Chapter 25

Tuesday, August 7, 2012

I arrive on the fourth floor at eight AM on the dot, hoping a quick visit with Edward will calm the unease I've been feeling since yesterday.

Alice looks up as I approach, smiling at me, but somehow, it's not a happy smile.

"Hi, Alice, how are you this morning?" I ask, smiling back and trying not to be paranoid.

"Hey, Bella. I'm fine. But it feels like a long morning already, and I've only been here an hour," she replies, sighing heavily.

"I'm sorry to hear that. I hope your day gets better. Have you checked on Edward yet today?"

"Actually, I have. He's feverish this morning, and Dr. Evans is in with him now."

A thrill of fear runs through me, but I try to quench it. Edward is a terminally ill patient; of course, his doctor is going to come and see him. It doesn't mean anything new is wrong. But that nagging feeling I have just won't go away, so I do what I know I shouldn't.

"Is he okay, Alice?"

Alice purses her lips as she looks at me. "Dr. Evans stops by to see Edward around nine-thirty almost every day, he's just here a little earlier today."

I release the breath I was holding as my anxiety drops a few notches. "Okay, well, I guess I'll just see him at four then. Can you tell him I came by?"

"Of course," Alice says, squeezing my shoulder before she walks away.

I stare after her, puzzled and a little disappointed. I was sure she was going to ask me about my dinner with Edward last night, and I was looking forward to telling her. She must just be really distracted and busy this morning. On the bright side, I guess I have some extra time to review the day's charts. Shrugging, I turn and head back to the elevators.

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My day passes quickly, and before I know it, I'm walking down the fourth floor hall toward Edward's room. Alice is sitting in front of the computer at the nurse's station, looking at least as frazzled as she did this morning, so I stop to check on her. "Hey, Alice. Did your day get any better?"

"Hey," Alice says, smiling at me tiredly. "Not really. Edward's asleep. He's still feverish, so he's been in and out a lot today."

The smile slides off my face. Damn. After the fantastic three days we had, it's a rough wake-up call for me that he's having a bad day—I'm sure it's even worse for him. "I promise I won't stay long, Alice, but he'll be mad at me if I don't at least wake him and say hello," I tell her as I turn to walk away from the nurse's station.

"Bella," Alice says as she puts a hand on my arm.

I freeze, my eyes widening as the hair on the back of my neck begins to stand on end. "What is it, Alice? Did something happen?"

"Bella, you're my best friend, so I'm going to be as honest with you as I can be. Edward needs some time today. He has some … things he needs to think about, and he asked me if I could intercept his visitors, and I agreed."

"Intercept his visitors? As in, he doesn't want to see me today?"

"Yes," she answers shortly.

"And you agreed with this?"

"No, I didn't agree he shouldn't see you today; I agreed that he needed some time to sort things out in his head. He's the one who decided he needed to do it alone, and I took pity on him and agreed to help him do things his way."

I sigh in frustration, trying to contain my anxiety and fear.

"But, he's okay right now, isn't he? I mean—"

"Yes, other than running a fever today, he's okay right now," she answers, although I can tell her words are carefully chosen.

"And you can't tell me what he needs to think about, can you?"

"No, honey, I can't. You'll have to ask him about it, and I hope you do. You'll have the chance tomorrow. I told him I'd give him one day, but if he doesn't want visitors tomorrow, he's going to have to explain that to you himself."

"But I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you—"

"Yes, he would," she says almost angrily. "He just reminded me this morning of what the law says, so he's definitely going to know if I step over the line."

"He … what?" I ask, taken aback. "He reminded you that you couldn't tell me anything about his condition? Why on earth would he do that?"

The look on Alice's face is pained—she wants so badly to tell me what's going on, but she's bound by law to protect Edward's privacy. My hands start to shake as my mind explodes with the possibilities of what Edward might need to think about, and none of them are good. I jump as Alice puts an arm around my shoulder.

"Hey, it'll be okay," she tells me. "I'm sure he'll talk to you tomorrow. He was just feeling overwhelmed today on top of being feverish, and he wanted some alone time. Don't freak out. He'll still be here when you come tomorrow."

I nod my head numbly, my mind still racing. Something is very wrong, I just know it. And now I have to wait until tomorrow to find out what. The silence between Alice and me is strained—I think I understand now why she wasn't very talkative this morning. So, I tell her goodbye and head home to my apartment.

