A/N I don't own Twilight. I did meet Bellascotia, Love2read30, AishaRotterdam and Lels2768 in Amsterdam last week.
Hell all, your unending support keeps me going. Thank you so much.
Thanks to Sherry, my beta and my rock, who is always there for me. Thanks to Deb, for being who you are. Can't wait to see you again. Much love to Aleeab4u. You're an angel. Shoutout to Lels. You know why, sweetheart. And endless, infinite thanks to Bob, who talked me through this chapter and then held me up as I broke down. This has been the hardest chapter for me so far.
This chapter contains a strong trigger warning. There are no graphic descriptions, but please, read with care. You can always contact me if you feel the need to talk.
Music: Sia - Breathe Me.
Hmmm.
Esme's arms around me. Nice and strong, she holds me against her. So safe.
When she offered this hug, I couldn't deny it.
I am so happy. And now I get to share it. Renée is coming.
Renée is coming!
I hug Esme a little tighter.
~O~
It has been a roller coaster lately. So many things are changing, and I think I have set them all in motion. The smiling. The interaction. The touching. Edward.
Oh, god. Edward.
I went to him, to talk, because I had been stupid and I needed to set things to rights. I could only hope that he would forgive me, even though I knew it would be a miracle if he did.
He did.
We talked. We laughed. He smiled at me. He touched me, and I didn't mind it.
Not at all.
How's that?
Confusing, to say the least.
But I wanted to try touching more. Decided that would be a late New Year's resolution: try touch. I told Esme, and Alice knows it, too. The rest doesn't, and that's okay.
I'm okay with it, so long as I can see it coming. So long as it is gentle and purposeful, perhaps. My big test was when we went ice-skating.
Oh, my god.
It was huge. I would never have done that in my old life. No, sir. Because I've never done it before, and the moment I would have fallen on my ass, Stefan would have told me what a worthless piece of shit I was.
But, as Siobhan told me, I can spend my time waiting for that other shoe to drop, or I can just start to explore my new boundaries. And she's right - what do I have to lose? I mean, even if they turn against me, I will finally, finally know what I'm in for.
They didn't. They weren't even nasty when I fell. I even fell against Edward, when he tried to pull me forward. Oh, god! It felt like it took me minutes to get my footing again! And he held me all that time, making sure I didn't fall, but never holding me too tight. I wasn't alarmed as much as I was mortified.
When I finally was stable again, I met his gaze to see if he was annoyed or anything. But in his eyes I could only see care, and, I don't know, happiness? Tenderness? I couldn't name it, but it surprised me so much that I fell flat on my ass yet again.
But I did it. I tried something new, and I accepted help from the others. They didn't shun me, or laugh at me for being such a klutz. Instead, they were patient, friendly, and everyone was willing to help.
I must admit though that when Rosalie took Edward's place, it was easier for me for the ice-skating itself. Less distraction, I guess. Because he's a guy, you know. And I don't like guys by default.
Except Edward.
But it was still better when Rosalie helped me. She's no-nonsense. I like her honesty. She doesn't treat my like I'm breakable. Esme does that, sometimes, as does Alice. I don't mind, I still prefer that above being beaten, but Rosalie is so clear I am absolutely sure she doesn't have ulterior motives.
It's nice.
I'm in my room, working on my second quilt. I left the door ajar, to feel some connection with the rest of the house. I always ask if it's okay to spend time in my room, and Esme almost always agrees. When she feels like I'm spending too much time here, she will ask if I want to stay with the family downstairs. But right now, I'm here. If I am lucky, I may be able to finish this quilt for her birthday.
I'll have to work really hard, though.
Fortunately, cutting the squares of fabric doesn't make any sound, so I can do that at night, when the house is sleeping. I've been sleeping poorly, lately. I'm dreaming more and more often about my past, strangely intermixed with my current life. I dream that Stefan is here when I come home. I dream Laurent comes into my room at night and stands at the foot of my bed, much like he used to do when I was still with him.
So far I have been able to cope. When the walls seem to be closing in on me, I slip from my room at night. Edward must have been sleeping better lately, because I haven't seen him anymore. One night, I even slipped into the laundry room and pressed the folds into the pieces of fabric for my quilt. Nobody noticed I was there for three hours straight.
I think Alice has a hunch, because she knows how much time quilting actually takes. I made hers in a matter of weeks. It wasn't as perfect as I had hoped it would become, but she had nearly cried in happiness when I gave it to her.
Why was she so happy? Didn't she tell me to make her something pretty? But, she accepted it, and that was very nice. It made me feel happy, too.
A slight knock on my doorframe pulls me from my thoughts. Looking up, I can see Edward standing in the doorway, a smile on his face.
"Hey," he says softly. "Can I come in?"
I nod, and quickly finish the piece I was sewing. If I stop half way through, I can't pick it up again without it showing. Edward sits at the foot of the bed and waits patiently for me to be done.
As I turn to him, I momentarily hesitate and then make a combination of two gestures. I know he knows them. He sent me the link to the video himself. Making loose fists with my thumbs still somewhat outstretched, I let the backs of the top half of my fingers touch. Then I twist my right hand forward, so my thumb points out and away from me. After that, I point at Edward.
His smile is so bright it could very well light up the room. "I see you got my email."
Smiling back at him shyly, I nod. It was simple, really. It's sign language for 'how are you.' And since it's only two movements, to be made close to my body, I feel comfortable using them.
If only to see Edward smile like that.
"I'm good," he answers my question. "You?"
I nod and smile to let him know I'm okay. My lack of sleep is starting to wear me down however. If only those dreams would stay away...
"I've been wanting to ask you something, but I have no idea how to bring it up," he says.
Ruh-roh. That can't be good, now can it? If he's worried that it will upset me, there's a good chance that it will. But he's here now, so he might as well get it over with. Letting him know I am willing to listen to his questions, I open my laptop and wake it from sleep by hitting the space bar.
He chuckles humorlessly, but shifts on the bed, uncomfortable. "Feel free to ignore me if you don't want to answer this, but... When we went ice-skating, you fell, and then you laughed. But it turned into crying. What happened?"
Oh, he was right. I don't like this, and I'd rather not talk about that. I told Esme and Carlisle, and that was bad enough. But then I see Edwards gaze, which is full of concern, and I realize he isn't asking to make me uncomfortable. He genuinely wants to know.
