As Bella's eyes blinked open, it was to a room flooded with sunshine and a very transformed Edward sitting directly in front of her reading a book. It was thick and softbound, and she couldn't catch the title before he flipped it closed and set it on top of a stack of others similar in quality, already resting on the bedside table. Everything glowed, Edward included. It was dream-like, and she felt so temporarily peaceful that she determined it likely was a dream. Edward's eyes were a bright amber, the space beneath them devoid of the shadows that she'd become so accustomed to seeing there.

Recent history felt very, very fuzzy, something to do with licking, and very painful experiences also seemed to suggest that she was in a dream-like state.

"What're you reading?"

"Medical journals," Edward said.

It sounded boring and unintentionally pretentious. She smiled. This was very Edward. She liked it when she got to dream of this Edward. "Why?"

"I'm trying to find answers," Edward said, "but it's guesswork, mostly. Your withdrawal symptoms seem to match that of an opioid addiction."

The unhappy direction and specificity of his answer were beyond the lucidity of any dream, even her most realistic ones, and she knew she was awake. It wasn't a happy realization. Still, she didn't move. This was the closest thing to an ordinary conversation she'd had with him in . . . nine months? Nine months. She selfishly wanted it to last.

But the guilt that hovered so close to the surface was already sliding an oily tentacle up her back and throat. What business did she have, pretending she hadn't wronged him?

"Like a heroin addiction?" she asked, swallowing.

"Something like that," Edward said. His hands had found each other, fingers tangling together. He stared at these pale digits.

He was uncomfortable—of course. He should be. Being around her must remind him of what he'd endured.

Bella glanced at the stack of books. Not all of them were medical journals. Several were books on trauma. She supposed he would need those for himself and not sure of what else to say, found herself looking down, too.

It was Edward who broke the silence. "How're you feeling?"

"Um . . ." She was going to say fine, but then she decided to move. Her "Oh!" was full of air, the production of an airway constricted by pain. Everything hurt, everywhere. It was as if she'd worked out every single muscle in her body and then pounded each with a mallet for good measure. These agonies were layered on top of the bruised flesh that still complained when she sat or moved the wrong way.

"It wouldn't be unexpected to feel quite sore."

He went on to tell her something else, but Bella lost track of his words as she tried not to offend any more of her muscles. "Okay," she finally managed.

Her eyes were the only body part that didn't protest being moved, and as her gaze swept around the room, she noted that the IV was gone. Its effects, however, were quite pronounced. She badly needed to pee.

As she pushed herself up into a sitting position, Edward stood, his body tense. "What are you doing?"

"I need to use the bathroom." It was a strain to speak and manage her breathing at the same time.

"One of us can help you."

She shook her head. "No, thank you. I should get up and move." She could feel it. She just wasn't sure how cooperative her body would be in actually walking. Besides, no matter how difficult it was, she didn't want one of them touching her unless it was absolutely necessary.

It was ten stilted lurches to the bathroom door, where she smiled a little at her success. She made the mistake of looking in the mirror, catching sight of Edward's stiff body, taut with some negative emotion. She closed the door quickly, moving inelegantly through a very brief morning routine. Someone had left a change of clothes for her on the counter, but she knew it was far beyond her mobility to attempt putting them on. Getting to the bathroom had exhausted her. Getting back to the bed would be near-miraculous.

However, Edward was gone when she opened the door, Rosalie standing in his place.

"Hi," Rosalie said.

"Uh, hi," Bella answered.

Rosalie had never been friendly before they'd left, and Bella wasn't sure what she was now, even with something like a smile on her face—definitely not the equivalent of a smile, just . . . like one. It was the friendliest expression Bella had ever seen on Rose.

"Can I give you a hand getting downstairs? There's breakfast."

Bella vaguely remembered the stairs she'd been carried up. If she recalled correctly, there were many of them.

"Um—"

"Or I can bring you something here? I can carry you—"

"No," Bella said quickly. "I think I'll stay put for now, thank you. But food would be great." She didn't like this. At all. She wanted to go home, but she doubted there would be any explanation sturdy enough to successfully convince Charlie as to why she'd shown up without warning and needed Edward Cullen to come lick her periodically.