I make myself dinner, but I can't seem to think about anything but Edward. He reminded Alice what she can't tell me, by law? What the hell is that about? Between that and him not wanting to see me today, I'm nearly panicked. What could possibly have happened? We had such a fantastic weekend, and things have been going so well between us—I would think he'd changed his mind about expressing his feelings for me, if it weren't for the bit about the privacy laws. That part tells me something happened, and he doesn't want me to know. But, I'll have to find out eventually, right? Unless he doesn't want me to know until it's too late to do anything about whatever it is.

Fuck! I pound on the couch in frustration. This is getting me nowhere. I just have to wait until tomorrow and get him to talk to me. Oh, God, but what is he going through right now—feverish and shouldering the burden of whatever this is alone? Tears of anger and frustration sting my eyes, and suddenly, I need to know he's all right.

I pick up my cell phone and stare at it. Six-thirty. Edward might still be awake. I'm dying to call him, but I know it's not the right thing to do. He asked for space today, and I need to give it to him. But a text can't hurt. Just a little text to let him know I'm thinking about him? I open a message and type before I can change my mind.

Hi, Edward. I'm not gonna call you because I know you needed some alone time today, but I wanted to tell you I stopped by, and that I'm thinking about you. –B

I read it through and hit send, hoping he's awake and he might respond. I put my phone down, but it vibrates almost immediately, and I dive on it, turning it over to see the message.

Thanks, Bella. I'll see you tomorrow. –E

Warmth spreads through my chest as I smile—I'm happy to have heard something from him, even if it wasn't much. I go to bed early for the second night in a row, thinking tomorrow can't come soon enough.

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Wednesday, August 8, 2012

I stop by to see Edward first thing, but Alice tells me his fever didn't break until four in the morning, and I should let him sleep. On a rational level, I agree with her, but on an emotional one, I'm dying to see him so I can figure out what the hell is going on.

The day drags horrendously, but finally, I find myself standing outside Edward's door. Alice is nowhere to be seen, and I wonder if it's on purpose. She's in a terrible position between Edward and me, so maybe it's best that she lay low until he tells me what's going on.

I open the door slowly, hoping to find Edward drawing, but he's not. He's lying listlessly on his bed, staring at the opposite wall as if he's not really seeing anything. His hair looks the way it does when I wake him up in the morning—sticking up in every direction as if he's run his fingers through it more times than he should've. His eyes look tired, the smudges under them dark and the skin around them tight. I stare at him for a moment, my eyes drinking him in as I steel myself for whatever may come today, before I push the door open enough so that it squeaks.

Edward startles a bit, turning his head so his gaze falls on me, his dark green eyes seeming to brighten a little. He smiles at me tiredly as I cross the room and take his hand. "Hey, Bella," he says softly.

"Hello, sweetheart. I've missed you."

He gives me a small smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes. They still look sad, and the stress lines around them are deep. He looks like he's carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders today.

"I've missed you, too," he answers, squeezing my hand.

"Are you all right? What happened yesterday? I was so worried."

He tenses, frowning a bit and seeming to force his words out. "I'm fine. I was feverish yesterday, and it hit me pretty hard after the … amazing weekend we had. I just needed to clear my head."

His voice quavers as he says the words, and I can't suppress the shiver that runs down my spine. Whatever really happened is serious, so much so that he's barely holding it together today. But he's not going to tell me—at least not now, anyway. That much is clear. I swallow back the sickly feeling of hurt that bubbles in my chest and stomach and force myself to smile.

I look at him steadily, and I can tell from his reaction that he knows I'm aware he's lying. His eyes widen, panic and sorrow welling in their depths before he closes them in defeat, frowning and ducking his chin.

I want to push him—demand he tell me what's going on so he's not alone and I can help him, but I know from past experience that if I do he'll only get defensive and shut down completely. I'm much more likely to guilt him into telling me by being kind and understanding. But I want it to be crystal clear to him that I'm not fooled.

I stroke my fingers over his knuckles soothingly. "I'm here, when you're ready to tell me."

He flinches at my words but otherwise doesn't acknowledge them. God, he looks so broken right now that I just want to gather him into my arms and tell him it'll be okay, but I don't because he's trying so hard to hold himself together, and I don't want to make it harder for him.

He swallows thickly, but he keeps his composure, sighing and resting his head back against his pillow. "Bella, I'm not feeling very well today. Yesterday's fever wore me out, and my belly is really tender. Can you just … tell me about your day?"

A tear runs down my cheek, but I wipe it away quickly so he doesn't see. "Of course I can, sweetheart."

