from your conversation with yours, I don't think your dad deserves your trust either." He was looking down at his feet, and sighed deeply before looking back up at me. "I know that was fucking private, and that I shouldn't have eavesdropped, but I really didn't have a damn choice in the matter… it was either that or getting arrested."
"I guess you really didn't have that much of a choice then," I agreed. "My dad is just looking for a reason to bust you for something. It doesn't even need to be illegal. He's on a mission, you should watch your back."
He smiled crookedly and nodded.
"I will."
I returned his smile, although a bit timidly.
"This was awkward for you, wasn't it?" I said, not so much a question as it was a statement. He scoffed quietly and rubbed his neck again.
"You have no idea," he granted with a sigh as he looked at me. "I guess I'll see you around…" He didn't let his eyes waver away from me, and he didn't show any signs of leaving either. It was almost as if he didn't want to.
"I should mention that this is my last night here," I said, in order to break the somewhat uncomfortable silence we were embedded in, since he kept looking at me like that. "I'll be going home tomorrow. So you should probably find another patient to harass if you want to keep sleeping here instead of in that decent bed of yours." I laughed uncomfortably at my half-hearted attempt to joke. He chuckled to himself as he shook his head softly. He gripped the door handle a little more tightly and titled his head as he gazed back at me.
"I rather not waste my time on vermin," he replied.
"Then what are you doing here with me?" I questioned, quirking an eyebrow at him.
His crooked smile grew into an amused smile. He opened the door before answering me.
"You're not vermin, Ducky," he chuckled, before looking out into the hallway. He looked both ways before throwing me one last glance and one last smirk. "You're a bird."
Those were his parting words, and he snuck out into the hallway and disappeared from sight.
The day passed in an excruciatingly slow pace. I had no visitors, other than my dad who came to visit me again for an hour in the afternoon. He didn't tell me about his day, and other than him asking how I was feeling, there wasn't much talk at all. He just looked out the window, fiddled with the busted TV in my room, and paced around sighing. It was the most uncomfortable I had ever been. I wanted nothing more than for him to leave. When he finally left, it felt as if we had been stuck together for an entire day, but it had only been fifty-eight minutes. Yes, I kept count. Staring at the clock was the only thing that kept me from going insane in his presence.
When midnight rolled around, I found myself darting my eyes to the door every other second. Every time I heard footsteps outside my room, I felt the beating of my heart accelerate, but it died down just as quickly when the sounds of the footsteps passed my door without a stop. For some reason I had expected him to come.
But he wasn't coming.
And I couldn't understand for the life of me why that disappointed me so much. I shouldn't have been surprised, not at all. Edward Cullen wasn't my friend, far from it actually. He had no reason to come visit me in the middle of the night.
Then why had he already visited twice? And stayed the whole night last night?
I chose to ignore those questions, because I didn't want to hear the answers. For all I knew he was only doing it so he could get more dirt on me, which he could later use to hurt me. I was more than afraid of what he was going to do about what he heard that morning, and I doubted if I could trust him. What guarantee did I have that he hadn't already spread the rumor about me trying to kill myself or that I blamed my mother for it? What guarantee did I have that what had been said in this room really stayed in this room?
The answer was that there was no guarantee.
I remember looking at the clock one last time before I fell asleep. That was at three thirty. I was woken up by a nurse at seven. The lack of sleep had given me a hell of a headache and the throbbing pain in my leg was even more noticeable than usual.
I was rolled out from the hospital in a wheelchair at noon. Dad was smiling at me when he helped me into the cruiser, but I didn't even spare him a glance. He wasn't worth it.
We stopped by the pharmacy on our way home. Dad picked up the new, stronger pills which Dr. Carrot had prescribed me. Dr. Carrot might look like a vegetable, but how could I hate the man when he was willing to prescribe me drugs that were way stronger than the crap that Dr. Cullen had given me?
Maybe the release of death was finally within my reach.
I let Dad help me out of the car when we got home too. There was no way I could have climbed out on my own. My brain was a little foggy, and my body felt weird from the dose of drugs I had been given before they discharged me. It was nothing short of a miracle that I managed to get into the house without help. I almost felt drunk – although, I had never been drunk, I figured this was similar to how it would feel.
I steered towards the stairs, but Dad caught my attention by clearing his throat loudly.
"I thought we agreed that you would stay in the guestroom for now," he said. I shot him a tired look and sighed. I was too tired to argue with him, so I wobbled my way towards the tiny guestroom without a word.
