A/N: I want to dedicate this chapter to 'fanficreader163', I had logged onto my old email looking for something and was pleasantly surprised to find a review for this little story of mine, I've had this chapter written since may, but forgot to ever post it. I hope you like it!

Also, (hopefully you see this) VryUnique, I finally saw all your reviews from back in april and I kept laughing every time you'd mention/call me out for a mistake or just flat out crazy thing I had written into this story. drag me, yasss queen. even I think some of the things in I'm Mute are a bit unlikely (and cringey!) Anyway, i'm trying to tie up any loose ends to fix my younger selves mistakes.

We only have one more chapter and the epilogue though, sooooooo I hope ya'll like it!

One year, four months later

All of my worldly possessions currently fit into one box meant for file storage. Looking around the now bare room, I was sure it wasn't a bad thing. I hadn't stayed long enough to accumulate more than I needed. Still, as I toss the last of the blankets into the laundry basket I feel a pang in my chest. This had been my room, where I hit my lowest and learned how to trust my voice again.

"You ready?" Dr. Grace Alvers, my therapist, knocks on the open door. We'd grown close over my time here.

I nod slowly, giving one final sweep of the room. There was nothing left of me here. I wasn't meant for here any longer

"Alright, the car's out front." My smile is genuine as I walk into her extended arm, both of us walking out of The Refuge together. Weeks ago when I decided it was time to start my life over, Dr. Grace had casually mentioned being there for me for support. She hadn't thought I'd actually take her up on her offer but there was no hesitation when I asked her to drive me back home.

It wasn't until halfway into the journey that the butterflies started. Having spent over a year studying my movements and signals, even driving Dr. Grace could sense the difference. She let me think it through, let me work my worries myself for a while. After another while she's pulling off the freeway and taking the next available exit to find the nearest fast food joint.

In the relatively empty McDonalds parking lot, we shared a twenty piece and six chocolate chip cookies. Our silence was comfortable, as she waited for me to open the floor.

"Do...you think they'll forgive me?" I ask, looking at the busy street as I bite off a piece of cookie.

"Why do you think they won't forgive you?" She was using her calm voice, the one that told me only I could answer this.

My voice was small, meek sounding. "What if they hate me?"

She honestly snorts, little crumbs of cookies flying into the dash. "Bella, that- I can assure you, won't happen. That family loves you so much it's ridiculous."

There isn't anything I can respond with that would make for furthering the conversation. So I stay quiet with my thoughts and we finish the last of nuggets before setting out on the road once more. It's another couple of miles when Dr. Grace lays a hand on my knee with a reassuring squeeze, "for what it's worth...I'm proud of you."

Taking sparing glance at me, she nods seriously. "I mean it. When you first were admitted, I didn't think I'd be able to help you. I would have kept trying, don't get me wrong but it wouldn't have changed anything until you accepted the help."

"I just didn't want to experience a feeding tube." I mutter glibly, resting my head on the window. We reached a point in this doctor patient relationship where I felt like I could make light of the past. The simple act made my heart race with joy. She was right, just because I was admitted didn't mean I was ready for help. We spent weeks in her office for the mandated hour session in silence. All the while she retained a patient aura, while I was seething with anger.

Soon after I was left alone at The Refuge, I no longer felt scared of my situation. I was angry, furious at the world. For the first few days I was lost, grappling to find some balance, some action of my own. I had failed at so many things I had wanted and now I was in a facility where by the hour my days were planned for me. It was lunch time and I had been staring at my plate glaring at the sad excuse for Chicken Parmesan, when it occurred to me. Using the fork and knife I cut it into pieces smaller and smaller until it mush, when the orderly announced lunch was over, I had taken balled up napkins covered my mush.

I did the same with dinner later that day and as I went to bed with a small pain in my stomach, I felt in control. It had only lasted about a month or so, my weight had dropped enough to cause a worry to the staff and when I was weighed, it was noted that I had lost about fifteen pounds. They took action immediately, setting me up with a second slot for therapy and having an orderly sit next to me during meals. Still I rebelled and refused to eat the food. They weren't allowed to shoved the food on my mouth, and none of the orderly coaxing could make me eat the food on my plate.

This lasted another few days before Dr. Alvers (she'd only become Dr. Grace to me once I'd gotten comfortable with her) spoke more than her usual quota in our sessions.

"If you don't eat soon, we'll be required to take extreme measures." She stated bluntly, "I've gone ahead and alerted your family, they've scheduled to come down this weekend. They wanted to try and talk to you before letting us take over."

It hadn't occurred me what The Refuge could do, if I kept starving myself. Her use of "extreme measures" cracked my blank facade and upon seeing my confusion, Dr. Alvers quickly scribbled in her notebook.

"If you don't eat soon, you're going to be fed by a tube." She noted small my reaction, my eyes widening before I angrily shut down. She had tried to keep talking but realized I'd gone away in my mind. It was one more thing I no longer had control of. The following day I took a bite of food during breakfast but thrived on the empty feeling in my stomach.