I tell him what I can about what I did today, and he seems to relax a little, just listening to the sound of my voice. His eyes remain closed, but he responds in all the right places, so I know he's paying attention. I also tell him that Mr. Matthews has been removed from suicide watch and is responding well to medication.

"Wow, that's great, Bella," Edward says, opening his eyes and smiling at me. It's the first bit of enthusiasm I've seen from him all day.

I can't help but smile in return. "Thanks. I actually talked to him yesterday, and he asked me if I'd be willing to resume sessions with him. He made it a point to tell me what he did was in no way my fault, and he hoped I didn't blame myself."

"See? I told you it wasn't your fault, but I'm glad your patient confirmed it for you. I know you were helping him, but … sometimes, it just isn't enough."

"Thank you again for that, by the way," I tell him, squeezing his hand in mine. "You really did help me put things into perspective on Friday."

"You've helped me through lots of bad days. I'm glad I was able to return the favor," he says, looking pleased with himself.

I look at the clock and I'm surprised—I've managed to entertain him with my stories for almost two hours. "Wow, it's after six already! I wonder where Alice is with your dinner?"

Edward suddenly looks uncomfortable. "I'm sure she'll be here soon," he says, but he's not meeting my eyes.

I tense. Something's going on here, and whatever it is, it's related to why he's so upset. I don't know what it is, but I'm going to get to the bottom of it. "Well, why don't I just go see about it for you?" I ask as I stand and head for the door.

"Bella," he calls, and I stop and turn back to look at him. "Don't bother. She's … not going to bring me dinner."

"Well, why the hell not?" I demand, the sudden dread in the pit of my stomach making me respond sharply.

He meets my eyes, letting the sorrow he's fought back all day finally reach them. "I … the … lymph nodes in my neck are more swollen than they were before. I'm having trouble swallowing, and … I can't eat anything."

I swallow instinctively. "How long has this been going on?"

He stares down at his afghan, slowly tracing squares. "Since … Monday."

"Monday?" I gasp and clap a hand over my mouth. "Our dinner! On Monday night, when you choked—you couldn't swallow, could you?"

Edward shakes his head slowly without raising his eyes.

"Dammit, I knew something wasn't right!" I exclaim, but I'm a bit relieved. If this is all that's wrong, it's fixable. "But, hopefully, this is only temporary. They should be able to give you a feeding tube in the meantime, until the swelling goes back down."

Edward closes his eyes tightly. "No, Bella. I'm not going to let them."

"You have to let them," I say automatically, but the dread starts to drip down my spine again.

"No, I don't. Since I have a DNR in place, if I can't eat for myself I don't have to let them do anything medically to help me."

"But, Edward, if you don't let them, you'll starve," I say, unable to do anything but point out the obvious as my brain tries to grasp what he's saying.

"No, I'll dehydrate first, after they remove my IV. It'll take less than a week, and after the first few days, it will be peaceful."

The dread turns into full-blown panic. "No, Edward. You can't do that. It's not time."

"I'm ready, Bella. Goddammit, I'm ready, and I just want this to be over with!" Edward exclaims, huffing out a frustrated sigh as he runs his fingers through his hair. "I'm dying, Bella! If it's not this infection, it'll be the next one, and I'm just going to get weaker and sicker. I can't do this anymore! And I can't watch you go through this with me. I can't do this to either of us!" Edward drops his face into his hand, and curls his other arm over his belly as his breathing accelerates.

I freeze as I realize this is the crisis that's going to unravel everything. The frustration and anger in his voice is just killing me. He's not ready. He's nowhere near ready, and despite what he says, I can't let him do this. I have to tell him. He doesn't have time to figure it out for himself, and I can't bear to let him die this way.

"You aren't ready, Edward," I say softly. "You think you are, but you're not. Not really."

His eyes flash, all his anger now directed at me. "And what the hell makes you think that?"

"Because I've done this more times than I can count! People who are ready, truly ready, make peace with themselves, and they make peace with their family and friends. They let go of the wrongs of the past, and they realize they're not alone, and that they have to and should depend on the people who love them—to be there for them until the end.

"I hear what you're saying, and I know how hard this is, but I just can't let you do it like this. Not when I know you can die in peace if you listen to me. Please, Edward, just listen to me!"

I try to keep my voice even, but inside, I'm panicking. It's true he's not ready, but I'm also battling the fact that I'm not ready. The thought of him being gone within a few days—wasting away before my very eyes—it's just unthinkable. I would do anything to talk him out of it, and I'm about to play the highest card I have left.