The days passed, and I spent most of my time in my room. I didn't do much; I didn't even do my homework. All I did was lay in my bed, while slowly breathing through the shooting pain in my leg. I had found that as long as I lay absolutely still, the pain was nothing more than a numbing sensation radiating up and down my leg. It felt as if it was falling asleep, and though that was an uncomfortable feeling all by itself, it was still easier to handle than the pain.
I did my best to keep myself from taking any of the pills, because I knew I needed to save up on those. I figured I would wait until Dad had to refill my prescription before I tried to do anything. The more pills I had, the better chance I had of never waking up again. But that also meant that I had to spend so much more time in pain, and I did fall for the temptation once or twice, by taking a pill for the pain. But it was worth it.
When Wednesday rolled around, I was experiencing another type of pain. Mom was coming home in just a matter of hours. Dad had left early in the morning to go to Seattle to pick her up. It had been made clear that this was going to be it. She was coming back for real, and there was no chance of her going back there. From this day forward, we were going back to being a happy little family.
Or at least that was what Dad was expecting.
For all I cared, they could live their happy little life together and pretend that there was nothing wrong with them but I was not going to be a part of it. I was going to remove myself from the equation. I bet they would be so much happier anyway, without me dragging them down by refusing to 'grow up' and not 'getting over myself.'
The sound of crunching gravel outside made me tense, and the ever so familiar sound of Mom's laughter, when she stepped out of the car, made my stomach turn.
My body was still as a statue, and I didn't even allow myself to breathe as I listened to the sounds of my parents nearing the house. The front door opened and I heard them come in.
"Bella? We're home!" Dad called out and I didn't even need to see him to know that he was smiling like a lovesick fifteen-year old.
"Where is my baby-doll?" Mom sang with a smile in her voice too.
"Maybe she's sleeping those pain meds she's been taking knock her out cold," I heard him reply.
I scoffed silently to myself. His words just proved how much he was aware of me. He didn't even notice that I hadn't been taking my meds; he hadn't noticed I was still in excruciating pain. And why was that? It was because he simply didn't pay any attention to me, and he trusted me to take the pills on my own.
So I guess he did trust me after all, only it was with the wrong things.
"I should go down to the station and make sure nothing bad happened while I was gone," Dad chuckled, before I heard their lips smack together in a kiss.
"I will miss you," she cooed.
"Oh, I think you will survive a few hours without me," he replied teasingly.
It made me sick to my stomach to hear him talk like that partly because he was my father, but mostly because of the woman that brought it out of him.
I heard the front door open and close again, and my heart stopped with it. A moment later the cruiser roared to life and drove off. And I was finding myself stuck in a house with a crazy woman, with no means of escape.
I heard light steps as she moved away from the hall, and the floor in the living room creaked when she moved through the room towards the guestroom. My fingers dug into the mattress and I felt like a trapped animal. At first I didn't understand the feeling that was washing over me. It wasn't until she was standing in the doorway that I recognized it for what it was. It was stronger than I had ever felt it before.
Dread.
"Maybe we should talk," she began with a soft voice. I tried to swallow down the lump that was forming in my throat, and get control over the turmoil of feelings inside of me. There were so many things I wanted to tell her – yell at her – and so many things I had planned to get out of my system when I finally saw her again. But now, when I finally had the chance, I felt my entire system close down. No words could leave my lips.
I was afraid of what would happen if I let them out.
I am afraid of my own mother.
She smiled at me and I tried to keep my face clean of any emotion.
She looked lovely, dressed in a casual pair of jeans and an over-sized button-up, plaid shirt with a beige top under it. Her hair looked as if it was newly cut; it was short and beautifully styled.
She looks like my mother.
She reminded me of the good old days when she used to smile at me like that and mean it. I didn't want her to know what effect that smile, and her overall new look, had on me. I tried to ignore the mixed feelings that it brought, and I tried my best to hold onto my hate since it was easier to deal with than all the rest. Hate and disgust were the only feelings I was able to handle when it came to my mother. Mixed feelings and confused love were not something I could handle, nor did I want to, because she didn't deserve it. She didn't deserve my love.
"I-I-If you come any closer… I'll scream," I warned her in a pathetically shaky whisper.
I didn't want her to come any closer; I was confused enough as it was. Her being here, looking and sounding, like my mother wasn't really helping matters. Not to mention the pain in my leg on top of that.