Like I would want to know what was wrong when I saw him upset, perhaps. Not that he'd ever let me in like that, but alas.
With a soft sigh, I type on my laptop.
It's not easy for me to talk about that
"I thought as much," he says quietly. "And if you don't want to tell me, I understand. I really do. I've just been wondering about it, and, well... I just didn't like to see you so upset."
He ducks his head at the last bit. Is he really shy? That's something new. Why would he ask about this if it makes him uncomfortable? My mind replays his words. Didn't like to see you so upset.
Holy shit.
He really cares.
Could I tell him? When I told Carlisle and Esme, after tremendous coaxing, they had been nothing but comforting. Maybe Edward will be too. And if he isn't, I will finally...
Yeah. I should tell him.
Ugh.
I fell so often my
My what? Rear, behind, ass? Derrière? Double ugh.
I fell so often my behind started to hurt. And I thought it was funny that it was hurting because of something else than a beating. But then I realized it wasn't funny at all.
There you go.
I swallow thickly and look away when he reads my words. The shame of my past burns brightly on my cheeks and when I hear Edward's throat bobbing, I can't look his way.
"I'm sorry," he says softly.
My response is quick.
Don't pity me
"I'm not," he counters. "I'm just sorry you were so upset. You have a lot to deal with. That's not pity."
Then what is it?
"Compassion. I care about you, Bella, even if you have a hard time believing that. I guess I'll just have to keep repeating it until you realize it."
Now I do meet his gaze, and his eyes are fierce with sincerity.
I want to touch him.
No, don't do that.
I shouldn't. Let them come to me. It's bad to want for things. Weak.
He clears his throat, breaking the tension. "I brought something else, since we're already discussing things you're uncomfortable with."
Now what?
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tube of something. I accept it from him and see the name of the cream. 'Vitamine E,' it says underneath it.
"Um," he starts hesitantly, his voice suddenly hoarse. "Alice got me that cream for my hands, when I fell. But the scarring was already minimal, due to your excellent care," he adds with a forced smile.
Why is he so nervous all of a sudden? I turn the tube over in my hands and see the description. To prevent scarring and to help existing scars fade.
What...
Edward is still talking. "I saw once you have a burn on your arm. The cream helps with existing scars as well, so..."
My eyes fly up to meet his gaze. I don't know what to think of this. It's nice of him to think of me, sure, but I never wanted him to know I had scars in the first place. What do I do? Do I accept it? Would it help? Would I want to use it? Do I want my scars to fade? I have so many, I try to look at them as little as possible.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have meddled with that." He looks away now, his hand coming up to rub to the back of his neck, a clear sign of his discomfort.
I sit frozen, still unable to even form an opinion about this cream.
"I'm sorry I saw your scar. Do you remember when that was? You were cooking, and you had your sleeves rolled up in the kitchen. That's when I noticed the burn mark. I've been walking around with this cream for weeks, trying of a way to give it to you." He falls silent and looks away.
I don't want him to be uncomfortable like that.
It's okay
The sound of my fingers on the keys draws his attention to the screen.
He shakes his head. "It's not. I shouldn't have brought it up."
You couldn't know.
He looks into my eyes for a long moment. "I should have known," he says quietly.
I frown.
How? You don't know me?
He smiles, a little sadly. "I know you better than you think, Bella. Even though you're an expert at hiding your emotions and your personality, sometimes you truly are an open book."
My mouth falls open at his clear words.
"To me, at least," he amends.
Wait, what?
Before my scrambling thoughts gain any coherence, he gets up from the bed. "See if you want to use the cream. Else you can put it in the downstairs bathroom."
At the door, he bids me a quiet goodnight, and then he is gone. I am bereft with the unshakeable feeling that he is sad, and that I somehow caused this with him. But what did I do to make his mood change so much?
~O~
Renée is coming. It takes me a day or so to gather the courage to ask Esme when exactly she'll be here.
Esme doesn't know. The first tentative plans have been laid out, but Renée isn't certain yet when she can take time off. She just wanted to know if we were up to it.
My pent up anxiety deflates as I learn that I have no date I can count down to. More disappointed than I want to admit, I go upstairs again and work on the quilt. Maybe, if I have enough time, I can make one for Renée as well. To give in exchange for the quilt she gave me when I moved here.
I rattle away on the sewing machine, until Esme knocks on my door to tell me that it's very late, and the house would like to sleep.
My blush explodes as my mortification washes over me. I never meant to bother the rest of the family with my sounds no less.
"No," Esme says, "don't worry. I'm just telling you nicely. It's not a reprimand."
With my head still down I nod, and I move to turn off the machine before Esme has left again after wishing me goodnight. I hadn't even noticed it was nearing midnight. And I am wide awake.
With a deep sigh, I settle myself to wait until I'm sure the house is sleeping, and then I go downstairs with my e-reader to make myself some hot milk. For some reason, I don't want to sleep tonight.
Nor the next.
Or the next.
Tuesday in therapy, I'm dead on my feet. I used to be able to function on little sleep, but it seems like I have lost that ability. I had trouble staying awake in Edward's car on the way to Port Angeles, and that's something I've never experienced before. It's incredibly dangerous to fall asleep with someone so close.
Siobhan takes me in with a thoughtful look. "Are you not sleeping well?"
I shake my head, too tired to deny it. I just want to sit down on that couch, please. Maybe rest my head on the back for a bit…
"Is there a reason you are sleeping poorly?" Her voice is soft, caring. I've come to really like her. I no longer worry about what she will ask and what she will do with that knowledge.
Opening my eyes, I have to look down to see her, since my head is lying back against the sofa. Comfortable. I nod, barely discernible, and point at my temple. Dreams are waking me up and thoughts are keeping me awake. I can't win.
Stefan and Laurent are constantly in my head. I keep seeing their disapproving looks, keep hearing their sneering voices if they would see me now. Happy, at ease, slacking off. Not doing my duties, not keeping myself out of the way. Demanding attention, affection, even. They wouldn't like it. They'd beat it out of me, for sure. And in my dreams, they do.
"Bella," Siobhan says softly, pulling me back to the therapy room. "I think it's time for you to start talking about your past."
