A/N Twilight is not mine

Welcome to chapter 50. Fifty... It's almost unreal to me. Thanks everyone for reading and reviewing. I know I am fail at replying, but I do read every single one. It's amazing how long you have been on this journey with me already.

Thanks, as ever, to the one and wonderful Sherry, my beta. Thanks also to Deb, Bob, and Aleea. You are my confidence. Thanks to KsPeoplesChoice, who pointed out The Velveteen Rabbit to me.


I'm exhausted. Numb.

No, not numb. Just tired, perhaps.

I don't let go of Esme's hand when she leads me back to her car. During the drive home, I keep my eyes on her constantly. It's like I'm afraid she will disappear if I look away.

It's like I have finally found her.

I blink profusely when my eyes fill up with tears again, trying to stop my vision from blurring. I don't want to let her out of my sight.

When she parks in the garage, she doesn't get out of the car immediately. Instead, she looks at me.

"Okay?"

Yeah.

She smiles at me, and I revel in the gentleness that radiates from her face. Then she exits the car. I follow suit, trailing behind her into the house. It feels like I am in a vacuum as I shrug out of my coat, and then follow Esme into the kitchen, where she drinks a glass of water.

When she turns, I am right behind her. She looks me over. "Come." Her hand reaches out to grasp mine and I follow her into the living room, where she sits down on the couch.

"Come," she says again, with a gentle smile this time. Her arms open in invitation, and almost without hesitation, I crawl on to the couch next to her.

A violent shudder works through my body when her arms close around me and I am once more held in a warm, tight embrace. I allow Esme to cup the back of my head and nestle my face in the crook of her neck. When I exhale, the vacuum disappears and time seems to be moving once again.

I don't know how long we sit like that. I'm not even sure I am crying anymore. Just bothering Esme with my senseless need for contact. Now that this dam has been breached, I feel like I can't get enough. It feels so good to have her arms around me.

I want to be selfish. I don't want her to let me go just yet.

For a brief moment, I even wish I could tell her. But to do so, I would have to write, which means I would have to move.

Instead, I hold Esme tighter. And maybe she understands, because she tightens her arms around me as well.

Someone clears his throat, but I don't want to move my head to see who it is. I don't want to know yet if I have to move, or if I am doing something wrong.

"Everything all right?" Jasper asks.

"It will be," Esme replies.

She doesn't make a move to push me away or get up, and I press my face deeper into the crook of her neck. She smells like home. Her cologne is light and sweet.

"Maybe we can cook," Alice says. I didn't know she was here as well.

"That would be lovely, dear," Esme says. I can hear the smile in her voice.

We remain seated after I hear Alice and Jasper disappear. I want time to stop again. Now that I have found this, I want to stay like this forever.

Of course time doesn't stop, and before long, dinner is ready. Home made pizza, Jasper announces proudly.

"Bella," Esme says softly. "I'm going to need you to let me go now, so we can eat something. You can come sit with me again later, okay?"

With great reluctance, I allow Esme to disentangle herself from my grip. When I lift my head, I realize with a shock that everyone is in the living room, looking at us. Even Carlisle. When did he come in? The coffee table is set for dinner, and everyone is patiently waiting for us to join them.

I completely missed all this. That's uncharacteristic of me.

Taking a better look, I can see that they all regard me with some mixture of concern and relief. But why would they be relieved?

Well, at least they're not annoyed or angry. Or laughing at me, for that matter.

Too tired to try and analyze it, I focus on the pizza that Alice and Jasper have made. It's really good, and I try to let them know with my gaze that I like it.

Alice smiles happily at me, her eyes squeezing shut as she grins like a Cheshire cat. She hops up with Rosalie after dinner to clear away the dishes, telling me to stay put on the couch. Emmett and Jasper follow them to take care of the kitchen, and we can hear their banter from the living room.

Apart from Esme and me, Carlisle and Edward remain. Carlisle on the other couch, Edward in the winged chair I always use, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

With them present, I'm not sure if I can seek out contact with Esme again, but when she opens her arms, I sink back into her embrace easily. As if I've done it a million times before. Unbelievable.

"Can I ask you what happened?" Edward asks quietly, hesitantly.