Her smile grew and became more sinister looking. The dark look formed in her eyes, effectively removing all doubt that she was cured from whatever mental disorder she was suffering from. She looked nothing like my mother anymore, which made it so much easier to hate her.
She took another step into the tiny room, closing the door behind her, before moving towards me with slow, deliberate steps. The sinister smile never wavered from her lips and she tilted her head to the side as she watched me.
"Tell me, sweetie, are you still… pure?" she asked, her voice almost cooing.
My eyes widened and I struggled to breathe. Was there a right answer to that question? What answer could I give her that would make her leave me alone? And was there maybe an answer that would make her kill me quickly and painlessly? Or would any answer just leave me with new wounds and more scars?
I must have been quiet for too long, because she nodded to herself, looking fairly pleased while doing so. As if my silence had been answer enough for her.
"I thought so, good girl," she said, patting my head.
I looked up at her and met her gaze.
"You… you are crazy… you can't do that to me again," I croaked. My intention had been to sound threatening and scary, but instead it came out as a cracked and whiny whisper. She sat down beside me on the bed, and I flinched away from her. She looked at me and shook her head in a disapproving way.
"Bella, I was only trying to help you. How is it that you can hate me so much for trying to save your life? I was trying to help you, and you repay me by shutting me out and blaming me for something that wasn't my fault," she murmured as she stroked my hair. "You almost died, sweetie, and it almost killed me too. I could never live without you in this world."
"If that's true, why did you cut open my arms and… and…." I couldn't even finish the sentence because it was too disgusting to even think of. She grabbed my chin roughly, forcing me to look at her.
"Sweetie, I did no such thing. You did that all on your own, and if you honestly believe that I would do such a thing, then maybe we should get you some help. You are clearly not well," she said sternly.
She let go of my chin and stood up abruptly.
"Your father mentioned to me that you were blaming me for what happened, but I thought you were only blaming me for not letting you die. Not in my wildest dreams would I have believed you blamed me because you thought I did this to you!" She grabbed my wrist roughly and pulled up the sleeve of my shirt. The scars were painfully obvious in this light and I squeezed my eyes shut. I didn't want to look at them, but even with my eyes shut I could see them etched on the inside of my eyelids. "This is not my fault. You did this. And if you try to convince anyone otherwise I will make sure you will be taken care of." She all but threw my arm back at me when she let go, and she took a step back. I wrapped my arms around my torso and fought the sobs that threatened to escape. "You disappoint me, Bella."
She gave me one last disapproving look before she left the room, closing the door again on her way out. I held my breath until I heard her climb the stairs, and the floorboard in the upstairs hallway creaked as she walked into their bedroom.
I didn't try to hold back the sobs anymore; I let them escape, making my body shake and convulse in the process. I wrapped my arms more tightly around my torso as I rocked back and forth on the bed, wishing that some of the pain would leave. Instead the ache grew even more powerful, ripping through me like shards of glass. I was surprised that I wasn't breaking apart from the pain. How much could one person endure before her body shut down?
I wished for the silent relief that tears would bring me.
But the tears never came.
I wasn't surprised.
Thursday. Thanksgiving. The day I had dreaded the most was upon me, and the people I never wanted to see ever again were currently sitting in the living room, chatting and laughing like nothing was wrong. All the while I was hiding away in the downstairs bathroom, trying to come up with a working excuse to change clothes.
I was dressed up in a simple white button-up shirt and a black pencil skirt. My hair was pulled back into a ponytail and a few hair strands were hanging loosely around my face. Of course, it wasn't my choice to be dressed like this. Mom had bought be the clothes in Seattle, and she wanted me to wear them. Why did I care what she wanted? Because I was too scared for what she would do to me if I refused.
But I guess the clothes weren't the problem here. There would not have been an issue if this had been any other time. But this wasn't any other time, this was now, and I felt horrible.
It didn't matter what I was wearing. I could have been dressed in a top and skirt made of leather and latex and nobody would have noticed. All that they would see would be my cast, because that was all I could see when I was looking at myself in the full-length mirror hanging on the bathroom door.
It looked ridiculous in combination with the knee-length pencil skirt, and when I had mentioned it to Mom – in a lame attempt to make her let me wear something else – she just said it matched my shirt.
Because they were both white.
Clearly, she was both insane and stupid.
It knocked on the door and I groaned inwardly.
"Are you done, Bella? We're waiting for you," Dad asked.