~O~
As much I've been dreading the prospect of this, the reality is infinitely worse. I've kicked off my shoes and am curled up as tightly as possible in a corner of the couch, a soaked tissue held tightly in my left hand as I type.
Siobhan has given me her laptop so I can write more quickly. The words, however, are slow.
She gives me all the time I need. Never pushing, she starts at the beginning with me. And instead of focusing on the events, she now asks me about my emotions.
Fear was an important one. Distress, too. Sorrow. Sadness. More fear. Pain. Pain gets into your brain after a while, becoming an emotion in itself.
My hands are shaking when I type. The confusion I felt when I was still so very little, in that crowded trailer with my grandparents and my mother. I didn't understand why they were shouting so much, so often.
My mother in the hammock, and me sleeping on her chest. The best times were when grandpa was away, at the bar. The worst times were when he came home drunk.
The more I talk, the more I remember. How I met Laurent for the first time when we moved into his house. How he looked at me like I was a dirty spot on his new carpet. How he would pinch me, at first, when my mother wasn't looking. How he made me tell that I got a bruise after I fell.
He made me lie to her.
After serious coaxing, I can write down how I tried to tell my mother that Laurent came to my bed at night, doing things I didn't like, things that hurt. I have to type blindly, since my tears are blurring my vision.
Siobhan asks me again if he had intercourse with me then. I tell her no. I can't tell her what else he did. The shame is too deep, too painful, making my guts wrench. I hunch even deeper, reliving the pain I felt then, the pain of the shame, of knowing, even then, that what he was doing was wrong.
My mother left when I tried to tell her. She warned me to never, ever talk about that and hit me with the red-hot poker that had been lying in the fire. I don't mention the poker. I tell Siobhan how I saw my mother leave in a red car, and how I was left with Laurent.
Siobhan gently interrupts me and asks me how I feel right now.
Broken
I feel utterly and completely broken. So much hurt, so much pain, and there was no way out for me. There was nowhere I could go.
"What would you like to say to the Bella you were then?" Siobhan asks softly.
I'm sorry
I hiccup from crying, and my hands slip off the keys. It takes me a moment to find the energy to place them back on the keyboard to continue, but I find that I'm out of words.
"Would you want to comfort her?" Siobhan asks.
Tears flow again when I nod. What I would have given for a hug back then. For someone to take pity on me, even though I was learning that it wasn't something I deserved.
"What child doesn't deserve comfort?" she asks quietly. "What child of that age deserves to be treated like that?"
My breakdown is complete when I realize the answer to her questions.
No one. No one deserves to be treated like that.
Ever.
~O~
"Jesus," Edward says as he sees my face, red and swollen from crying, when I emerge from the therapy room.
"Edward," Siobhan says behind me, demanding his attention. He looks over my shoulder at my therapist. "Bella had a pretty rough session," she says kindly. "How about you make sure that when she gets home she has some hot milk and goes to sleep after that?"
"Sure thing," he says, moving his gaze back to me again.
"Bella, I'm going to call Esme," Siobhan says softly to remind me of what she proposed at the end of the session. "I will only tell her what we agreed on, okay?"
I can barely nod. Siobhan asked me if she could call Esme to tell her we have made a start with going through my past, and that it is rough on me. That's all. Esme doesn't even know yet what happened with Laurent. As far as I know, the file only says that when he was arrested for fraud, I already was a mute. After this phone call, she will know there was more.
The session has exhausted me, and in my mind, every detail I can remember replays with cruel precision. I can't do anything to force those images from my mind and time and time again I hear his voice, feel his hands. My body shudders involuntarily, as if to shake off the ghost of his touch.
We're at Edward's car before I even realize we've stepped outside. I'm so lost in my thoughts, I only notice that it's raining when Edward curses the weather. He opens the passenger door for me, reaching out when I sway on my feet.
So tired, so very tired…
He walks around to get something from the trunk, and comes back with a blanket. Ignoring my protests, he places it over me. I can feel the warmth almost immediately. Taking his seat behind the wheel, he looks at me before he starts the car.
"Go to sleep."
I shake my head, as much as I long to close my eyes and shut down from everything for a while. I can't sleep with him in the car. I won't be that vulnerable.
"At least just close your eyes then," he presses softly. "You look beat."
I feel beat. Sighing, I turn my head and look out of the window, snuggling deeper into the blanket as Edward sets course to Forks. He keeps the volume of the radio low, and the blanket is nice and warm. I've pulled it up to my shoulders, keeping it tightly around me.
Maybe I can close my eyes for a little bit. I won't fall asleep, but my eyes are burning from my crying, and I'm tired, so tired…
The sound of a door opening startles me awake. In the next moment, my door opens and Edward leans down to look at me. "You awake again?"
I nod, completely disoriented. I fell asleep, and it wasn't a light catnap, either. I've been completely out of it until we got home, making myself incredibly vulnerable. The blanket around me is untouched, and I unfold my arms, stiff from the force with which I have held it around me.
Edward smiles. "I guess you needed it. Let's go inside. I believe you are prescribed some hot milk."
His smile is endearing and I disentangle myself from the blanket as I get out of the car. I'm still in a sleepy haze, but all too soon the session with Siobhan resurfaces in my memory. Back then, I could never go to sleep, knowing that nothing would happen to me. And here, it seems that I can. Edward isn't even blaming me for falling asleep in his car.
For some reason, it makes me cry again.
"Hey, what's wrong?" he asks when he notices my tears in the kitchen. He's heated up milk in the microwave and is now placing it before me on the breakfast bar.
I shake my head in a way that I hope conveys I don't want to talk about it. He looks lost and more than a little bit worried, but he doesn't pry. He stays with me as I sip my milk, and I wonder if he's going to send me to bed too, after I've finished the drink. Surely Siobhan didn't mean it literally. When am I supposed to have dinner, then?
At that moment, Carlisle steps into the kitchen. He's still in his work attire and he looks tired. His hair is a bit messy, as if he's been worrying it with his hands. Maybe Edward has that habit from his dad.
Carlisle greets us both, but does a double take when he sees my face. "Bella?"
I duck my head, ashamed of my tears. Surely, a man like he will tell me it's useless to cry, and he will have no patience with my childish behavior. I wipe my face with an angry gesture, but my sleeves were already soaked, thus doing little to help.