Esme thinks for a moment, squeezing me reassuringly before she answers. "Let's say there was a breakthrough."

"I got that," Edward says. "I just can't define if this is a good or a bad thing."

"How so?" Carlisle asks.

Their voices are gentle. I kind of like how they talk about me, involving me in the conversation without wanting me to actually participate. I crawl closer to Esme and she chuckles softly. "I'm not going anywhere," she whispers.

"It breaks my heart to see you so miserable." Edward replies to Carlisle's question, but his words are directed at me. "However, you're allowing a hug, so, no, I'm not sure."

"Can I tell him?" Esme asks quietly, even though I know Edward must hear.

To my own surprise, I nod my head. Edward knows me, and I have a distinct feeling that I know what Esme will say. Carlisle doesn't know yet, but all of a sudden I realize that I do want him to know, as well. I'll finally have certainty if he disagrees.

Deep down though, I know he won't.

"Bella realized today that her past is not her fault," Esme tells Carlisle and Edward.

Silence, only disturbed by the voices from the others in the kitchen.

"That's huge," Edward says quietly. "That is really wonderful."

"It really is," Carlisle agrees. I can hear no trace of insincerity in his voice. "I am glad, for as far as the situation allows for such an emotion."

They don't deny it. They don't say, but I thought it was? As far as I can tell, they're only happy for me that I am realizing it. It makes me wonder if they think I should have known this all along.

I sigh deeply, trying to release some of the tension that is coiling up in my stomach again.

"Are you going to fall asleep on me?" Esme asks quietly. I can hear a hint of amusement in her voice, and I shake my head, no. I wouldn't sleep here, but I am going to stay here just as long as she will allow me to.

One by one, the others come back into the living room. It seems that, even though my newfound desire for affection is a novelty, nobody has a problem with my new position in the room. They arrange themselves around Esme and me easily, and nobody even hints at displeasure with my want for love.

And with a shock, I realize why.

It's not my fault. And they agree.

My surprise must show, because Esme asks me if everything is okay. I pull back to look into her eyes, and nod with a slight smile.

"It's a day of epiphanies, isn't it," she says, and I can only agree with her.

After a long time, I carefully disentangle myself from her hold. She lets me go easily, recognizing that I have had enough for now. It just feels so wonderful though. I can't get over how wonderful it feels.

How have I been missing this all this time? How have I been pushing this away? I don't even care if it's really selfish or not. I want to be selfish if it feels this good.

"If you ever need a brother bear hug, come to me," Emmett says suddenly. He smiles at me, dimples showing. I think he knows I won't come to him anytime soon, but the offer is nice.

"Or a fatherly hug," Carlisle adds in a softer voice.

"Or a sister hug," Rosalie and Alice say, almost at the same time. It makes them all chuckle.

And I'm smiling too, to have them say this, to hear them tell me that I can come to them for affection, too. It's so amazing.

They don't blame me. And even though my evil mind protests that they don't know what happened and as such can't have a proper judgment, this voice is weak. They don't blame me.

I'm beginning to realize that truly, I can't be blamed.

"Shall we play a game?" Alice asks. "I'm feeling like playing a game."

"Like what?" Jasper asks.

"Scrabble," Edward says. He's looking at me.

"I'm out, then," Emmett says. "Go and make merry without me."

"Me, too," Jasper says. "Emmett, shall we play something?"

"Yes, let's." They easily decide on a computer game and turn on the console.

In the end, Carlisle, Edward, Rosalie and I will play. Alice is going to watch, and Esme disappears into the kitchen quickly for drinks and snacks. We settle around the coffee table. Edward and I go sit on the rug on either side of a corner of the table. Carlisle and Rosalie sit opposite us.

I'm not half as nervous about playing a game as I would have been. It's nice to feel so light. It's nice to be able to focus on the game, instead of all the possible consequences.

Sometime during the game, Edward stretches his legs out a bit, and his shin touches my foot. He looks into my eyes for a moment, and when he sees I'm not alarmed, he leaves his leg to rest there. For some reason I don't know or understand, I feel grounded by the contact.

I win. I tried not to, but I lost track of the scores of others and when Alice counts the points, she announces me as the winner. Taken aback, I look at the others for any sign of annoyance or anger.