"I'll be right out," I replied, without raising my voice. He muttered something under his breath as he walked away. I sighed deeply and adjusted my skirt for the fiftieth time.
Why couldn't they just forget I was even here? Why couldn't they do their thing without me? Or was I supposed to be the sacrificial lamb again? Maybe they had even come up with a new Thanksgiving-menu, instead of a turkey as the main course it would be…a goose.
I took a deep breath and breathed out shakily. I had a bad feeling in my gut that wouldn't go away.
I reluctantly opened the bathroom door and grabbed my crutches, before wobbling my way towards the living room. The pain in my leg was on the brink of being ridiculous, but I was not about to take one of my pills to get rid of it. I rather save that one up for later, so I could use it in order to knock myself out cold in case the dinner became to be too much.
I froze in the doorway to the living room, not able to take another step. Mom and Dad stood together by Billy, who sat in his wheelchair, while Jacob was looking at whatever he found interesting on our bookshelves. I thought I could handle seeing them again, but it was obvious that I couldn't. The mere thought of seeing these people again, together in our living room, brought back memories that I had worked so hard to push back into the darkest corners of my mind.
They all stopped what they were doing when they noticed me, and I felt like a deer caught in the headlights.
"Ah, Bella, how good it is to see you again, my dear. How are you?" Billy said enthusiastically, as he leaned forward a little in his chair and rested his arms against his legs. I swallowed thickly and darted my eyes to Jacob and met his gaze. He gave me a wry smile before looking away.
"She's making very good progress; her doctor said her leg is healing just as it's supposed to. Despite all the incidents with that Cullen boy," Dad explained with a smile, though his tone turned bitter at the mention of Edward. I couldn't hold back the glare that escaped as I looked at Dad. He noticed this, of course, and sighed before looking down at Billy again, while shaking his head. Billy gave him a sympathetic smile. I bit my tongue to keep myself from saying something I would later regret.
A musty, smoky smell reached my nostrils and I wrinkled my nose at the stench.
"Eh… why does it smell like something burning?" I asked cautiously, and Mom's eyes grew wide.
"The pumpkin pie!" she exclaimed and ran past me to the kitchen. A moment later we heard her growl loudly in frustration, and the faucet in the kitchen turned on. She walked back out with a disappointed expression on her face. "I guess there won't be a homemade pumpkin pie this year," she sighed. "I forgot to put the timer on."
"That's okay. I'm sure the kids can drive to the store and pick one up. Of course, it's not as good as yours, Renée, but at least it's something," Billy suggested.
"That's a great idea," Dad agreed. "I'm sure Bella is dying to get out of the house, anyway. Right, sweetie?" He looked at me with bright eyes and I pursed my lips.
Yes, I was dying to get out of the house – since I hadn't been allowed to go outside since I came home from the hospital - but going to the store with Jacob wasn't really worth it.
But staying behind with two crazy people and an ignorant fool wasn't really an option either.
Maybe being stuck in a car and in a store, with a disloyal and utrustworthy ex-friend was the better choice here.
I glanced over at Jacob and found him staring awkwardly at his feet, as they waited for me to make a decision.
Okay, maybe not.
I sighed and shrugged.
"Whatever," I sighed, and turned towards the door. Jacob followed me and he stood by and watched as I opened the front door and walked out. He didn't even offer to open it for me; instead he let me balance weirdly on my crutches as I pushed the door open.
At least he had the decency to help me put the crutches in the small backseat when we reached the car.
We rode to the store in silence. I kept my eyes forward, never once glancing at Jacob, but in the corner of my eye I noticed how he kept glancing at me and my leg. He cleared his throat a few times, as if he was going to speak. But after every time he remained quiet. I almost wanted to ask him if he was choking on something – and if I could help it do the job.
Jacob grabbed my crutches when we reached the store, but he avoided all contact with me when he handed them too me. It was almost as if he thought I was contagious with something, and any skin to skin contact would kill him.
I steadied myself on my crutches, before we started walking towards the entrance. He glanced at me again and I kept my eyes staring right ahead, while gritting my teeth. The silence was even worse than talking. If he said something, at least I would get the chance to assault him verbally, but I needed him to say something first before I started. I was not going to be the one to break the silence. I was not going to be the weaker one. Not with Jacob.
He was the weak one.
He grabbed a shopping basket before looking up at the signs for the different sections and aisles of the store. He glanced at me before deciding where to go.