Edward looks up at his father. "She came out of therapy like this. Her therapist told me that it had been a rough session and to make sure Bella gets some sleep. And she's going to call mom?" His words become a question, as if he's not sure what he's saying.
Carlisle simply nods. "That's good to know, Edward. And thank you for taking care of Bella like that."
Edward looks back at me again. His hand reaches up as if he wants to touch me, but he stops mid-air and drops it again. "Did you want to go to bed? I can tell mom to save you dinner if you don't wake in time."
I shake my head, fighting the overwhelming desire to go upstairs and hide in the dark. I have to be strong. And I don't want to burden Esme with any special treatment, when I can just stay awake, right? If I can just keep my eyes open, nothing will be wrong.
"Edward, I hear your mother in the garage. Why don't you see if you can assist her with the groceries she's brought?"
The excuse is less than subtle and I can tell Edward realizes it too. Yet, he leaves me behind with Carlisle, and fear replaces exhaustion as I wonder with cold apprehension why he would want to be alone with me right now.
He takes a seat across from me, folding his hands on the surface of the breakfast bar. His eyes are kind, and try as I might, I can't find anything but compassion in his gaze.
"It's okay to cry," he says softly, and as I blink, new tears fall from my eyes. "Don't be ashamed of your tears. You never have to be."
New tears fall, seemingly encouraged by his words. Does he mean them? Why does it mean so much to me to have him tell me that my tears are okay? I don't understand why I am crying in the first place. Then why can't I stop?
Or maybe I do know why I'm crying. I cry for the renewed pain of my past, for the realization that it's okay to hate what happened to me.
I have to sniffle before I make an even bigger idiot out of myself, and Carlisle is quick to hand me a paper towel.
"I know I am not the first one you would go to when you seek comfort," he says after a moment of silence. "But I want you to know that I am there for you, just like everyone else in this house. You don't have to hide how you feel. We completely understand. And we won't think any less of you if you have a bad day like this."
His words come in as through a daze, but my snarky mind is quick to reply. Will you still think the same of me if you know of my past?
Then again, Carlisle does know, doesn't he? He's read my file. At least he knows what happened with Stefan. Yet, he's been nothing but nice. I sigh in confusion and frustration.
"So, you had a rough session?" he asks carefully.
I nod, my head still low. I don't want to meet his gaze right now. The shame of my past makes it impossible to look him in the eye.
"You know," he says, "as a doctor, I've seen my share of wounds. Sometimes, the deepest wounds don't heal the right way the first time. Instead of healing from the inside out, only a thin layer of new skin is formed, but underneath, the wound is still there. And however much it hurts, sometimes it is better to reopen the wound, in order to let it heal correctly, and forever."
At first, I want to contradict him, because my past is not a wound. But then I see myself as a girl again, curled up in a bed, and however strongly I want to believe that it was all my fault, it wasn't the fault of that six year old girl who bit her pillow so her cries would not be heard.
When Carlisle pushes pen and paper towards me, I can't help but write. New sobs tear through me as I force the words out.
I don't think these wounds can be healed.
He makes me meet his gaze by saying my name. "They can. But in order to do that, you will have to go back and make sure hey are treated properly."
I'm scared
"I know you are. But you're doing incredible, Bella. We're all very proud of you."
This makes me look up at him out of my own accord and in his eyes I can see that he means what he says.
"We are," he repeats, a hint of a smile in his voice now. "You are starting to realize the weight of your past, and yet you take it all in stride. Few people would be as strong as you."
I duck my head again, uncomfortable with his praise, or whatever it is.
"Do you know The Velveteen Rabbit?" he asks next.
No, and I don't understand why he is bringing that up right now.
"I'll be right back," he says, and he disappears up the stairs.
As he is gone, Esme and Edward come inside. Edward is carrying a paper bag with groceries, leaving Esme free to rush to me when she sees my state.
"Are you okay?" Her voice is nearly frantic, making me anxious in turn. I nod my head to answer her. We both know I'm lying. "Did Siobhan say when she was going to call?"
No, she didn't. She only told me that she would.
"She said to make sure Bella gets some sleep," Edward says as he places the bag with groceries on the counter. His eyes are on me when he talks.
Esme nods. "Have you been sleeping poorly, lately?"
Nodding to answer her, I focus on my mug again. I don't want all this hassle. I just want some quiet in my head, but at the same time I am vividly aware that my brain is not going to be calm again anytime soon.
I can't stop the images that play in my mind like a movie on repeat. Laurent's face is vivid in my memory, the white of his eyes a sharp contract against his dark skin.
"I met a man, Bellarina…"
I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head to make it go away.
"Bella." Esme is closer to me now, her face tight in concern. "What's going on?"
In my peripheral vision, I see Edward slipping away from the kitchen. Esme attracts my attention again when she stretches out her arm, offering her hand in comfort. No longer able to fight the screaming need for contact I have always denied myself, I grasp her hand with both of mine and squeeze as I cry again.
I don't know how long we sit there. Carlisle hasn't come back yet, but I don't have the energy to wonder where he is. Sometime during my breakdown, Esme has moved a little and wrapped her free arm around my shoulders, holding me as I cry.
My tears only stop when I am simply too exhausted to cry any more. I pull back from Esme, wiping my face with the sleeves of my sweater. She looks at me with a sad smile, her eyes moving back and forth as she looks into mine.
"Do you want to go to bed?" she asks. "I can wake you in time, so you can sleep tonight."
My body begs me to give in, and when I nod, she gets up with me. Only then do I see Carlisle, sitting at the kitchen table. Has he been here all this time? What must he think of me now? Did he foresee this happening when he told me it was okay to cry? And now Esme is late for dinner, and that's my fault.
There is no sign of any negative emotion in his face when he meets my gaze. Just the same sadness as Esme is wearing right now. I didn't mean to ruin their moods with my crying. Yet another thing I have fucked up, I guess. I'm too tired to really care.
As I move to leave the kitchen, weary to the bone, Carlisle hands me a folded piece of paper. "I couldn't find the book, but I found the text online. Read it whenever. It reminded me of you."
