A/N: I'm late, I know. If you're friends with me on Facebook you'll know my youngest son has quite moderate autism. He's in 6th grade and going to highschool next year. High schools in Sydney are from 6th-12th grade. We're attempting to get him into an Autism unit. He can't be mainstreamed, and these positions are very hard to get. His current teacher at the moment is filling out his application for a placement and we've been taking him to a new psychologist to get him a more up to date diagnosis. It's been stressful af. I'm going to continue to repost Because of You, as well. Thanks for being patient with me. :)
Thanks, as always to Kimmie45 for her sharp eyes, and my new pre-reader StarryEyedWriter8, aka Melinda Dane.


Vertigo

Chapter 29

Edward.

Bella didn't mix her drinks, but she got sick anyway.

It probably had more to do with the fact that she hadn't eaten, but I don't think she was in the right frame of mind to begin with.

I feel partially responsible. I knew the more she drank the more she'd open up. I don't even think she realises it, but this time it was too much. For both of us. I wasn't expecting how much she'd reveal, or how easily it would spill from her; nor was I prepared for it.

Still, I refuse to let her wallow in the belief that she's like her grandmother. I know what that state of mind can do to you, and it took ten years of therapy to get me out if it. My mother hasn't been fully extracted from my mind, she probably never will be, but I got enough of that bitch's voice out of my head that I don't allow her to compromise how I live my life anymore.

It's obvious now, despite how well she covers it, that on top of the trauma of losing her family, Bella's been carrying this woman, unchallenged, in her head for years. Like me, she was left young and defenceless in this evil woman's care, only she didn't receive the help I did to move past it. I can't bloody conceive of it, and I should be able to because I know firsthand that just because a person's family doesn't mean they have your best interests at heart.

Deep down she believes it, too. It took the entire bottle of wine before that became obvious. She believes she is her grandmother in the making, and nothing I could say would make her believe otherwise. This is how far that toxic woman's influence extends. It's embedded so deep within her it's as if it's invaded her bloodstream. It's going to take a lot to extract it, but I can't allow her to live another minute believing it. Especially now that I know what it's doing to her.

I'm not sure she even realised how far down the rabbit hole she was going. Or the extent at which alcohol makes her mind lag, because after she'd told me the worst of it, she suddenly stopped and pulled up short. The worst of it wasn't that she can't have babies, but that her grandmother made her believe she'd received brain damage after the accident—using her bad grades as part of the proof—and then had Bella declared unfit and placed under her legal care.

Maybe it was my expression that made her finally realise how much she was revealing, because the deeper she went the more shocked I became until I couldn't conceal it from her any longer. I don't know why I'm always underestimating what she went through. Maybe because she's always been stronger than me. At least I thought she was, but deep down I've always known that behind those deep eyes of hers is an ocean of hurt, and most days she's just barely keeping her head above it.

Then without warning she froze mid-syllable and gasped, looking at me in horror, shock, and pain all at the same time. She placed her hands over her mouth, one over the other, while her wide eyes began to well with tears.

"It's okay, baby," I reassured her gently, slipping my arm around her shoulders to pull her against me, but she shrugged me off her.

"What part of any of this is do you think is okay?" she put to me. Her words were slurring, but the tone she would have normally used wasn't there. There was no more fight left in her.

I leaned towards her and cupped my hand to her cheek. "It's not okay—Jesus, Bella, none of it is—but's it's okay that you've told me."

"Christ..." she whispered, her voice still ingrained with disbelief. She dropped her face to her palm, her forehead knotting with obvious frustration, and she suddenly looked really bloody vulnerable. And then she cried, but the way she cried made me uneasy. She cried as if she were a little kid who was lost and alone. She cried the way I once used to.

I took her in my arms and she didn't put up a fight; she slumped against me, her face pressed against my chest with both her hands clamped around my shirt. She was shaking, her breath shallow and jerking, when suddenly she tensed. Then, almost too casually, she pulled herself from me, got to her feet and left the room.

She was unsteady on her feet, and I thought maybe she was going to lie down.

"Bella...? You okay?" I asked her, not sure if I should've been concerned, or not.

She didn't reply and in the next moment I heard the bathroom door close followed by the sound of her throwing up.

"Shit..." I muttered to myself, before pulling myself hastily to my feet and bursting into the bathroom. She was slumped over the toilet, sheet white...and it was in her hair...