"You think we should buy a mix and make it, or should we just get a frozen one?" he asked me. His voice was light and carefree, but it was obvious – by the way he was shuffling his feet where he stood – that he was anything but.
"Does it matter?" I sighed. He looked at me in surprise, as if he hadn't expected me to answer, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
"I guess not," he smiled and started walking towards the section for frozen goods. He glanced at me every once in a while, but he didn't try to hide it this time. He must have thought that my answering his question meant that we were friends again, and that everything in our past was forgotten. His face became a little more relaxed and his posture too. "So…does it hurt?" he asked casually, and nodded towards my leg. I snorted.
"It was crushed and I can't go on a plane because I'll set off the metal detectors because of all the scrap metal I have in my leg. What the hell do you think?" I snapped.
A light blush crept up his dark skin, and he looked abashed.
"I'm sorry, I was just… you know," he apologized, with a sheepish shrug. We reached the frozen goods section and we started looking in the aisle for frozen pies. "My dad tells me that the guy who did it has been giving you a hard time… you want me to kick his ass for you?" He chuckled the last part, as if it was a joke. As if we were still friends.
I stopped searching for the damn pie and turned to glare at him instead.
"You know nothing about what has been happening, Jacob, and don't you dare pretend like you care. Edward is a nice guy… okay, well… that's a freaking lie. He's not a nice guy. But he's a better person than most people I know. He stays true to who he is and he doesn't conform because people expect him to," I all but spat at him. "As a matter of fact, Edward isn't my friend, far from it actually, but he still has treated me a hell of a lot better than someone who I used to call my best friend."
"Bella, you have no idea how hard it's been for me for the past few months," he began but he silenced himself when I put more power behind my glare.
"Hard on you, huh? Screw you, Jacob, you weren't the one who was left for dead that night!" I snapped. Jacob suddenly looked unsure, not because of what I had just said, but because of something behind me. I looked at him confused before slowly turning around and following his gaze.
My stomach dropped.
"Why hello, Isabella, fancy seeing you here," Dr. Cullen smiled at me. "Also doing some last minute adding to the Thanksgiving menu?"
I forced a smile at him, because I was too terrified to do anything else. How much had he heard?
A movement behind him caught my eye and I saw none other than Edward himself standing at the end of the aisle.
"Yeah, something like that," I replied, as I looked back at Dr. Cullen, who was looking at Jacob with a smile.
"Hi, I'm Dr. Carlisle Cullen. I used to be Isabella's doctor," he greeted, holding out his hand to Jacob.
"Jacob Black, I used to… I mean, I'm her friend," Jacob greeted, giving him a firm handshake.
"Nice to meet you," Dr. Cullen nodded. "I'll let you get back to your shopping, but it was nice seeing you again, Isabella. I hope you're taking good care of your leg. Happy Thanksgiving!"
"Yeah… you too," I mumbled awkwardly, before he turned around and walked back to Edward.
I looked at Edward, meeting his gaze for a split second, and he grimaced as I did so. From someone else's point of view, it probably looked like one of disgust or pity, but I knew better. I bit my lip and did a semi-grimace-smile at him in return and he scoffed before turning around and following his dad.
"Carlisle Cullen, huh," Jacob said from behind me. "Does that mean that the douche behind him with that ridiculous excuse for hair was the kid who hit you?"
I turned around slowly and narrowed my eyes at him.
"Don't talk about things you know nothing about," I growled at him.
"Whatever, Bella, I think your dad is right… that kid is bad news. I could smell his rotten scent all the way over here," he sighed, in a way that made it apparent that he was trying to be nice about it, as if he was my friend and that he was only looking out for me.
I shot him an incredulous look, but decided to let the subject go. There was no point in trying to argue with him, and there was no use anyway. What did it matter to me what Jacob thought?
I scoffed inwardly as I wobbled my way down the aisle toward the ice cream. Who the hell did he think he was anyway? Where did he get off calling Edward a kid? Edward was two years older than him, for crying out loud!
I picked up a pint of Ben & Jerry's Cookie Dough ice cream and made my way towards the check out. I figured Jacob could find that stupid pie himself. I'm sure he would have no problem finding it, while looking down the aisle as he was sitting on his high horse and all.
But when I reached the checkout, I realized I didn't have my wallet on me.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
I looked down on the ice cream in my hand and wondered what the hell I was going to do. I didn't want to have Jacob pay for it, especially not after storming away like that. But I didn't want to leave it either.