I can only nod and continue my trip upstairs, feeling numb, exhausted, empty. The phone rings just as I close the door behind me, and when I hear Esme say Siobhan's name, I know that when I wake again, Esme will know the full scope of my past.
I don't even have the energy to read the text Carlisle gave me. I crawl under the blankets without bothering to pull off my clothes, shivering from cold, exhaustion and something deeper, darker.
It takes only seconds before I drift.
~O~
I sleep through the night. When I open my eyes the next morning, I can just tell that it's late. Checking my phone for the time, I see it's past ten am. I'm completely awake immediately, stumbling out of bed and jumping into my clothes. I've overslept horribly, and I can only imagine what Esme is going to say.
I'll lose more than my e-reader this time, I think.
Running down the stairs, I literally run into Esme as I enter the kitchen, looking for her. She catches me and places her hands on my arms gently, holding me upright so she can look at me.
"My, what's wrong?" she asks, alarmed. "Calm down."
My eyes are wide when I look at her, and I know the terror must be clear on my face. I point at my watch, telling her I'm late. Doesn't she know?
"Calm down," she says again. "Sit down first."
Frowning, I follow her to the kitchen table. I'm not at all at ease when I take a seat. What is she planning?
"I couldn't get you awake," she says as soon as we're seated. "I knocked quite hard, but I figured you needed your sleep. So don't be so panicked. Or are you really that worried about missing school?"
I shake my head, not believing what I'm hearing. I'm not worried about school, but about Esme's reaction.
"Anyway, I called you in sick. You were so exhausted."
My mind is a chaos when she gets up to make me a mug of coffee. When she returns, she has pen and paper as well. Sipping the scalding beverage, I write.
So you're not upset? I overslept
"You overslept because I let you," she contradicts easily. "What kind of message would I be sending out if I let you oversleep and then blame you for it?"
I look down at my mug again, confronted with this new reality that I have to admit, makes sense. I hunch my shoulders at the discomfort of my old life.
"Bella," Esme says carefully, "I don't blame you for oversleeping. Not after yesterday."
I nod, once.
"Would Stefan have blamed you?"
Again, I nod. It was my own responsibility to be on time. He sure as hell wasn't going to help me with that. He was quick to make me pay, though.
"And Laurent?"
My eyes fly up at Esme. So she knows. What does she know? Just what my therapist said she would tell, or more?
"Siobhan called me yesterday," Esme says quietly. "She told me about Laurent. No details, because you asked her not to, but she explained that your childhood has been tougher than we initially thought."
For some stupid reason those rotten tears are quick to show themselves again. My eyes are burning as soon as the saltiness spreads, and my head throbs. Haven't I cried enough yesterday?
"Talk to me," she says, pushing the paper towards me.
What must you think of me?
She looks lost. "I'm sorry, I don't know what you mean."
Knowing this all. It went wrong twice. What must you think of me?
"What are you saying, Bella?" Esme asks, her voice pained. "That this is your fault?"
I nod as I write.
I must disgust you now
"No." Her voice is so strong, I have to look up at her face. She means it, but her fierceness is focused on the denial of my assumption. I frown in confusion.
This doesn't change anything?
"It doesn't," she confirms. "We still love you."
Love... She says she loves me, that they love me. The word is alien, and in my memory, Laurent hisses that I will never be loved. How can someone like me ever deserve love?
The memory feels heavy on my shoulders and I hunch under the imagined weight, pulling my hands over my sleeves in a fruitless attempt to hide from this world, from the shame and the fear.
"Bella?" Again, she makes me meet her gaze. "We love you."
My shoulders seem to sag further under her words.
"We love you," she repeats, holding my gaze. "No matter what you think you've done wrong, or how bad you think you are. We love you. Unconditionally."
I want to ask her, really? I want to ask her for reassurance. Instead, the words are stuck and I sit paralyzed, trying to fight the overwhelming fear that she will take the words back when she learns just exactly what my past has been like.
But I can't tell her, now can I? I can't tell anybody. Not even Siobhan, even though she knows more than I like. My mother warned me to never talk about it again…
Esme gets up to walk around the table, and kneels next to my chair, looking up at me. "We love you," she says again, more quietly now. "Nothing will change that. Nothing."
I shake my head in denial and turn away from her to write.
I've been a horrible girl. I'm bad.
"No, you're not," she contradicts, a tiny frown puckering between her brows. "Who told you this? Stefan? Laurent?"
I nod, my heart breaking all over again.
My mother, too
I can actually hear Esme swallow as she reads my words. "Your mother was wrong," she says, her voice rough for some reason. "And Stefan and Laurent were wrong, too. They made you believe these horrible things to justify their own actions against you."
I look into her eyes, searching for something I don't know. Acceptance, maybe? For Esme to tell me it wasn't me all this time. How long have I been waiting to hear just that? But I can't believe it. It went wrong twice.
"You are a wonderful, strong girl, Bella. Look at everything you've achieved so far. You are a straight-A student. You have helped both Alice and Emmett with their Trig. You are an excellent cook. And above that all, you're a gentle and caring person. You go out of your way to help others whenever they need it. It's so sad you can't see that."
As always uncomfortable with her praise, I look away.
"Remember when you first came here?" she continues softly. "You had panic attacks, sometimes more than once a day. And look at you now. You're interacting with everyone in this family. You're allowing touch. You're talking to me right now, about your worries. You're learning, hopefully, that you don't have to carry the burden of your past alone."
But you can't take it away
"No," she says sadly. "I can't. But I can be there for you and hold you when you need it. A little bit of affection can go a long way, if you just allow it."
Thinking back to the discussion I had about this with Siobhan, I write one last question.
It's not a burden to you if I want that?
"Not at all," she says reassuringly, the sincerity ringing in her voice. "I want to be there for you."
Siobhan was right, I realize with a shock. By asking affection, I make others happy, too. Moving my gaze from the words on the paper to Esme's eyes, I reach out my hand tentatively. Hers comes up as if automatically, and she holds my hand, resting hers and mine on my leg. It feels wonderful, really. I can no longer deny how good it feels to have a hand to hold like that. We sit for a long moment like that, and then we both smile.
"Do you know what else helps, sometimes? Doing something fun. What would you like to do today?"
I blink in confusion at the sudden mischievous look in her eyes.