But there aren't any. They congratulate me for winning, and just like that, we start a second game. Carlisle wins this time, easily so. And all the while we are playing, Edward's leg rests comfortably against my foot.

~O~

I can't sleep. I don't understand why. One should think I am tired enough after this day. But I toss and turn, and even when I lay quietly, sleep won't come. Finally, I just get out of bed, intending to make myself some hot milk.

The house is quiet, lit only by the bluish light of the full moon. It's rarely unclouded here, so to see the moonlight is kind of a treat. I quickly fix myself the milk and sit at the breakfast bar. What a day it has been.

I feel weird now. Detached, almost. The earlier pain of realizing that I am, indeed, a victim, and that things could have been different, not if I tried harder, but if I had met other people, has disappeared. Instead I feel a strange form of numbness, not that I'm less aware of it all, but more that I am unable to attach any emotion to it.

Maybe my body is protecting itself now, after my utter breakdown.

I made a sound. It was a weird sound, and very embarrassing. Apparently I'm not as in control over my voice as I always thought I was. On the other hand, it means my voice still works. Should I ever decide to talk again, this is good to know.

Will I ever talk again? I have no idea. Sipping my drink, I allow myself some time to ponder this question. I realize it's going to be very hard to function as a mute in a world where you have to communicate to get around. I never put much thought into the future, and I never really thought what it would mean for me if I wouldn't, or couldn't, talk.

Yet, thinking about talking makes me nervous. I've been silent for so long, I don't even really remember what my voice sounds like. It has changed, though. That much I could hear when I whimpered in Esme's arms. It's lower than I thought.

I frown and sigh softly. I guess only time will tell. Sure, every now and again I feel the desire to be able to use my voice, but it's not a need that can't be ignored. I'm so used to getting around without talking, it usually doesn't bother me.

I do wonder if Esme noticed what I did though, and if she now expects things. Or if she would want to talk about it. Or Siobhan.

She brought all this about. The crying, at least. The breakthrough. Do I thank her? I feel like I should, even though my mind is in even a more chaotic mayhem than it has always been before. But she made me see the truth, didn't she? It just feels so uncomfortable thinking that it was never my fault. Somehow, things were easier to bear when I thought I brought them on to myself.

Of course, I think, I think every form of violence or unhappiness is more easily to cope with when it has a clear reason.

My body seems to fold in on itself when images of the violence I've seen flashes before my mind's eye. The beatings, and not just those. The sudden smacks, the announced punishments. I cringe at the memories.

Will the pain of those ever fade? Will I ever be able to be really happy? Whatever happened and whose fault it was, doesn't even really matter. I'm damaged by my past, socially stilted, forever afraid. Having the tentative knowledge that my past is not my fault, won't make me less afraid of people, I think.

My own life bears testament to the fact that some people are just evil, and don't need a valid reason to be violent against others. The thought makes me even more afraid for a moment. If it wasn't my fault, there's nothing I can do, will be able to do, if someone decides to beat me again.

It makes me feel even more vulnerable than I have been.

And this new found feeling lingers, keeping me up for the rest of the night, until dawn arrives and the light stings in my tired eyes. I get dressed long before the rest of the house wakes up. Around eight, Emmett comes down the stairs. And so, for the second time, he makes omelets with me looking on. Only this time, I join him at the table, and even manage to eat something with him present.

He makes pleasant small talk, and asks me when I want to come to practice with him.

"You look mighty tired today," he says, concern lacing his voice. "I guess yesterday took its toll on you?"

I nod to answer his question, hoping he won't pry. As he eats and talks, I study his face and wonder if he could be a man who would suddenly become violent. It's hard to even conceive the notion. I've seen him angry, and even then, he showed no signs of violence.

Emmett swallows, and then tilts his head. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Busted, I avert my gaze quickly.

"Do I have something on my face?" he presses, but he's smiling, and his eyes are twinkling. He brings his hand up, but lowers it again when I shake my head.

"Between my teeth, then?" His eyes narrow. "I don't have lipstick on my teeth, do I?" He's really being comical now, and my shame is overridden by the smile that breaks out on my face. Still, I shake my head.

"Then why are you looking like that? Oh no," he says, mock horror on his face, "I'm not getting a grey hair, am I?"