Dropping to my knee, I gathered it from her face, before she threw up again. And then again. I almost joined her, before I quickly realised she was bringing up the wine and nothing else. She obviously hadn't eaten in...Christ knows when.

We spent the next half hour in this position. She didn't speak a work, and neither did I. I kept my hand fastened around her hair and rubbed her back until I was confident she was finished expelling the entire bottle of bloody Chardonnay. By that time she was close to unconsciousness, and gathering her in my arms I carried her to bed. Making sure she was on her side, and not likely to roll on her back, I wrapped her doona over her and left the room; switching the light off as I did.

I meant to go to the kitchen and find a bucket or something in case she was sick again, but I didn't make it that far. Without even realising it, I slumped down in a chair at the dining table, dropped my head to my hand and lost it.

I don't remember the last time I cried. Not since I was a kid, and this time, it wasn't for me. I was worried about her; so worried about her it was tearing me up inside. It wasn't just that Bella had lost her entire family and was left orphaned and alone, or that she might even be infertile, it was that she was placed in the hands of the same fucking monster who came close to killing me.

I know what she's been through; what she's still going through, and you'd think I'd know how to help her through it, but I don't.

I don't know what the hell happened over the last week that made Bella slide so rapidly, but she's falling apart before my eyes and I'm powerless to stop it.

I just know I can't leave her. I have to stay with her and pull her out of this.

. . .

She sleeps for roughly six hours. I lay next to her in the dark, completely on edge while I make sure she stays on her side, and ready to grab her hair if she's sick again, but she's not. It's just before midnight when she groggily pulls herself upright on the bed before reaching over to click on the bedside lamp and grabbing her inhaler.

After drawing it back a couple of times she turns her head to gaze at me. She sort of smiles; though, I think it's more of a grimace.

"How do you feel?" I ask her, remaining conscious to keep the tone of my voice low.

She half scoffs sarcastically, only her eyes look endless and bloody tortured. "Pretty shit," is her reply, and her voice cracks. She clears her throat before dropping her forehead into her palm. "Christ, my head..." she mumbles.

"Want me to get you some Panadol? A Berocca?" I offer.

"No," she murmurs, shaking her head once; her eyes fixed to the inhaler in her hands. "I might have a bath," she says after a moment. She moves to pull herself to the edge of the bed, when she turns to glance at me over her shoulder. "Come and keep me company?" A genuine smile almost breaks across her face, but she's so tortured I'm not sure it's even possible at the moment.

Breaking into a smile in return, I pull myself to my feet and walk around the bed. She waits for me to reach her before leaning against my chest and wrapping her arms around my waist. "Thanks, Edward," she whispers after a moment. "I'm not sure what I'd do without you."

Curling my arms around her shoulders, I drop my face to the top of her head. "I'm always going to be here for you, baby," I murmur against her hair. "You can tell me anything. Okay? It won't change a thing."

"Yeah..." is all she says, sounding like she's lost in thought before pulling from my arms again and making her way, head in her hand, into the bathroom.

While she runs a bath, she rinses her hair in the vanity sink before tying it back to wash her face and brush her teeth. She sure as hell recovers from alcohol pretty quickly. I woke up after the same amount of sleep this morning feeling like death warmed up.

After, she slips her robe from her shoulders, and steps into the bath. I help her, she's still swaying and looking slightly green.

She washes her hair. I sit on the edge of the bath in silence, waiting for her to talk. Once she's finished, submerging herself completely under the water to rinse off, she resurfaces and lays herself back; closing her eyes.

She sighs, and it almost sounds like a sob. I bend down and remove a wet strand of her hair off her forehead, before replacing it with my lips. She opens her eyes, only barely, squinting up at me before a vulnerable smile pulls on her lips.

"You going to mention it, or am I?" she mumbles.

"Mention what...?"

She huffs slightly, her expression clouding. "The bloody elephant in the room."

"You...mean..." I begin, when irritated, she cuts me off.

"Christ, Edward—just bloody say it!"

"You can't have kids..."

"I can't have kids," she echoes me with a heavy sigh before turning her head from me to stare at the ceiling.

"What happened?" I ask her gently. "Was it the accident?"

She nods. "I was haemorrhaging from all over the place. They took my uterus, one of my kidneys and half my spleen."

"Christ, baby..."

She suddenly sits herself upright and turns fully to face me. "I'm going to give you an out, Edward. No questions asked. I can't ask you to take this on, as well." She's serious. Too bloody serious, and there's something determined in her tone, as well.