I thought you called me in sick?
"I did," she says smugly. "As in, unable to focus on school today. I won't justify my actions to that principal. If you want to go out, we'll go out. Or would you like to do something else? Some baking, perhaps? Some shopping? Your call."
Biting my lip, a sudden childhood desire resurfaces. When I was younger, I would sometimes dream of having a mother who would spend time with me, just as Esme is proposing right now. One of the recurring activities in those fantasies would be watching a movie with her. Curled up on the couch with drinks and candy, not caring about our health.
"Tell me," Esme says. "You look so dreamy all of a sudden. What would you like?"
Could I ask her? Would she agree? I bite my lip again, in insecurity this time.
"Go on," she coaxes. "Anything. I'm all yours today."
Would you maybe watch a movie with me?
I use much more words than necessary, coating my request in politeness.
Her smile is wide. "Of course! It's a bit early for popcorn though," she adds with a smirk.
I don't care about that. I'm just amazingly happy that she would even consider doing such a boring thing with me as watching a movie.
"What movie would you like to see? We have quite the collection, and I've seen almost none of them. Know what? You choose, while I go and get some laundry going quickly."
She's up and away before I can protest. Her sudden excitement hasn't gone unnoticed by me. I put on water for tea and then go to the living room, trying to choose a movie from their vast collection.
I settle for The Green Mile and Esme is delighted when she sees what I've chosen. "One of my favorites. I just love Tom Hanks."
She gets the movie started as I make us tea, and when I come back, Esme is curled up on the couch, the blanket half over her. I join her, letting her place the other part of the blanket over me.
The movie is long, and it's easy to get lost in it completely. As the story progresses, I'm shifting closer and closer to Esme, one detail of my old fantasy nagging endlessly in my thoughts. Only when I feel her hands on my shoulders, guiding me with the softest pressure, do I know it's okay. With a heavy sigh that seems to hold all of my worry, I let myself slide down until I am lying on the couch, and my head is resting in her lap.
~O~
We're busy baking cookies by the time the others come home from school. I have taught Esme how to make colored icing and we're on the second batch when Jasper's voice drifts into the kitchen.
"Now that's a smell to come home to!" He steps in sight and smiles brightly when he sees the cookies cooling down on the breakfast bar. He reaches out to take one, but pulls back quickly when he feels how hot they still are.
"Teaches you to ask first," Esme says with a snigger.
"Oh, are those fresh baked cookies?" Alice says as she steps into the kitchen. "Nice!"
"Just wait for a bit until they cool down, and then we can have them," Esme answers.
"Edward is off with Ben," Alice says. "He'd be home before dinner." She looks at me. "How are you? Feeling better?"
I nod, moved by her concern.
"I wrote down your Trig homework for you," she continues. "Although I imagine you don't even have to do that, you're so far ahead now."
"What do you mean?" Esme asks from behind me.
Alice looks at her mother incredulously. "I thought you would know, since you were all for Bella tutoring Emmett in Trig?"
"Oh," Esme says, her hand covering her mouth. "How did I not realize this? Bella, why didn't you say anything?"
Wait, what? How do I have something to do with this all of a sudden? Uncomfortable, I shrug and look away from them all. To my great relief, Esme lets it go.
"I'll fix some drinks. Go put your backpacks away."
As soon as Alice and Jasper are gone, however, she's back on to me. "Just let me know if you'd like to do something about Trig. I'm sure your teacher can give you more advanced work if you would like that."
I nod with a shrug, not committing to anything. I don't want attention like that. The students in school have finally started to completely ignore me. If they sense that I'm good at Trig, I'm sure the looks will start again.
Esme smiles vaguely, for some reason I don't understand. We move a tray with drinks and cookies to the living room and wait for Alice and Jasper to join us.
They talk about school, and Alice fills me in on what happened. She also asks Esme if it's okay for Angela to come over the next day, so they can do homework together. Esme approves easily.
I listen to their conversation and later help Esme with dinner, feeling lulled by the now familiar goings on in the house. Edward is home for dinner right on time and he is the one to ask me to join them at the table. I do.
After dinner I'm up in my room, trying to focus on some homework. It's not working, and when a soft knock at my door sounds, I'm actually grateful for the distraction. Opening the door, I see Edward, journal in his hands.
"We got quite the assignment for Biology, so I figured I'd come by," he says by way of explanation.
I nod and step aside to let him in. He smiles when he hears what music is playing. "You still listen to that CD? I can make you a new one, if you'd like? For a change of tune?"
I would love that, actually, but I'm afraid to ask.
He interprets my hesitancy accurately. "It's okay to want it, you know."
I smile meekly at his words and go to my desk to open my journal, letting him know I'm ready to talk business.
"Right." He clears his throat and walks around the bed, sitting down in my rocking chair. My old quilt is still on it and he leans back against it, unaware.
The Biology assignment is silly, but requires some work, indeed. It's some sort of case, about people who are stranded on a deserted island. They have certain items from their boat still, and the island has fresh water and fertile soil. We have to write a plan how they are going to survive.
When Edward is done talking, I look up at him with incredulous eyes.
"I know, right?" he says, laughing. "I thought that maybe we could work together on this? Mr. Banner said we had to form pairs."
I nod in agreement and we spend the next hour setting up a first draft for the first part of the assignment: how will they live through the first week?
"This is like The Blue Lagoon, but different," Edward mutters. I don't know what he is referring to, but he ignores my questioning gaze. "Anyway, I'll type this out. Are you better, by the way? You were a mess, yesterday."
I type on my laptop.
Just a lot to think about
"I figured," he says. "I just… It's painful to see you hurting like that."
The sincerity is clear, and again I am tempted to ask him why he cares. I know I will get the same answer though, and for once, my mind is able to move on from that point, and realizes that it makes me feel good to know that he's concerned.
I'll be fine.
"You sure?" he asks. "If ever you want to talk, I'm here. You know that, right?"
I know.
I don't want to burden you.
"You're not, and you know it," he counters easily.
I smile without humor.
You'll go running and screaming, I'm sure
"Try me," he says, and even though his voice is light, his eyes are not.
I can't.
"That's okay," he soothes. "And I won't go running, I promise. That's what friends are for, right?"