I'm really laughing now, my body shaking a bit with it as I still shake my head, no.

"I give up," he says, throwing his hands in the air. "Why were you looking?"

I deflate, sobered by his question. How to tell him that I was just trying to determine if he could ever be violent? That's not even a question to ask. What if it makes him angry?

Footsteps on the stairs save me. Rosalie steps into sight, in her pajamas still.

Emmett reaches out to her and Rosalie walks easily into his embrace, kissing the top of his head as he rests it, well, between her breasts. I avert my eyes at the display of their intimacy, uneasy, but also caught off guard by the longing to be as comfortable as they are right now.

"I came to kiss you before you left," Rosalie says quietly.

Emmett lifts up his head at her words and she bends down, bringing her lips to his. I'm not sure what to do. I don't want to watch, but in my peripheral vision I can see them as clearly as if I were looking right at them. I don't want to get up though, afraid to interrupt their moment.

When Rosalie straightens up again, her eyes find mine before she looks down. Do I see discomfort in her gaze? What is that all about?

As she shuffles to the counter to fix herself a mug of coffee, Emmett and I get up to clear our dishes away. He gives Rosalie a final kiss and hug, and then disappears into the garage, leaving for his football practice.

Rosalie turns to me. "How are you today?" She does a sharp double take. "Jesus. Did you sleep at all last night?"

No, I didn't, actually. Too much chaos in my head.

"Shit," she mutters. "Maybe you can nap later? You're not going to last the day like this."

Oh well, she'd be surprised. But I must admit that a nap later does sound good. If only my mind would let me shut down for a bit. I'm all over the place.

"Hey, I've been thinking," she says as she sips her coffee. "Renée will be coming, right? I know you want to look nice for her, maybe I can give you that haircut."

Looking nice for Renée, that sounds like a very good idea indeed.

"We can do it now. Upstairs in your bathroom, if that's quieter?"

Now or never, I think unbidden, and to my own surprise I get up and follow her upstairs.

"I can wash your hair over the sink, or you can do it by yourself," Rosalie says as she carries in a straight-backed chair from somewhere. "What do you prefer?"

I opt to wash my own hair, hanging upside down over the bathtub, keeping an eye on Rosalie, who thankfully makes sure she stays in my line of sight.

"Don't be scared, I'm just going to help you rinse the suds out," Rosalie says. In the next moment, I can feel her taking the showerhead from my hand. It feels weird to have this done for me. I'm waiting to have the spray aimed at my face in any moment, but she doesn't of course. She just wants to help.

When my hair is clean and drenched, she wraps a towel around it and rubs it dry. I find I allow it, but my hands are clenched around the edge of the tub so tightly, the knuckles are white.

"Just relax," Rosalie murmurs. "You know I mean you no harm."

She guides me to the chair and wraps a dry towel around my shoulders. "I can't do anything fancy, but maybe just cut a few inches to make it healthy again?"

A few inches? I look up in Rosalie in alarm. What will be left to hide behind if she cuts off all my hair?

She smiles understandingly at my alarm and, making sure I can see her hand move, gently grasps a wet hair lock. "If you want it to be healthy again, I think you should let me cut a little over two inches. It will still be long enough." She indicates how much she wants to take off. "I worry that the longer you wait, the more will have to be cut in the end."

I think over her words for a moment. I don't care much for healthy hair, nor do I care for the notion of looking pretty. But Rosalie seems adamant and I must admit, the idea of looking good for when Renée comes, sounds very nice. I want to show her how well I am doing, and how happy I have been here. Even though it felt as if she were sending me away at first, I do realize that she couldn't keep me. And the Cullens have been so wonderful so far.

So I nod at Rosalie, and she carefully starts to brush out the tangles in my hair. She talks to me as she works, about school, homework, the college she is going to with Emmett. She's going to study something technical, but "will probably end up becoming a car mechanic anyway." Then she meets my gaze in the mirror.

"What do you want to be when you grow up?"

I meet her gaze at her question as with a fine-toothed comb, she starts to part my hair. The sensation is much too intimate and it nauseates me, making me recoil from her touch.

"I'm sorry, did I hurt you?" The concern is evident in her voice.

I shake my head, but my frown lingers.