"What?" I ask in disbelief. "Is that what you think?"

"What else can I think?" Her voice rises before it catches in the back of her throat.

"I'm not going anywhere," I tell her, putting my foot down, "and I don't want to hear any more of this giving me an out bullshit."

"You don't know what you're saying," she whispers, shaking her head with the barest movement.

"I know exactly what I'm saying!" I cup my palm to the side of her face, keeping her eyes on me. "And I'm telling you right now it makes no difference to me."

"But..." her voice softly breaks, "you could change your mind in ten years, and then what?"

I pause and take a heavy breath, releasing my hand from her to drag it back through my hair. "Do you want kids, or do you think you shouldn't be allowed to have them?"

She shakes her head. "I don't know..."

"Well, if you ever decide you do want a baby, I'll get you one."

Her brow immediately quirks, her expression becoming cynical. "And how exactly would you do that? Snap your fingers?"

I scoff. "Bella, do you have any idea who my lawyer is? I could buy you a baby tomorrow."

She only stares at me for a moment, before she utters out a shocked kind of laugh. "Christ, I suddenly remembered who I'm going out with."

I break into a small smile. "You're going out with me. I just have a shit ton of money."

Her smile is almost genuine this time, before she lays herself back in the water and closes her eyes.

"So...we understand each other?" I put to her, pressing my thumb to her creased forehead.

She takes a heavy breath and answers in a hum. "Sometimes I get glimpses of that man you might have been if you grew up differently. It's kind of scary, actually," she says lightly, a smirk tugging on her lips; I return it.

"I'm not sure what would have been worse," I murmur, because I often wonder that myself. Would I have been like Pop once was? Emmett and I both? "Just make sure you go back and see Dr Jenks for me, okay?"

She nods. "I'll call him on Monday."

"If you don't, I will," I promise her, because I bloody will!

She grins fully this time. "I think I should start charging you by the hour, handsome."

I almost laugh, but Christ, is she referring to herself as a prostitute? "What does that mean?"

"You don't apologise nearly as much as you used to, and I really like it when Mr Confident comes out to play. You know how sexy he is?"

This time I do laugh. "Okay, but I still don't get it."

She shakes her head to herself, but she's only teasing me. I can almost believe she's starting to come around except her eyes are puffy and she has an almost shocked element to her expression. "How can a guy as gorgeous as you are be so dense?"

"Would you stop being so bloody cryptic all the time," I tease her.

Taking an exasperated-sounding breath, she decides to explain it to me, "You pushing me seems to be therapy for you. You become all forceful and you don't apologise for it."

"I'm sorry," I reply lightly, laughing again when her eyes fly open.

"Are you kidding me?" She flashes me a dubious look.

"Who's dense now, gorgeous? That time I was only teasing you."

She breaks into a grin, almost laughing with me, when it suddenly fades from her lips. "Edward...?" she says softly after a minute.

"Yeah?" Picking up the face washer, I squeeze the water from it over her shoulder.

"I did try and kill myself," she admits in a small voice, before she glances over at me, but it's as if she cowering away from me.

I only nod, but I feel like I should be holding my breath.

She sighs and rubs her forehead as if she's reconsidering elaborating on it.

"Bella...you don't..."

She shakes her head to cut me off. "You already know now, so I just want it out of the way."

"Okay."

"I was twenty-three. It was a month after I got my memories back. My grandmother was...in my head..." She shakes her head again, more forcefully this time. "Anyway, I found out how to get over the railing on the ANZAC Bridge." Her eyes break from mine and fall to her fingers that she's running repeatedly through the mass of bubbles clinging to her. "It was raining...I'd taken a step off the ledge and was just beginning to fall forward when someone grabbed me and hauled me back. He was this big burly, bushy truckie, but all I really remember about him was his eyes and how kind they were." She glances up at me, her expression too vulnerable, and I release my breath in bloody relief because thank Christ for this man.

"Anyway," she continues in a mumble, "the next thing I know I was in the back of a police car. I thought I was being sent to jail." She scoffs to herself through her nose. "Instead, they sent me to this...mental health facility, and that's where I met Dr Jenks."

For the longest time I don't say anything. I can't. I only pull her to my side, even as I sit on the edge of the bath, and wrap my arm around her shoulders.

"You might as well get in with me," she breaks the silence between us, her voice almost teasing. "You're getting just as wet."

"Hmm..." I smile in reply, but my mind's racing ahead of me. "Bella...?"

"Yeah?"