Right. I wouldn't blame him either if he wouldn't tell me what was bothering him. But if he would want to talk, I'd be there for him as well, of course.
He talks some more, about his afternoon with Ben and how he's looking forward to Spring Break, even though that's a while away. When it's getting late, he gets up to leave. He wishes me goodnight quietly and closes the door behind him.
I lock the door and turn back to the room. The rocking chair is still moving slightly, jostled when he got up. The quilt is still lying over its back. Moving towards it to pick it up, I can feel the heat his body has imparted on the fabric. Hugging the quilt to me as I have done countless times before, a scent hits me.
Thisscent. The same scent that caught me off guard on my first day here, when Alice lent me his sweater. I can't help but push my face into the quilt and inhale deeply.
It smells like him.
~O~
Angela drives home with us the next day after school. She follows us in her own car, and I find myself wondering what it must be like to be mobile like that. After we get home, I fix myself a drink in the kitchen and plan to go upstairs, not wanting to interrupt their time together, when Angela stops me.
"Where are you going?"
Bewildered, I point to the stairs.
"I thought you were going to stick with us," she says in that soft voice of hers. "I had hoped you would, but if you have other plans…"
I'm utterly amazed that she would want me here. Alice looks up at me with a knowing smile. "Stay. We're going to watch some TV before we move on to homework. We'd like for you to join."
Angela looks at Alice as she speaks, listening carefully to the words she's using. For some reason, this makes me uneasy. As we settle in front of the TV, Angela insists we watch Dr. Phil. I try not to roll my eyes at her request. Like people can be fixed in ten minutes.
Today he's handling impossible teenagers with desperate parents. I tune the program out and instead let my mind drift to last night. Like every night, I had slept with Renée's quilt around me. Only this time, it had smelled of Edward. And for once, I didn't dream of my past. I dreamt about him.
It was nice, albeit a bit disconcerting in a wholly different way.
Voices next to me catch my attention again.
"I'd love to become a fashion designer," Alice says dreamily. "But I guess I will have to settle for something sensible."
Angela grins. "I want to become a therapist. I want to help people, you know?"
Oh. That explains her love for Dr. Phil, and the way she's been observing how the others are around me here. As long as she doesn't want to try it out on me, I'll be fine.
"You'd excel at that," Alice says. "You're such a kind heart."
"Thank you," Angela replies with a blush. She looks at me furtively. Having had enough, I get up to go help Esme for dinner. They can do homework alone.
"Does she always help with the cooking?" I hear Angela ask behind me.
"Yes, she's like that," Alice answers easily. "Let's start on our homework."
"Don't you want to join them?" Esme asks quietly on my other side.
Meeting her gaze, I shake my head. I'm too chaotic in my head to focus on homework and social interaction at the same time. She seems to understand, because she keeps me occupied with light chatter.
She has started to read Coraline, too. Edward wouldn't stop talking about it. I smile at her words. It is some book, indeed.
Angela goes home before dinner, which is a relief for me. Had she been here I wouldn't have been able to eat anything. And the pasta Esme and I made sure smells too good to pass on.
I spend the evening with Emmett at the kitchen table, working on my new Gym assignment. It's really starting to take form, and Emmett is very forthcoming. He has given me a lot of information to read through, and he's very patient with me.
He tells me that this is how he pays me back my help with Trig, but I know he loves the attention. And once you get to know him, he's not so bad to be around. He's funny, and behind his physique lies a gentle, kind guy.
Who would have thought I'd be spending time with men like this?
Friday in school passes like every other day. During lunch however, I feel eyes on me. Looking into the direction of the source, I can see that rat Mike Newton looking at me intensely. When I meet his gaze, he doesn't look away.
"Is he looking at you again?" Jasper says, his voice dark. "He is, isn't he? Do you want us to stop him?"
I shake my head, still not breaking eye contact with Mike. The moment he smiles at me, although on his face it's more like a leer, I bring up my hand carefully, so he can see it, and flip him off.
He looks taken aback, but I just cock my eyebrow at him. I can live with him never having said 'sorry,' but I feel also strong enough by now to let him know I don't want his attention. He doesn't live in my house, and he has nothing to say over me.
If he gets angry now, so be it.
"Oh my God," Alice says, awed.
Tearing my gaze away from Mike's, I look at her.
"Awesome," Rosalie says. "Well done." She's beaming at me.
When I look at the others, I can see they're all having proud looks on their faces.
"Good for you," Jasper says with a grin. "Teaches him to bother you."
I blush at their unanimous support of my incredibly rood behavior, and I'm still reeling over it when the bell rings.
"That was amazing," Edward says as we walk to Biology together. It feels so good to be walking next to him.
I smile a little bashfully at his praise. If I could talk, I would tell him that I just don't like Mike. And that it feels amazing to know that they were supporting me just now, instead of him. They agreed that I didn't like Mike looking at me like that.
I fought.
I fought! And they thought I was right!
Why this only hits me now, I don't know, but it does, and I stop in my tracks in my realization.
"Bella?" Edward asks, stopping and turning to see why I've come to a halt. "What's wrong?"
Hm, how to tell him? Around us, the hallway is getting emptier. Knowing I won't be seen, I gesture to Edward. I point at myself first, then ball my fists, and then make the sign for the letter 'm.' I fought Mike. Now to hope he'll understand.
"You did," he says with a smile that copies my own. "Makes me proud," he adds in a slightly joking tone. His eyes tell me he's serious. When he raises his fist in invitation, I bump it quickly.
"Come on," he says. "Let's go to class."
We walk into the full classroom, both still with a silly grin on our face. Several students look at us, including Mike, and I force my face back into a neutral expression. I don't want Mike to see my smile. Ever, if I can help it.
After school, Esme drives me to Port Angeles for therapy. In the waiting room she tells me that she's not going anywhere today, because she wants to read the book Coraline.
I smile at her girlish enthusiasm, and when Siobhan calls me in, I follow her. All of a sudden, the weight of last Tuesday's session crashes down on me. I've been working so hard to distract myself, that I didn't really prepare for today.
"Hey, what happened to that gorgeous smile of yours?" Siobhan asks as we sit down.
I can't help but smile at her words. Her laptop is at the ready on the small table between us, so I type.
Had a good day at school, but then I remembered the previous session.