"Can I continue?"

Yeah, I guess. When the comb traces the parting in my hair, I shudder, and Rosalie laughs gently. "I guess it's a strange feeling when you're not used to it. You're doing good."

As the first bit of hair falls to the ground, she repeats her earlier question. It is then I realize that she is trying to distract me from the stress of being fussed over. Regardless, I don't have an answer. And I can't think while she is cutting my hair.

But she talks me through it, and about half an hour later, she is done. My hair has dried significantly in the meantime, and when I go through it with my hands, I am shocked at how short it is.

"It's still long," Rosalie says, interpreting my reaction correctly. "And it's very pretty. You have really thick hair. I wish I had hair like yours."

Her words immediately bring Siobhan's question to mind. How many perfect people are unhappy with themselves? Hearing Rosalie wish her hair had more volume makes me realize that even she has things to wish for.

She smiles at me through the mirror, pensive for a moment. She takes a breath to speak, reconsiders, and then opens her mouth again. "I know what it's like to be touched without permission. I can only tell you that if you find the right person to share it with, it's wonderful. It really is."

Silence stretches between us and a thousand questions explode in my mind. Before I can decide on even one, however, she seems to recompose herself. "Mom is awake. Want to go and show her your new hair?"

I nod, my thoughts muted still at what she told me just now. She knows what it's like to be touched without permission? But... Who touched her? Someone in this house? Won't I have a right to know who did it, then?

I catch her arm before she can leave the bathroom. She turns to me, a questioning look in her eyes. Managing to make it clear that she should follow me, I write down my question at the desk.

Who hurt you?

She shakes her head. "I can't tell you, I'm sorry."

Taking the risk of upsetting her, I ask her again.

Was it someone in this house?

Her eyes go wide. "Oh god, no. Oh, did you think that? Shit, I'm sorry. No, it wasn't someone in this house. But, Bella? No one knows." A pleading look comes into her eyes at her last words.

I understand what she feels, though.

It's safe with me

"Thank you," she says quietly. "I'm sorry to put this on you, though."

I think for a moment, then write again.

That's what friends are for, right?

Her smile is brilliant. "Right."

~O~

They like the hair. Esme especially, keeps gushing over how wonderful I look. When I've had enough of the unnecessary praise, I put up the hood of my sweater. She laughs good-naturedly. "Okay, I'll stop. Put your hood down."

I do as she says and help prepare breakfast. My eyes are burning with the lack of sleep, and when my stomach is full with food, I'm decidedly sleepy. Since there's little to do around the house and homework can wait, I decide to curl up in the winged chair in the living room with my e-reader. I've started something new - Pride and Prejudice.

Even though the story is captivating, my eyelids become too heavy quickly and I can't stop myself from falling asleep. Some time later, voices rouse me. I listen to the words as I slowly wake up further, keeping my eyes closed and my breathing even. They're talking about me.

"Oh, I think she's sleeping." That's Esme's hushed voice.

"She didn't sleep at all last night," Rosalie responds. "I was wondering if she would make it through the day."

"Let's let her sleep. She must have needed it."

I drift off again before I can summon the energy to realize that they don't even mind I am napping in the living room.

When I open my eyes again, it's close to noon. I blink a few times to get the world back into focus again. Carlisle is reading on the couch. Alice is next to him, sewing a button on a shirt. They both look up at me when I sit up.

"There you are," Alice says with a sweet smile. "You were really out of it." She snaps the thread with a quick jerk, and gets up to put her sewing away.

My gaze shifts to Carlisle. Even after all the reassurances I got, I am still afraid of what he will think. Sleeping in the middle of the day is not something I got away with in my old home. At least, not when Stefan noticed it. He rarely did, though. Fortunately.

Carlisle merely smiles. "How have you been sleeping lately?"

I shrug his question away. I think it's clear that I'm not sleeping well. I don't consider it a problem, however. I can cope with exhaustion; I'm used to it.

"If you want to, I can give you something to help you sleep. Just something light. It's not addictive, and it can help break the cycle of insomnia."

I shake my head. I don't want drugs.

"I figured you wouldn't want it," he says. His voice is completely unassuming. "But if you ever need something, come to me, all right?"

We both know I'm lying when I nod.