"You don't really believe her, do you? That you're responsible for what happened?" I ask gently.

Taking a laboured breath, she pulls away from me and slips further into the water. "I know it's not rational, and Dr Jenks is helping me get her out of my head, but sometimes...she gets in," she explains.

"She wasn't ever...physical to you, was she?"

"No," she replies, sounding distracted, and shaking her head with it, "but I often wished she was. What she did was worse, Edward." She looks up into my eyes, as if she were pleading with me to understand.

"I know..." I say gently.

"She...she psychologically fucked with me every day that I was with her. She told me I was inherently selfish, and that I subconsciously set out to hurt people. She dug around for information from me and then she used it against me. She used to tell me how I was secretly happy...they were dead..." her voice breaks and she hastily severs my gaze, looking like she's attempting to inhale her tears back.

"Jesus fucking Christ..." I whisper in bloody disbelief. I drag her to me again, and bend down to plant my lips to her temple. "You know that's complete bullshit—don't you?"

She nods with barely any movement. "Rationally, yes..."

I huff because it pisses me off that she could ever think anything so ridiculous, and this is despite knowing exactly where that thought process comes from. "Whether it's rational or not don't you believe it."

She nods again, biting her lip, and it's obvious this time she's trying not to cry.

"Hey..." I murmur, my lips grazing against her wet skin, before tightening my arm around her. My entire shirt is now drenched. "Why have you been so afraid to tell me?"

She takes one shaky, wavering breath after another, before she begins, "Because sometimes I believe it, and I was afraid that maybe you might believe it too." Her voice catches and tears once more slip silently down her face, and this time when I attempt to comfort her I practically fall in on top of her. It immediately distracts her and she all but laughs. "Christ, Edward, would you just bloody get in."

So I do.

After stripping off my clothes, I sink into the water behind her. She lays back against my chest, in between my bent knees—because her bath tub isn't the largest one ever made—but Christ, she has the water hot.

For several minutes she's quiet. I wrap my arms around her and she tilts her head to the side, her face pressed against my neck, and closes her eyes.

"I was so ashamed after, Edward..." she eventually whispers.

"What were you ashamed of, baby?" I ask softly, unsure of her meaning.

"Of trying to kill myself," she admits in a small voice. "I felt like my mother, my brothers...they were disappointed in me."

"They couldn't be disappointed in you," I assure her.

She doesn't reply.

"See my nose?" I pipe up after another pause where she'd fallen quiet again. She angles her head to look up at me, and releasing an arm from around her, I run my finger down over the bridge to the tip. "See how from the side it looks straight, but head-on it's kind of crooked?" I turn my head back and forth for her to grasp my meaning.

"Hmm...maybe a little bit," she says after several moments of scrutinising it, "but it suits your face—why?"

"My mother broke it."

"Christ, Edward... Why?" She's flustered, and she's angry.

"Emmett...he used to be into Harry Potter. He read all the books. She bought them all in hard cover for him, and one day I had the audacity to touch one," I explain simply.

"So...she decided to break your nose?" She's confused, and I think maybe in disbelief.

"She slammed me in the face with it."

She's horrified, but a lot more than that is burning in her eyes. "I think I'll have to kill her."

I break into an immediate smile, smothering the laugh behind it beneath my breath. My mother's tall and Bella's a complete smol, but she's serious. "She wasn't always physical, Bella, but when she was it was at the end of months of these mind games she used to play with me until I was so on edge I was a nervous wreck. I knew once she beat me it was the end of it—for a while anyway. I used to look forward to it."

"God, how depressing we both are..." she murmurs.

I rest my nose and lips against her wet hair for a moment, letting go of my breath. "But the point is, I was able to move past her. That's all you have to do now, Bella. Get her out of your system."

"How old were you?" she asks in a soft voice, veering back.

"Ten. It was a couple of months before we went to live with Pop. He got it fixed, but before that the kids at school used to call me pug dog."

"How did the hospital not notice that you were always being admitted with injuries?" she puts to me, almost flipping over to her stomach.

"My mother paid the staff well to shut their mouths, and repeat the stories she fed them."

"Bitch..." she mutters.

"So...knowing what you know," I continue, "don't you think I could spot someone like her from a mile away?"

She hums, her tone almost turning wry as she obviously gets where I'm going.

"You are not your grandmother, Bella," I reiterate against her hair. "And I don't care if you have to yell and scream at me, but you have to stop giving her power over you."


A/N: Thanks for reading.