Siobhan nods as she reads. "Let's talk about the good stuff first."
I tell her how I let Mike know I didn't like his attention, and how all the Cullen siblings praised me after that. Siobhan compliments me as well. "You've done well. Although I would have opted for less rude behavior," she adds with a smirk.
"Now tell me," she continues, "what do you remember most about our last session?"
The pain, I think. The desolateness I was left with. The realization that I knew, even then, it was wrong what was happening. Whatever they tried to make me believe. But I'm scared of opening that wound. Scared of letting those emotions in.
I don't know if I'm ready.
That's what I tell Siobhan. She understands, but asks me when I will be ready.
I don't know.
"I think you never will be," she says. "Not really."
How did you deal with it?
"I pushed myself through it. I discovered that it helped to talk about it, and to hear that it wasn't my fault. Most of all, it helped to realize that nobody was going to hate me for what happened to me."
My lip is bitten raw, I feel when it disappears between my teeth.
Esme wasn't disgusted, she said
"There you go," Siobhan replies. "And it really helps to talk about it."
My mother said I shouldn't
I've said too much, as it is.
"Is that why you stopped talking?"
Her question is sudden, and I realize that this was never really discussed. When I nod, she nods in return.
"How did you feel, when she left?"
Alone. Left behind.
I can't say 'betrayed,' even though I want to. I don't even know how I feel towards her. It's wrong to not love your mother. But she left me. With Laurent. Knowing full well what that meant. She didn't care.
She left me.
She left me
"She did," my therapist says. "Do you still think that's your fault?"
I can't make sense of it all if I wasn't to blame
She merely looks at me, waiting for me to continue.
First the trailer, then Laurent, then Stefan. I'm the only common factor there.
"Still, it wasn't your fault," Siobhan says calmly. "I think that deep down, you know this. Deep down, you know that what they did to you is wrong and punishable by law."
I deserved it.
"No, you didn't. The law doesn't make distinctions between what crimes are justifiable. And you were a child. Last Tuesday you told me that you knew a child could never be blamed. And, tell me then, what exactly did you do wrong? Were those really such grave mistakes?"
I feel like a child under her strong words. But she's not done.
"You were abused, emotionally, physically and sexually. That is never right, Bella."
My wall is crumbling. All my life, all my life I have waited to hear this, waited for someone to tell me that I really couldn't help it, that it wasn't my fault. Then why is it so hard to believe now?
And why did nobody see? Why wasn't there anybody to step in? And why didn't I fight harder to get out of it?
"Tell me what you're thinking," she coaxes.
Why didn't anyone see? And why didn't I fight?
"You fought," she says. "You left Stefan. And I've told you that sometimes, by not fighting, you're fighting as well. You're fighting to survive."
The question if I could have stopped this sooner is eating away in my brain. Could I? Had I talked to someone, would it have stopped? Would I have had a different life? I write down my questions for Siobhan to read.
"It's no use thinking about that. This is how your life went."
But it could have been different
"Yes," she says. "But it didn't."
Her words are almost harsh, something I'm not used to from her usually gentle nature.
"Bella, your past is horrendous. It's not at all surprising that you have been trying to push it all away. And that you've learned to cope by blaming yourself, because like you say, what person has this amount of horror happening to them?"
The word 'horror' lingers. Yes, I realize. It was horrific.
All at once, it feels like all my bad memories come washing over me. I exhale in shock as moment after moment plays in my mind's eye. Every beating, every harsh word. Every time I felt the weight of either Laurent or Stefan on top of me in my bed.
I collapse. It's all wrong. Everything that happened is wrong, and I had to go through it all, for some reason nobody will ever be able to give me. It's too much.
Why, why, why? The question echoes through my mind and I grip my hair to try and distract myself from the pain that the realization brings.
It could have been different.
It wasn't my fault.
It never was.
Siobhan lets me cry. A lifetime of grief seems to escape through my sobs.
It could have been different. It wasn't me. It was just my bad luck.
As I cry, desperation is creeping up my backbone. The first edges of panic make themselves known in my breathing, in the tensing of my muscles. I can't seem to get out of my memories anymore, and the profound loneliness I've always known, resurfaces.
I feel lost.
The panic intensifies when I realize I can't even shut down to escape the pain.
Make it stop, please, make it stop…
"Bella?" Siobhan's quiet voice breaks through the haze.
My breathing gets deeper as hyperventilation sets in. A strange awareness settles over my body, much like I felt when I was expecting punishment. Like I can be hurt any moment now, even though I know I'm safe in here.
"Bella? Shall I get Esme? I'm sure she can comfort you now."
I can't say yes, but I won't say no. I can only hope that she won't recoil when she sees me like this. As Siobhan gets up, I curl up into a ball and squeeze my eyes shut. It doesn't help. I can still feel the pain I felt then, the fear, the loneliness. The confusion. And in every memory, I can now see how I was rarely wrong. There was nothing I could do. No way out.
I cry harder.
I want to disappear.
Soft hands on my shoulders. I jerk away, startled by the touch.
"Ssh, it's okay." That's Esme, and, no, it's not okay. Not at all.
"Ssh," she says again. Her hands guide me, much like they did on Wednesday morning when we were watching the movie together.
My hands are clenched so tightly in fists that they are starting to hurt. My entire body is hurting with the tension that is coiling in my muscles. Esme helps me unfolds myself and then pulls me against her.
I fight her. Try to pull away. Don't rely on others, they will always let you down.
"Hold on to me, I'm here for you," she says softly in my ear. "And I will never, ever let you go."
I want to give in. I want to, so badly.
A soft click of the door registers at the edge of my mind. Siobhan has left the room. I want to give in. I want to be held by Esme, as I have longed to be held by someone, anyone, for so long.
When she makes that comforting hushing sound again, my body relaxes with a heavy sigh and I curl into her, my face hiding in her neck.
To think I could have had a mother like Esme for all my life. To think of what happened to me. It was wrong. I see that now.
Esme is nothing but kindness and gentleness, and her arms around me are warm and strong. I could have had that. But I have it now. Finally, it's here.
I cry, harder if possible than before.
A whimper breaks the silence in the room. A soft, keening sound I don't recognize, and at first I wonder if it's Esme.
It takes me a moment to realize it's me.