Contrary to my expectation however, Carlisle isn't done with his inquiry.

"Can you tell me why you aren't sleeping? Are you worrying?"

I shake my head. Well, yeah, I am worrying, but that's not the reason why I can't sleep. It's the dreams that jolt me awake, draining me of what little energy I have gained.

"Dreaming?" he asks.

Can he read my mind, or what?

"Tell me about your dreams," Carlisle says. It doesn't escape my notice that he doesn't ask me if I want to talk about it.

I still shake my head, even though his question doesn't really leave me that option. I hope he won't be upset that I don't like to confide in him.

He doesn't press. "Maybe you can discuss this with your therapist," he offers. "It's clear that it occupies your mind."

I smile weakly at him. He's just being nice, I'm telling myself. Plus, he really didn't chastise me for sleeping in the living room.

"Your hair suits you," he observes casually. "It's good to see you getting healthier, and I'm saying that both as a doctor and a father."

Again, no negative edge is to be found in his voice or behavior. I'm falling from one miracle in the other, or so it feels.

Alice bounces back into the living room. "Look what I found for you at the mall yesterday. You kind of weren't in the right state yesterday to get it, so I am giving it now."

She holds up a midnight blue hooded sweater. I like the color immediately.

"Go try it on," she says, gesturing for me to go upstairs.

The sweater is much tighter fitting than what I'm used to. Although it's not figure hugging, it makes my silhouette decidedly less bulky. I'm not sure if I'm comfortable with it.

"And?" Alice calls from downstairs.

I can't answer her, and I don't really want to go down in this sweater, either. When I open the door of my bedroom, Edward is just coming down the stairs. He stops in his tracks when he sees me. His eyes travel over my body, taking in the sweater, lingering on the shorter ends of my hair.

"Wow."

I look at his eyes, his gaze my surest way of finding out what he means. And I'm thrown off guard by what I see. Awe. Admiration even, although I can't be sure. There's no hint of any malicious intent. He's just looking at me, momentarily stunned, it seems. Is this like when I saw him in his vest on Christmas Day?

Self-conscious, I fidget, raking a hand through, my way too short, hair.

"I like it," he says, breaking out of his stupor. Even in the artificial light of the hallway, it seems as if the tips of his ears turn a bit darker. Is he blushing?

"Bella, if you're not coming down, I'm coming up," Alice calls from downstairs.

"Keep the sweater," Edward says, a shy smile on his face. "It really suits you. She's coming down," he adds in a louder voice to Alice.

He precedes me down the stairs, and I follow him, stunned. He really likes the way I look right now.

And I like that he likes it.

~O~

Everybody likes the sweater. Only when I finally threaten to take it off again and switch to my black, oversized hoodie, doe they stop talking about it. I'm uncomfortable with the way they try to reassure me I look well. I don't want the attention.

The haircut is a success as well, even though I am not at ease with the new, shorter length. It feels unnatural. Like a part of my shield has been removed.

After lunch, I go to my room, leaving the door ajar to have some sense of connection with the rest of the house still. I'd really much rather go to Esme and ask her to sit with me again, but I know I can't do that. Instead, I try to curb the desire by working on the quilt for her birthday. I have about a week left. It's going to be tight.

When I'm cross-eyed from all the tiny stitches, I sit back and rub my eyes, My gaze falls to the piece of paper Carlisle gave me yesterday. Reaching for the paper, I read the quote from The Velveteen Rabbit:

.

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. It doesn't happen all at once. You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

.

I exhale heavily once I reach the end. This is a beautiful piece of writing. I have to let Carlisle know how these words resonate with me. Not less Real even though you're not perfect, not being ugly except to those that don't understand… A tear appears unbidden and slides down my cheek. When I sniffle, loudly to my own frustration, someone clears his throat at my door.

"Bella," Carlisle says. "Forgive me, but I heard you were crying. Are you all right?"

To my own vague surprise, I don't feel threatened with him standing at the door like that. Suddenly wanting to communicate with him, I hold up the print he gave me yesterday.

"Ah," he says in recognition. "The Velveteen Rabbit." He hesitates for a moment. "Can I come in?"