I take his hand between mine, and although his eyes narrow, he doesn't pull away. "Edward, where is your family?"

Now he does pull his hand away and closes it into a fist over his chest, turning his face away from me as he scrunches his eyes closed. "No, Bella. We're not going to talk about this."

My heart aches for him, and I hate what I'm doing, but I have to push him, I have to make him see. "Edward, you miss your mother. You drew her in your sketchbook, and you … thought I was her when you were delirious. I know that whatever is between you isn't resolved. Please, don't let things end this way."

Suddenly, he crumbles, and a sob tears from his chest. He covers his eyes with his hand as he shakes with the force of his emotion, his sobs filling the air and rending my heart in two.

Oh, God, he's finally reached the point where his anger isn't enough to fuel his resolve anymore. I reach out instinctively and run my fingers into his hair, whispering words of comfort. He doesn't pull away, and after a few moments, he quiets.

"Will you tell me?" I whisper. "It's not too late. We can still contact her if you want to. I'll help you. I want to help you." I continue to run my fingers through his hair, because I know it comforts him, but I don't even think he's aware I'm doing it.

"Bella, I can't. I can't do this. I made my choice and I … I'm at peace with it. I can't go back," he says shakily, trying so hard to believe the words he's saying.

"Sweetheart, if you were at peace with it, it wouldn't be tearing you apart like it is right now. You can do this, and I'll help you. Please, let me help you."

He's quiet for a long time, his face buried in his hand as I stroke his hair softly. Suddenly, his hand drops to the blanket and he tilts his head toward me, and the sorrow in his eyes makes my breath catch. "I … have no brothers or sisters. I haven't spoken to my parents in four years."

I stare at him for a moment, knowing I'm missing something, and then I gasp and my chest tightens as the realization of what that means rolls over me. "They don't know you're sick …"

"No."

"Edward, what happened?"

He scowls as he looks at the floor beside me, anger suddenly coursing through him, but still he doesn't speak.

"Edward, please. Have you ever told anyone this? I don't think you have because it's eating away at you. Tell me, and you'll feel at least a little better; I promise."

He looks at me skeptically for a moment, and then he huffs out a breath. "I wasn't … the son my father wanted. He was a college football player, and more than anything, he wanted his son to follow in his footsteps. I was never interested in sports—I was an artist from the day I could hold a crayon—and it … infuriated him. He was … embarrassed by me. Nothing I ever did was good enough, and when I decided to go to art school, he said he wouldn't help me.

"So I worked two jobs and put myself through school, but I still visited them through college, and even afterward when I was starting to sell my work. It all blew up when I was twenty-five. I had … gotten into pot and Ecstasy, to improve my creativity when I was painting, and I found it made visits with my parents easier to handle too. I … made a mistake and overdosed, and it hit me while I was visiting them, so they found out about my drug use.

"My father—" Edward spits the word as if it's an epithet "—told me I was nothing and I disgusted him, and he never wanted to see me again. The last time I saw my parents was when I was still in the hospital after the overdose."

Holy shit! I'd guessed he'd had some sort of a falling out with his parents, but I never suspected it was the kind that's meant to last a lifetime. Edward's father sounds like a real asshole, and I bristle at the thought of someone talking to Edward that way.

"Then what happened?"

He takes as deep a breath as he can and continues, staring down at the afghan and tracing squares rather forcefully. "I continued using for a while, but … eventually, I realized I was addicted and that the drugs were doing more harm than good. So I … checked into rehab and got myself clean."

I suspect there's more to the story—it must have been devastating for him to be disowned like that—but he's so edgy that I decide not to pry. "Did you ever try to contact them?"

"No," he says, his voice quavering. "I know that what happened wasn't about the drugs; it was about who I am, and that's never going to change. I'll never be good enough for him, even if my work sold for millions."

"Did you think about calling them after you got sick?"

"Yes, but I decided against it. I wasn't good enough then, and he didn't try to help me when I was addicted, so why should the fact that I'm dying make any difference to him?"

"Edward," I say gently, "I don't know if you realize it, but throughout everything you've told me, you've only referred to your dad. 'He was embarrassed by me.' 'He wouldn't help me.' What about your mother?"

He runs a hand through his hair. "My mother … couldn't oppose my father. No one could. I can't really blame her for that. I know she loves me, and she might even be proud of my work, if she saw it. I … miss her," he whispers as a lone tear rolls down his cheek.