It became a routine I knew, but much like everything in my life, the routine came to an end. It was the weekend, my mood dropping as the morning passed until I physically couldn't bring myself to get off the dingy chair supplied in my room. I'd been staring off, lost in my thoughts when the door opened, I waited for the orderly to speak, instinctively knowing it was lunch time.

"Bella?" It took a moment before it registered. It wasn't an orderly. It was Edward. Edward who, in the time it took me to come back to my senses, had come around and kneeled next to me. I forced my eyes to focus on him, drinking in the changes in him from the time apart as much as I knew he was doing the same with me. "Bella," he whispered, looking sad, I wanted to tell him not be frown, he was too good to feel such a feeling. But I didn't, I just slowly blinked because it was literally all the energy I had to do.

"What are you doing to yourself, baby?" Edward had then taken to gently cradling my face in his warm hands, as his scent swirled around me and the warmth radiated into me, my eyes shut as a peace settled around me. I lost track of time, unsure of how long we'd stayed in that position until a sound broke through my calm. My eyes opened just in time to catch a tear fall from his chin.

Edward was crying.

And it was my fault. It was always my fault

I pulled away, turning my head to anywhere but him and closed my eyes once more. I could hear him struggling to catch his breath, to calm down and stop crying. Eventually he managed, a series of mumbled curses and sighs followed soon after.

The bed springs squeaked as he sat down.

"This is so fucked up, Bella. Don't you know that?" He had never sounded so frustrated with me. "You're here with all this help readily available and you're fucking starving yourself?"

His words started a simmering anger. I'd made it more than obvious a few months ago that I did not want to come. I was here literally against my will. And it wasn't like I could sign myself out. I was medically considered unfit to care for myself, the nice way of saying I was crazy. I was fine.

Slowly I turned my head and saw how he was hunched over, head in his hands. He froze when we made eye contact, clearly not expecting me to have moved.

"Our parents are talking to your therapist, figuring out what to do with you." He shook his head, "a feeding tube? I had to leave the office, Bella. Your mom and mine started crying as soon as the meeting started. I just-how can-"

He cut off abruptly, looking away from me. His next words had been bitter, "why can't you stop being so selfish? You have to know how this is messing your parents up. They don't deserve this."

It's been so long I forgot when I last communicated, the words formed slowly as I mouthed, "and I deserve this?" I gestured around me, freely showing my disgust for this room.

"I didn't want to fucking come." I had to remind myself not to rush the words or he wouldn't understand. I could see him focusing on my mouth, mentally piecing my words into sentences

"This, is not my fault." I bit my lip to stop going any further. I was angry at the world but I didn't want to be angry at Edward. However, he was too smart and noticed my silent intonation.

Immediately he grew defensive, crossing his arms and leaning away. "So it's my fault?"

Before I could have even thought of a response Edward let out a short and harsh laugh. "Yeah, it's really my fault that you're here meant to be getting better, Bella. Yeah, fuck me, right?"

He stood up. "And while we're placing blame, might as well bring it up. It's my fucking fault you're alive, right? Totally my fault. Must suck so much to be breathing and alive instead of rotting away in Forks cemetery."

As he was speaking, his voice continuously got louder just as my heart started beating faster and faster. My head started throbbing and it didn't go away when I clenched my eyes shut.

"It's not just your life Bella! You've tangled yourself into so many lives. It's not fair!"

It didn't scare me until later on, when my anger had died, just how dizzy I was when I abruptly stood up. The suddenness of my movement caused the chair to rock back and fall. I wanted to shout. I wanted to scream. To tell him to fuck off. He had no right, I never asked for this. I never asked for any fucking thing that happened me. I wanted to tell him that I wanted-

I wanted to die. My world had spun as the realization hit me. My heaving chest froze as my breath got trapped in my throat.

My legs gave out under me, my hands barely able to brace my fall. I wanted to die, the words replayed over and over louder and louder in my head. There was a noise breaking through though, a scream. It sounded like something wild. My eyes fought to focus, my vision blurring and more than once my vision blacked out. It was when I regained focus that I saw Edward's face close to mine, a look so terrified I saw it in my dreams for weeks after. It was then that it occurred to me, the screaming was coming from me. Deep from my belly I was screaming and I couldn't stop. It only made me scream louder in panic. I felt my body drop completely to the floor, my hands going to my hair and pulling as I tried to find an anchor to calm down.

Just barely though my screaming could I hear Edward, "somebody help!" He had shouted, but I didn't think they'd hear him over me. A few moments later, Dr. Alvers and a herd of others surrounded me, someone pried my hair from my hands and another pair of arms helped pull me up onto the bed. I was thrashing, a deep rooted panic bursting forward, my face felt hot as I was losing breathe.

"It's okay Isabella. You're safe. It's okay." I heard close to my ear. I wanted to know why they were lying, I wanted to die and they were saying it was fine? Something wet fell into my ear and as my eyes widely searched the room, I saw both my parents and Edwards by the door, with that same terrified look that Edward had had.

