Chapter 40

BPOV

The phone in the bedroom rang.

I didn't move.

I'd gotten myself from the floor to the bed, curling up on top of the covers, pulling the robe over me without bothering to put it on. My tears had dried up again only to start back up—again. It was a vicious cycle that didn't stop.

The phone didn't either.

It rang and rang and rang, stopping for a minute or two before starting up again.

I wanted to scream at it to stop. To leave me alone.

It stopped for a few minutes.

My cell phone chirped instead.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

I let out a closed-mouth scream and pushed myself upright.

My cell phone chirped again from the dresser. I didn't remember putting it there.

It chirped again.

I was across the room, ready to toss it out the window, when the display lit up with Rosalie's name:

Pick up the damn phone.

The cell phone started ringing now.

If only to get it to stop, to tell her to leave me alone, I answered.

"Finally," Rosalie's voice reproached. "What took you so long?"

I didn't answer.

There was a long sigh from the other end of the line. I could hear Alice's voice in the background.

I gripped the phone harder in my hand, holding the robe up against my still-naked body with the other, and a wave of humiliation cascaded through me. "He told you?" My voice cracked.

"Of course he didn't," Rosalie said impatiently. "He's Edward. Don't you know him better than that by now? He's absurdly decent. He wouldn't tell me a damn thing. Just demanded I call you and told me to keep calling until you picked up."

I backed up until my knees hit the mattress. Felt my tears coming on again. Of course he hadn't. Of course he'd demanded Rosalie call me. "Y—you d—don't know what h—happened then?"

There was a pause. Then, "No, but I can guess."

I collapsed backward onto the bed. "Alice didn't—"

"No, Bella, she's not watching your every move."

"B—but—"

"You were raped. You're on your honeymoon night. You're clearly upset. It doesn't take a genius to figure it out."

I recoiled a bit at her candidness, but somehow it also brought a semblance of reason to the chaos I was lost in. "I—I ruined everything, Rose." My voice broke.

"What did you expect? It was your first attempt after being brutally raped. Did you think it would be all rainbows and butterflies?"

My head jerked, startled. She was acting as if this was normal, expected even, for it to go so horribly wrong. "I—you—but—" I tried.

"Yes, Bella," she answered my unspoken question, "my first time with Emmett didn't go so well either."

My fingers tightened around the phone. "What happened?" I asked shakily.

"I freaked. Scared the shit out of him."

I swallowed. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well, the point is, you're going to have some false starts, but you'll get there, same as I did."

My tears were flowing freely now. "It was bad, Rose. Really bad."

"Of course it was."

"H—he probably hates me."

"We both know that's not possible."

I did know. Even now, I knew. I looked at the crinkled piece of paper lying on top of the bed, and I was crying again. I curled up against the pillows with the phone clutched to my ear.

"Aw, Bella." It was Alice now. "It's going to be okay. I know it will. Chin up. Edward loves you. He understands. You'll work it out."

"I—I don't know if I can face him after I—after—" I didn't finish. Couldn't.

"Yes, you can," she insisted. "This is Edward we're talking about."

My phone chirped, making me jump. Twice. I pulled it away from my ear. Knew who it was before I even looked at the screen. Two texts. A few seconds apart.

I know you want to be alone.

Too bad.

I sat up so quickly that the room spun. My heart started pulsing in my ears. "He's coming, Alice," I told her, frantic. "He's coming back. I—I can't—I don't—"

"Calm down," she ordered. "Of course you can."

I tried to slow my racing heart. "I have to go. He's coming," I repeated.

"All right," she said. "Call us if you need us, okay?"

I nodded, forgetting she couldn't see it. Then I hung up, the phone slipping from my fingers onto the bed. It felt hard to breathe. I shoved my arms into the sleeves of the robe, pulling it on to cover myself, tying the sash. The flight instinct was taking over. I half fell from the bed. Didn't get more than a step. Wasn't fast enough.

He was there.

And I was running. Away. Away from him.

I didn't make it.

His arms locked around me from behind, heavy and firm, and even then it was there—that contradiction that only he could pull from me without even trying. I wanted him. I wanted to run. I struggled against him without much will. "Let—me—go!" I choked out between rapid beats of my heart.

His arms tightened around me. "No," he said.

My chest was heaving. "Go—away!" I cried.

"No," he repeated.

My legs were shaking. I couldn't stand. Edward followed me to the ground, his arms an unwavering fixture, his chest solid against my back, and he felt so good that sobs were ripping out of me once more. "Shh," he soothed, and his cheek touched mine. "It was my fault. I took it too fast."

I gripped his arms. "I—was the—one—who t—threw myself at—you."

"You did," he allowed, "but I still should have known better. You're only human. I, on the other hand, have had endless time to practice restraint."

The very recent image of him across the room, picking up his shorts from the floor, unfulfilled, had another sob tearing through my chest. "I—left—you—you..." I tired to move myself away from him, pitching myself forward.

He pulled me back against him. "You think I care about that?" He pressed his face against the back of my neck. Then he was turning me around in his arms. "Let's get something straight, hm?" His voice was calm. "My body might be slow on the uptake, but the rest of me..." He took my face between his hands. "You think I want you when you're that scared?"

My heart pressed up against my chest painfully. My eyes re-filled with more tears. My head shook.