"Brain freeze, penguin?"
I snorted, as I kept my eyes down, staring at the ice cream in contemplation.
"You bet," I replied, without looking up. "I forgot my wallet…"
A ten dollar bill came into my view and I looked up in surprise. Edward smiled crookedly as he held it out to me, and when I made no motion of taking it from him, he just stuck it between my hand and the crutch I was holding.
"I can't take your money," I protested. I tried to hand it back to him, but he just crossed his arms over his chest and backed away. I gave him a tired look, and he just smirked at me.
"It's Thanksgiving," he shrugged.
"Thanksgiving means you give thanks, not give money… you must be thinking of Christmas."
"No, I'm giving thanks by giving you money."
"That doesn't make any sense."
"Does too."
"Does not! Because you have no reason to thank me for anything," I sighed as I gave him an exasperated look. His smirk faded and the carefree mask of his was replaced by one of seriousness. I thought it was because of what I said, but I should have known better; he wasn't even looking at me now. He wore a similar expression to what Jacob had when Dr. Cullen had shown up in the frozen goods section.
My guess now was that he had turned up again. This time at the checkout.
"Are you bothering Isabella again, Edward? I thought we talked about this."
His tone was clipped and I didn't turn around to face him. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, fruitlessly wishing that I was someplace else. Anywhere but here.
Preferably six feet under somewhere.
I heard Dr. Cullen walk around me and when I opened my eyes I found him looking at me.
"You okay there, Isabella? You look kind of pale. Did he do something?" he asked in concern.
"I'm fine; he's fine. He was just giving me some cash so I could buy some ice cream," I replied with a tired sigh. But this was apparently the wrong thing to say. Flames of fury flashed in his eyes, though he tried to keep a calm exterior.
"Is that so?" he asked with forced calm, as he turned to look at Edward. Edward shrugged in response and that seemed to anger Dr. Cullen even more. Dr. Cullen turned to me and forced a smile. "Well, we should get going. I hope you have happy Thanksgiving."
I nodded, as he gave me one last glance before grabbing Edward roughly by the arm and practically dragging him off.
"You're giving her money now?" I heard Dr. Cullen say as they walked away. "Are you trying to pay off your bad conscience? News flash, Edward, you can't buy your way out of this one…"
Dr. Cullen kept scolding him, but they were too far away for me to hear. I immediately felt badly. I should have known how bad this would have looked from the outside. Edward giving me money for no reason at all. It didn't really sound like something someone would do for someone who wasn't his friend.
I looked down and realized I was still holding the ten dollar bill.
I smiled sadly to myself and wobbled away to the checkout counter. It would have been wrong of me to not buy the ice cream now, since he had already gotten in trouble for it. I owed him that much.
Wow, that's a crazy thought. I owed it to Edward to buy myself some ice cream.
I paid for the ice cream and wobbled my way to the car. Jacob showed up only a couple of minutes later. I got a weird satisfied feeling by watching him come back empty handed. Maybe his high horse wasn't all that great after all.
He didn't say anything to me as we got into the car. He probably sensed that I was in no mood to talk to him again. Ever.
We reached the house, and he helped me with the crutches. Once again he was careful not to touch me. After I had steadied myself, I wobbled after Jacob up the house stairs. Laughter and clinking of glasses were heard from the living room when we got inside.
"Did you get the pie?" Mom's slurred voice called out.
"No, they were all out," Jacob replied, as he went to join them in the living room.
I made my way into the kitchen and put the ice cream in the freezer, before leaning back against the kitchen counter. The kitchen table was already set with all the delicious food that Mom had been making all day. Sans the pie.
If this had been a year ago, I would have been smiling now. The thought of Mom's cooking would have left me drooling.
But this wasn't a year ago, and the only effect that Mom's cooking had on me now was that it made me nauseous. How could I be sure she hadn't put poison in the food? For all I knew, she was going to try to kill me again.
I stayed in the kitchen until it was time to eat. I didn't want to join them in the living room, and I couldn't go to my room because they would complain and have me join them. As long as I stood silent in the kitchen, I couldn't pretend I was somewhere else.
They were all laughing and talking as they came into the kitchen to get seated for dinner.
Their smiles and laughter made me sick to my stomach, and I couldn't eat even if I had wanted to.
The food would not have stayed in my stomach for very long.
"Bella? Aren't you joining us?" Mom sang, before bringing her glass of wine to her lips.