A peal of laughter escaped her mouth.

Rosalie stared.

"Sorry, I—never mind."

"No, it's okay—I get it."

Bella stared right back. "Sure," she said dubiously.

"I do," Rosalie insisted but then frowned towards the door. "Let me go get you breakfast." Then she disappeared.

Bella's walk back to bed was less elegant than her leaving it, but it had the virtue of being unwitnessed.

When the door opened again, it wasn't Rosalie who came bearing a tray but Carlisle.

"Morning," she said carefully, wondering who else would appear in this parade of Cullen family members.

"Good morning," he replied.

She'd been in so much pain yesterday, the finer points of her interactions with or reception by the Cullens were shaky, but she remembered Carlisle's words. Still, it was difficult to reconcile their leaving with their present gratitude. She still didn't fully trust them, but she didn't have the luxury of not trusting them either. Her life was literally in their hands.

"Feeling a bit sore I hear?" he said congenially.

"Yes."

Carlisle smiled gently. "Would you like the short or long explanation as to why?"

But Bella was eyeing the tray. Aside from food and drink, there were two syringes and a variety of pills. What she really wanted was not to be feeling all the things she was feeling. She'd never shied away from dealing with discomfort before, but it was taking so much to keep herself together that managing her head, heart, and body felt like three separate, Herculean tasks.

"Or perhaps some ibuprofen first?" Carlisle asked, glancing at the tray.

"Please," Bella said. She took the pills he offered, careful not to touch his hand.

"One of the symptoms of withdrawal can be muscle spasms, which can go on even while you're sleeping." He tapped one of the two syringes. "This medication may help with some of those withdrawal symptoms."

Bella nodded in understanding. "And the other one?"

"A multi-vitamin shot."

"Why?"

"Addiction is rarely good for the body and tends to lead to malnourishment. I'm not sure if it's the case with you, but I'd like to cover all my bases just to be sure."

"Okay," Bella said.

Holding the alcohol wipe up, Carlisle asked permission with his eyes, and Bella nodded. It felt cold on her arm, his touch even colder.

Carlisle was quick with his injections, and when he was done, she pressed her hand to her bicep, leaning back against the pillow.

Carlisle moved the medical supplies away and then placed the breakfast tray on the bed. "You'll need to eat before you take the rest." He didn't leave, sitting down and picking up one of the journals, flipping to the table of contents.

She didn't believe for a minute that his attention was in any way diverted, but she appreciated the gesture and took a bite of the porridge that was still warm. It was sweet, laced with honey and cinnamon. It tasted like home. There was a cup of something hot beside it, too. She closed her eyes briefly, enjoying all the warmth.

"When can I go home, Carlisle?" she asked, opening her eyes. "Not that I don't appreciate everything you've done, but—"

"You want to go home. Of course you do. And your father will be very glad to see you." He sighed. "I don't know. I don't think you've had enough venom yet for your body to really recover from the shock of withdrawal, but once that happens, it's a matter of seeing how long you can last without having any symptoms."

Bella nodded, thinking this over.

"Have you considered what you'll tell your father?"

"Tell him about . . . this? I'd thought it would be best not to."

Carlisle dipped his head in acknowledgement but not before Bella saw a flicker of a frown cross his face.

"Here," he said, holding out the pills. "You can take these now."

As soon as Bella did, Carlisle stood. "If you need anything, just call. You'll likely feel tired from the medication, and sleep will do nothing but help you."

Carlisle was not wrong, and the room's light was much changed when her eyes blinked open again. Edward had once more taken up residence in the chair by her bed, still reading the same stack of books. He didn't acknowledge her open eyes, keeping his own gaze on the words on the page. Knowing that he would have sensed her wakeful state, she concluded that he didn't want to interact, and she didn't want to force it on him.

When she pushed herself up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, the wave of dizziness caught her completely off guard, knocking her over and leaving her sliding, halfway to the floor, Edward's stony arm around her back.

She recoiled, and as she did, so did he, frowning and stepping back as soon as she was seated again on the bed.