"Would you like to see her again?"

He closes his eyes wearily and nods his head, his lips forming a thin line.

"Why don't you call her then? What do you have to lose? It sounds like, from what you've told me, that she does care about you, and I'm betting she would want to know what's happening to you. If you love her, give her the chance to make a different choice … before it's too late."

My heart races as I say the words, but now's not the time to think about myself. I look over at him, and his eyes are open, but he's looking down and away. Maybe he didn't hear the tremor in my voice.

"I'll … think about it," he concedes.

"Well, if you're going to think about it, then you need to let the doctor give you a feeding tube in the meantime, otherwise you're going to die."

"Bella, I'm … scared," he whispers. "I don't want to lose who I am piece by piece. I've lost so much already."

I bite my lip hard to keep the tears at bay. "Maybe the feeding tube won't be permanent, but allowing yourself to starve? That's permanent, and despite what you've heard, I doubt it's pleasant, either. You're just … You're not ready. Trust me on this. Please."

Edward huffs out a sigh. "All right. I'll … tell Alice that I'll allow the feeding tube. But I'm not happy about it."

After the stunt he just tried to pull, I don't quite trust him to follow through. "Well, if you haven't eaten anything since yesterday, I'm sure you must be hungry. Why don't I go tell Alice now so she can get you taken care of?"

He gives me an exasperated look, but he doesn't argue, so I turn on my heel and scamper off to find her. As I leave the room, I breathe a sigh of relief. I gambled and won … for now. With any luck, he's going to contact his mother and at least make peace with her, but what he tried to pull today proves I've made no progress in convincing him to fight for whatever time he has left. I'm frustrated, and some part of me hidden in a deep, dark corner is also … hurt. Despite everything that's happened over the last few days, he's ready to leave me so easily.

Alice is at the nurse's station, typing away at the computer. She looks up as I approach.

"I convinced Edward to let you give him a feeding tube," I tell her.

She claps a hand over her heart. "Oh, thank God! I tried to talk to him about it, but he stonewalled me. And I wanted to tell you so badly! I convinced him not to have his IV removed until he saw you, hoping you'd be able to talk him out of it. How did you do it?"

"I played dirty. But I'm running out of tricks, so I hope nothing else comes up anytime soon. He's still unwilling to fight for the time he has left, and he's not ready to die—he still needs to come to terms with his fear, and there are things he needs to do."

"Well, one step at a time, right? At least now, we get to have other steps," Alice says. "Let me gather what I need, and I'll be down in a few minutes."

"Okay," I answer, already heading back down the hall.

When I get back to Edward's room, his eyes are closed, but I know he's still awake.

"Alice will be here in a few minutes to insert the tube for you. I think it might be best if I go since I know you're not thrilled with this idea."

He opens one eye then closes it with a sigh.

"You're making the right choice, sweetheart. I know it doesn't feel that way now, but it will eventually; I promise you. Can I come back tomorrow?" I ask, hoping the return to our routine will help to ground him a bit.

"Could I stop you?" he shoots back, not even bothering to open his eyes.

"Of—of course you could. I would never take away your choice in anything. I just want you to be at peace with the choices you make," I answer, trying to hide my hurt over his question and my fear that I've overstepped my bounds.

His eyes snap open, and although I can still see his pain, there's tenderness in his gaze too. "I'm sorry, Bella. Of course I want you to come back. I'm just … tired."

I have a feeling he's referring to more than just this moment's exhaustion, but he's had enough for now. Today has been an emotional roller coaster, and I'm still wondering if he's rethinking everything that's happened between us.

"I'll see you in the morning, sweetheart," I tell him as I lean in and kiss his lips chastely, thanking God for the gift of a little more time. His lips brush against mine, and although he doesn't open his eyes, I see the ghost of a smile as I pull away. He's still with me, and I pray that the day he isn't never comes.

A/N:

Warning: You may need a quiet place to read.

Not quite what everyone was expecting, I think. I was honestly surprised that only a handful of people picked up on the fact that there was more going on with Edward choking. I thought I'd flagged it well enough—I'll do better next time. I think there'll be a teaser on Saturday, but I'm running behind this week and need some more time to look at the next chapter. Chapter 26 will post on Monday for sure, though. Hang on, everyone!

Music for Chapter 26: Everybody Hurts by REM (although in this case, I like the cover done by The Corrs because it's a woman singing). The link can be found in the Come Back Tomorrow playlist on YouTube and in Shadow Fics.