His thumb stroked my cheek. "We should talk about that too." His features softened as he looked at me. "Can you tell me what happened? That is to say, I know what happened, but can you tell me what triggered it?" His voice went quieter. "You were...so scared all of a sudden."

My heart flipped over several times. I couldn't answer.

The forced calm of his face was slipping. There was something in his eyes that punched through my chest even before he spoke. "I didn't...hurt you, did I?"

I shook my head emphatically.

"All right," he said, and the relief on his face sent out another punch to my chest. "Was it something else, then? Something I did?"

I kept shaking my head.

"You don't know what triggered it?" he continued to press. Maybe it was my slower response, or maybe he read something on my face, but when I shook my head this time, he looked at me and said, "I think you do."

I tried to speak. Still couldn't.

"If you don't tell me how can I avoid it next time?" he reasoned.

Next time. The devastation I'd been barely keeping at bay closed in with those two words.

He tried again. "Is it—"

"Stop," I blurted then. "Y—you d—didn't do anything w—wrong. I—it's just—" More tears spilled onto my cheeks. "W—when Jacob—when he—" My throat was closing. I didn't finish the sentence. Didn't need to. My words were a scarce whisper now. "It really hurt." I swallowed hard, "and—and—it's just—" My eyes flicked down and then up again quickly, "you're so...big." My face felt hot and humiliated and ridiculous.

"Ah, sweetheart," Edward sighed. He touched his forehead to mine and cradled my face. "It won't be like that, I swear it. It's very different when you're ready for it, and while I can't do anything about that last part," —my face grew even hotter at that— "I promise I'll be very, very gentle."

I clutched his arm, and I wondered how I'd managed to keep this fear locked away for so long. I hadn't even used a tampon since Before, hadn't acknowledged the reason why, even to myself. "What if—what if—the injuries—down—down...there—didn't...heal?"

Edward pulled back and I could see the painful twist of his face now. "That's been worrying you? Why didn't you say something? We could have taken you back to the doctor to have it checked out."

Anxiety surged from my gut. "Y—You think something could be wrong?" My voice was panicked.

"Calm down, love. I just meant that if you were worried about it, having it looked at would ease your fears."

"So—you think it's fine?" I asked desperately.

"Have you felt any soreness that would suggest otherwise?"

I shook my head.

"Then I would imagine you're fine. Those injuries should have healed by now."

I hugged my waist. "Okay," I managed.

Edward lifted my chin. "If you're worried about it we can take you to see a doctor."

My gut clenched at the thought, and I was crying again.

Edward tugged me to him. "Shh," he hushed. "I'm sure it's not necessary. You're all right, you're all right."

I buried my face against his neck, and he lifted me and carried me to the bed for the second time that night.

Our wedding night.

He held me while I cried.

When I had no tears left, I said hopelessly against his neck, "I ruined it."

He touched my hair. "We knew this wouldn't be easy."

There was something sharp wedged in my heart. "What if—what if I can't—what if I never—"

"You will." The certainty in his voice pressed into me. "We will," he corrected.

"H—how are you—so sure?"

He shifted and sat up, looking down at me. Then his face was very close to mine. "Are you so focused on what went wrong today that you've forgotten what went right? Do you not see how far we've come? How much we've overcome?" His finger traced my jaw. "And then there's this," he told me, right before he covered my mouth with his, sending my heart into overdrive. When he drew back his expression was smug. "That's how."

Hope and happiness began to creep slowly but surely back into my heart.

"Sleep now," he murmured, wrapping his arms around me again. "It's very late, and tomorrow is another day."

I looked out the window. Could see the moon was almost full. Almost perfect but not quite.

"Edward?"

"Hm?"

"Can we go outside?"

He lifted his head. Smiled. "All right."

I pulled myself from the bed. I was still wearing only the robe—too warm for outside. I hesitated, then went to my suitcase. Located some cotton panties. Wished I'd packed some nighttime attire other than scantly lingerie. Felt the oh-so-familiar prickle begin to form behind my eyes. Then Edward was there, holding out a navy blue cotton T-shirt from his own suitcase. It was long and would be even longer on me. I accepted it gratefully, feeling awkward and shy. I hesitated again, wondering if it would be stupid to go change in the bathroom when Edward had already seen me naked. Maybe he sensed my dilemma because he chose that moment to locate a beach towel from the dresser, turning his back to me in the process. I quickly discarded the robe, pulled on the shirt, then the panties.

When he turned back around his lips drew upward. "It looks good on you," he said.

I grimaced—my face felt stiff with dried tears; my hair likely wasn't fairing much better. I stepped over to the vanity to check. My face was a disaster as suspected—puffy red eyes, blotchy skin. I couldn't do much about that, but I picked up my brush to tackle my hair.

Edward came up behind me. "May I?" he asked, holding his hand out.

I relinquished the brush to him, somewhat surprised, but when he began to carefully pull the bristles through my hair, gently working through the tangles, I sighed contentedly. He'd never bushed my hair before. It felt...nice.

Once finished, he took my hand and led me outside.

We spread the towel out on the sand beneath the night sky, then stretched out on our backs, looking up at it, listening to the waves lap against the shore.

The moon was bright, but no where near bright enough to outshine the thousands of stars that winked down at us. There was something brilliant in a starry night sky.

Bright against dark.

A beautiful contradiction.