For all the sleep she'd had, her body was still exhausted and sore, and the revulsion on Edward's face was the last straw for her endurance. She teared up, blinking rapidly, fighting for control of her emotions. Hands at her sides, she clenched them around the bedspread. "You don't have to stay, Edward. I understand you feel obliged, but you don't need to do anything more for me." She wanted to apologize for what her bargain had done to him but worried that if she did, he might then feel bound by propriety to offer words of forgiveness, heartfelt or otherwise. "You owe me nothing, and you have done more than anyone would expect, given the circumstances."

"What circumstances do you imagine those are?" he asked. His brow was furrowed in concentration.

She watched his body bristle with what she assumed was anger, and she had to pause to gather her courage before she could speak what she knew he already understood.

"I betrayed you, Edward. I gave you to the Volturi because I couldn't stand your dying. Then they tortured you."

He stared at her, his mouth opening and then closing before words formed. "That's not—"

"Please don't," she said, closing her eyes briefly. She could not stand to have him attempt to excuse or justify her behaviour. It was taking too much of her self control to cope with everything else. As she opened her eyes again, though, she saw his pinched together in obvious distress. Great move, Swan, she thought. Just awesome. Way to remind him of all the horrible things he's endured.

She dropped her gaze to the floor, hands still gripping the bedclothes. The tips of her fingers tingled, followed then by her palms, pins and needles spreading upwards. This was alarming enough, which in itself made her heart beat faster, but then her face began to feel warm, droplets of sweat starting to dot her forehead and cheeks. The room began to move like a boat meeting waves, first gently but then lurching out of control, up and down becoming meaningless words as she lost all sense of balance.

"Oh God," Bella muttered, the nausea rising with the vertigo. The waves were turning into their own whirlpool. Her heart began to race.

"Bella?" Edward asked.

She couldn't answer, too focused on not falling over, vomiting, or whatever else her body was trying to do.

"Carlisle!"

Cold touches met her face, arms, back, and legs. There were stings in fresh places, and the dizziness and pounding in her head made it almost impossible to understand the words she was hearing. But she felt Edward's tongue on her neck. Her body shuddered both in horror and relief, but the latter was tiny, the sensation of warmth just a tingle inside her stomach. It wasn't enough. Even in their disordered state, her body and brain agreed. She needed more.

The world moved in fractured panes of sensation, air on her forearm, wetness on her clavicle, and then Edward's breath on her face. His words seemed to lift her.

"Can you understand me, Bella?

She was conscious, but speech was impossible.

"Blink if you understand me, Bella."

Bella blinked in response, her arms trembling and twitching.

"What I'm doing isn't working fast enough. If I place the venom inside your mouth, though, it might. May I? Blink once for no and twice for yes."

He was asking to make it better. She blinked and then blinked again.

His kiss was immediate. She was a rag doll in his arms, his mouth pressed to hers. It was nothing like what Demetri had done, but it couldn't help but prompt her to recall what had so similarly transpired. So physically distressed and disregulated, she couldn't tell if it was the memory of the rape or the physical change that was altering her so profoundly.

But she was altering. It wasn't a ball of pleasure; it was an atom bomb inside her, the heat exploding to the edges of her flesh. She swore her skin was stretching and morphing with the sensation, lifting and warping over her body. Her mind was full of several loud thoughts: it wasn't Demetri who was touching her, but Edward—the man she loved and wished she could have apologized to before the withdrawal symptoms had robbed her of the opportunity to do so.

Edward pulled away, his eyebrows drawn together in a pronounced frown. "Bella?"

She probably could have spoken but didn't, staring right back at him stupidly, stunned by the relief that was sweeping over her body.

"I think we're in the clear," Carlisle said. He was hanging another IV bag on the hook by the bed.

Bella's eyes barely glanced at him. Edward was her magnet. "What?" she finally mouthed, answering him.

"I think I just heard your thoughts."

A/N for 2020-08-19: Chayasara and Eeyorefan12 are both incredibly smart cookies. My sincerest thanks to them for putting those impressive smarts to work on this story.

- Erin

DISCLAIMER: S. Meyer owns Twilight. No copyright infringement intended.