Sorry, sorry, sorry. I'll be posting three chapters this week. And three more chapters next week to finish the story.

SM owns.

Thanks to GeekChic.

Chapter 37

Present

Edward's POV

Time has a funny way of moving when you're so focused on it. A big part of me is concerned with all the time I spend in therapy, while the other is preoccupied with how long it's been since I last spoke to Bella.

Emmett says I'm getting better, that I seem more patient, that I'm more easygoing. But I don't feel like it's getting any easier.

I miss her.

"Which her?" Dr. Medina asks when I say this out loud.

"Bella," I say. "I miss Bella."

"Not Tanya?" she asks.

I frown. "Of course I miss Tanya. It's not like I wanted her to die."

"So you didn't feel relieved when she died?"

I clench my fingers until it hurts. "No."

She makes a humming sound that grates on my nerves because it manages to sound condescending and sympathetic all at once.

"You don't believe me?" I ask. "Because I'm such a fucking psychopath?"

"It doesn't matter if I believe you. It matters what you think."

I roll my eyes. Such bullshit.

"How did Bella sit through hours of this shit for years? You're annoying as hell."

She smiles, and I can tell the difference from the times she's smiled just to placate me. There's fondness in the curve of her lips. "Bella was a patient girl, and she was truly scared of feeling how she felt, of there being something wrong with her. She cooperated with me."

"There's nothing wrong with her," I whisper.

Dr. Medina nods. "But you think there's something wrong with you, right?"

"How could there not be?" I sigh. "There's nothing right about the things I've done."

"I thought we agreed letting Bella go was the right thing to do," she says.

"Right."

"She keeps praising me for letting Bella go, but we all know I haven't. Not really. Also, I was in the hospital when she left. Who knows what I would've done if I had been out?"

Emmett takes a longer gulp of his beer, giving me the stink eye. "I'm not your fucking therapist, man. Tell all that shit to Dr. Medina."

I chuckle and pretend to listen to him, but deep down, I know I won't say those things to her.

So I write them in my journal instead.

As the months go by, I find myself writing less and speaking out more. Dr. Medina talks about progress, and my immediate response isn't rolling my eyes at her.

Emmett introduces me to friends, confessing he's been scared of me being around other people but that he's not anymore.

Apparently, the result of my going to therapy is that I look less intimidating. Even Max said so, after I visited him to apologize.

I start to work from home.

I visit Tanya's grave more.

My nightmares are less frequent and more abstract. There aren't exact faces haunting me but feelings that I discuss with Dr. Medina from time to time.

After a time, I start to believe I'm truly better. Not okay, not good, but getting there.

Until one night, when my phone rings at 2:00 AM, and the voice on the other end leaves me gasping for air.

Thanks for reading. There'll be another new chapter tomorrow.