"I'm… I'm not feeling very well…" I whined. It wasn't even a lie.
"Bella, your mom has spent all day cooking this feast for us. The least you can do to repay her is to join us," Dad chastised.
"But Charles, if she's not feeling well, maybe she should rest?" Billy argued softly to him, before turning his gaze to me. "Is it your leg, sweetheart?"
Chills ran down my spine and I had to close my eyes to remove the memory that his words brought.
"Are you alright, sweetheart? You're doing great… it's almost over now… just a little more," he cooed, as he stroked my arm. "Soon it will all be over… soon it will all be okay. You hear me, sweetheart? This will bring our families closer together…"
I shook my head to clear it from the memory, and when I opened my eyes, I found them all still staring at me. There was a silent warning in Billy's eyes, and I could see a similar one in the drunken eyes of my mother. Dad just looking annoyed.
I guess I didn't need to get committed to a mental institution since I was already living in a nut house.
"My leg is really hurting… I don't feel good at all," I mumbled, not lying even a little bit.
"Go to bed, sweetie," Mom cooed, and I tried not to grimace at the sound. "I'm sure you'll be well enough to join us all for brunch tomorrow instead."
"Br-brunch?" I stuttered.
"Yes, Billy and Jacob are staying over tonight. We don't want them driving home on this cold, dark night. We wouldn't want them to get into an accident now, would we?" Dad explained and shot me a pointed look. I didn't understand the look he was giving me, but for some reason I got the feeling that it was supposed to be some backhanded shot at me, and somehow blaming me for the accident I was in.
And the father of the year award goes to…
"I think I'm going to bed," I mumbled and wobbled my way past the table and towards the living room.
"Poor girl, she's not doing very well is she? She looks so thin. She's too small; it can't be healthy," I heard Billy say as I reached the guest room.
I closed the door behind me and damned it for not having a lock. I sat down on the bed and stared in front of me at nothing in particular. I heard them laugh and talk, and then there was more clinking of glass. I was afraid of what would happen when they'd had too much to drink.
Would they come in here? Would they hurt me?
I tried to swallow back the sobs and feelings of panic that welled up inside me, but it was near impossible. I grabbed my pillow and buried my face in it, in order to muffle the sound of my panic-stricken sobs.
All I needed was a few more days, and then Dad would go to the pharmacy and refill my prescription.
Then I could die. And leave this mess behind me.
A sudden knock woke me up and my heart caught in my throat. I stared at the door, waiting for it to open. They were coming for me. I knew that they would. And now they were.
God, I hope they will kill me.
There was another knock. It was then I realized the sound wasn't coming from the door, but from the window. I sat up and strained my eyes to make out where the sound was coming from. There were no trees or bushes outside this window, so what was making that knocking sound?
A figure came into view and I yelped in surprise.
It knocked again.
"It's just me…" I didn't need to ask who 'me' was. I recognized that muffled voice.
I reached to turn on the lamp on the bedside table, before sitting up straighter so I could reach to open the lock on the window and push it open. The window was right above the bedside table and the head of the bed, so I didn't need to reach far.
"What are you doing here?" I whispered in bewilderment as I found Edward smirking back at me.
I furrowed my brows as I studied his face. His smirk was forced. His eyes looked pained and little bloodshot too. At first glance I would have thought he was drunk, but the look in his eyes was too clear and focused to be intoxicated.
Had he been crying?
"I was just in the neighborhood, so I thought I would stop by for a fucking visit. Haven't seen you in ages, wanted to see how you were doing," he replied with a cherry and fake tone. I cocked an eyebrow at him and gave him a pointed look, showing him that I didn't believe that for a second. He let his smirk fade and the pain in his eyes became even clearer.
"Edward… my father will kill you if he finds you here," I whispered. I looked up at the ceiling, almost as if I could see my father from here. I listened for a moment, just to make sure that my parents hadn't woken up. I relaxed when I made out the muffled, yet distinctive, sound of my father snoring.
"Please, Penguin… I have no other fucking place to go," he whispered, the pain palpable in his voice.
I looked up at the ceiling again, pondering what the hell I was going to do. I looked back at his face and realized there wasn't even a choice to be made here. I couldn't deny him when he came here looking like that. No matter his intentions.
"You're going to hell for this," I warned him while I scooted away on the bed, so he could climb in.
He smiled a sad crooked smile as he hoisted himself up, through the window.
"I was already on my way there anyway."