My eyes shut, unable to stand looking at them. I felt like I was underwater, I couldn't make out what the voice next me was saying next. I screamed once more but this time from external pain that was localized on my arm. For a brief second of my thrashing an arm holding me down loosened and it was enough for me to swing my arm to my face. I wanted to hide I wanted to disappear. With my panic I scratched my face on accident and suddenly a wave hit me. My screaming stopped and soon the only sound in the room was a gasping series of short breaths. My eyes started drooping and as my head lolled onto my pillow I caught sight of my hand, there was a hint of blood but what struck me most was the water on my fingertips.

An orderly had injected a sedative, I'd learn later. As a medicated sleep overtook me, I had one last epiphany. It wasn't water on my finger tips. They were tears. I had been crying. I hadn't cried since I first stopped talking almost seven years ago

When I woke up next, I felt hungover and I was alone. That was the day I went to the front desk and changed my visitors list. After I went back to my room and found a notebook and wrote down two sentences and waited for my therapy session. It was the first time I saw Dr. Alvers falter in her cool exterior. Her eyes softened as she nodded.

The sentences read:

Help me.

I want to find a reason to live.

I'd never felt that out of control and it terrified me. It wasn't until sessions later that i was able to explain, by writing it on paper, (my throat too raw to try and make noise) how it wasn't my initial intention when I cut myself. I'd gone to my house in hopes of getting some NyQuil to fall asleep, the only package we had in home was brand new and i couldn't tear off the protective seal.

I had taken a small paring knife and tried to cut off the seal but went in at a bad angle. The knife slipped from the bottle and I accidentally cut my finger. I'd gone to the bathroom to clean it out. My face looking wild and eyes judging in the mirrors reflection, it was then that I swallowed a handful of pills. I just wanted to sleep and sleep and sleep. Looking back now, I could accept that I wasn't in control. I hadn't been as sane of mind as I continuously told myself. I had a problem. Deep down I must have known that? That must have been why I broke the mirror when I couldn't handle looking at my own judgemental gaze. I'd punched my own reflection, disgusted with myself. Glass rained around me. I took more pills soon after.

Waiting for the pills to take effect, I noticed the blood began to ooze from my knuckles and sparked a memory of when I once read about cutting and the chemical reaction it caused in the body. I just wanted to sleep. On a surface level i was just going to cut myself enough to induce the reaction and then knock out from the combination of sleeping pill.

It hurt as the shard of glass broke skin but even then I couldn't cry out. Not as my skin split and blood started rushing out. However through the pain I could feel that rush I'd read about. It was that feeling that made me pick up the glass once more and cut my other wrist as well, I cut down deep hoping to increase the amount of endorphins my body would release. I was panting, as I let my arm flop beside me, there was a small voice in the back of my head that told me this wasn't right but it quickly shut up as I felt that rush again. I started feeling sleepy, my body slumping down and I fall to the floor, a smile on my face as I find it harder to stay awake. I was going to sleep.

Dr. Grace and I tried to map out the timeline of the events of that night. From when I passed out due to blood loss to when Edward found me. That's all a blackout.

The second time I cried had been when I tried to talk but couldn't. There had been almost a physical wall keeping me from making the words. It confused me seeing as I knew I was capable of singing but why was speaking so hard? Dr. Grace had taken to assigning me homework, in the safety of my own my room I had to practice my ABCs. Crying had began to be a thing with me. I'd made it to the letter H a few times later and cried some more because I had been so happy.

I wasn't able to trust my voice and more importantly ignore the small voice that sounded so much like James until almost a complete year at The Refuge. The voice that said I didn't matter or that they wouldn't believe me.

I told my past to Dr. Alvers who in turn listened intently and let me take my time. After years and years of keeping it smothered by fear or anger, I wasn't so surprised that it took me about four hours to get it all out. I had to pause many times, repeat myself to get it out correctly, by the end I was exhausted and spent the rest of day napping. When I woke up there was a moment of clarity, a feeling of peace in my chest of having had told someone. Having broke the invisible hold that James cast upon me so many years ago.

Dr. Grace once told me in a session "you aren't a victim, Bella, you're a survivor."

And those words began a mantra, because against all odds I had survived. But now I was tired of surviving, I wanted to live. For my family, for the Cullen's, for Jimmy, for Makenzie.

I wanted to live for myself.

Not being scared of the threats he had filled my young head with, I started seeing the world in a different light. And it was so, so beautiful.

"We're twenty minutes away." Grace brought me back to the present, we were just passing the freeway marker for Forks.

"Do you think you're ready?" She asked a little later, merging off the freeway. I felt a strange sense of nostalgia as I saw the Welcome to Forks wooden sign.

"I think I am. I want to be."

Personally, I loved this chapter. I wrote it in a way I hadn't had too much experience with and it was really fun!

let me know what you think!

ps did you catch that clue I inserted? let me know!