After a moment of trepidation of my own, I nod once. He smiles at me and steps into the room, moving to the rocking chair. He almost loses his balance when he sits down in it, a sheepish smile appearing on his face. To see him like that, so utterly human for lack of a better word, makes me relax a little bit around him.

"What are you working on?" he asks with a nod at the sewing machine on my desk.

I hold up a corner of the quilt for him to see.

"Very pretty," he says sincerely. "Does it make you happy to be creative like that?"

Immediately, my guard is completely up. Laurent used to take away everything he knew made me happy. He made me learn to hide all my likes and dislikes, as he would use them against me invariably.

Carlisle notices my sudden tension. "What's wrong, Bella?"

I can't tell him. Of course I can't. I won't arm him like that.

"Don't close down now. Tell me," he coaxes. He's genuinely concerned, but I'm not at all at ease.

He sits back, thinking for a moment. "I'm not sure what has you so guarded suddenly. We agreed to do this together, remember? We can't get to know you if you push us away."

I look over my shoulder at the quilt and say goodbye to the hobby quietly, before I pick up a pen. For lack of a quick means to write on, I use the back of the print he gave me. The words don't come out like I want them to at all.

Don't take it away please

He's confused. "Take it away? Why would I take it away?"

My mind wars between confusion, relief and understanding. I am not to blame, my mind tells me. I didn't deserve the treatments I got before. My old life is not the norm.

I bite my lip in contemplation for a moment. Does he know about Laurent? Would he understand if I told him? I opt for an in-between.

In my old life it would have been taken away if I had liked it

His expression goes tight and grim for a moment, before he composes himself again. I watch his face carefully, trying to figure out what he is thinking and what it means for me.

"Just so you know, such a thing will never happen here. The thought alone is abhorrent to me."

He's serious, it seems.

"So, now you know I won't hold it against you, will you tell me if this creativity makes you happy?"

Still a bit nervous to admit it, I nod. I write.

It helps me clear my mind

He smiles gently. "That is good to hear. And it really is very pretty."

I write again.

It's for Esme's birthday

His pleasant surprise is endearing. "I'm very sure she will be very happy with it. It's going to mean a lot to her that you took the effort of making that."

My reply comes out as almost sarcastic, but he gets it right.

You took the effort of taking me in

"We did. Though I want to assure you it has nothing to do with effort. We simply wanted to give you a good home. I hope we succeeded."

I write rather than nod and I know my answer to be true the moment I put it on paper.

Yes

I can tell we're both happy with my admission.

After a comfortable silence, Carlisle speaks again. "So, The Velveteen Rabbit?"

I unfold the paper I've been writing on. Yes. The Velveteen Rabbit.

"It made me think of you. Can you see why?"

I nod, even though I'm more wanting to see why than actually believing it.

He sits forward a little, leaning his elbows on his knees. "I think it goes without saying that your past is horrible beyond comprehension. I gave you this quote because it rings true to me. What happened to you makes you not a lesser person. There is no need to be ashamed, even though I can imagine that you are. I just want you to know that no one will regard you less highly when they learn about your past. In fact, I should think they'd even think higher of you."

I'm suddenly too tired to ask why. The emotions from yesterday resurface, but not in a negative way. For some strange reason, it feels freeing to cry. It feels freeing to be able to accept his words, well, not all of them, but at least the part where he says that my past doesn't make me a lesser person. I want to believe what he says. I want it to be true.

Unbidden, I think of what Siobhan has made me do so often before. If it were someone else, would I blame them? The answer is clear.

Never.

It's almost as if he sees my epiphany in my eyes. His smile makes me think he does.

"Want to come downstairs with us? Maybe a little distraction will do you good."

I follow him out of my room. Just before he's about to go downstairs, he turns. "Thanks for talking to me. I know that you stay away from me instinctively, but I hope you know that I support you as much as the rest of the family does."

Somehow it hurts me that he has noticed I have stayed out of his way as much as possible. However much I want to be safe above all things, I don't want others to feel left out, either.

"You'll make it," he says. "I'm sure of that."

I nod at him with a tentative smile, and then in a sudden rush of inspiration, I hold up my hand. He understands immediately, and with a smile, gives me a high five. He can barely conceal his joy when he turns to walk down the stairs.

I find that I am grinning, too.