A/N: Another update. Thank you for all the love. ;)

And thanks to my beautiful Fran's. Any errors are on me.

TO THE LIGHT

CHAPTER 27

I don't argue with Edward. I don't say anything. I just sit and stare at the discolored wall again and think about how absolutely preposterous his words are.

"How long has your mother been an alcoholic?" he asks.

Squinting, I lean forward just a bit. I think I see a faint formation in the dirty swirls on the bare wall. It almost looks like the outline of a dove.

"Bella?"

I give him a quick glance, trying to recall his question. "Oh yeah. Um, a long time..."

Leaning back into the cushions, images begin to stir and take shape in my mind's eye. It's as though I'm observing someone else's life; like I'm watching a documentary, and all of the events never happened to me.

But they did.

"She was a functional alcoholic. She kept it hidden. She was very good at keeping secrets..."

Like how she'd spend thousands of dollars on jewelry and tell Dad it was costume jewelry and hide the bills.

"She was beautiful. She was the life of the party, an attention-getter. And things weren't always bad. She was a good mother. Once."

Visions of picnics at the park, her proudly attending my violin recitals flash before my eyes, but they are soon replaced with darker ones...

Like the time she pushed me down and kicked me in the stomach while Dad was fishing and threatened to send me to an orphanage if I told anyone.

All because I accidentally spilled some of her make-up.

"She would love me and shower me with attention, and then the alcohol would take over. My grandmother became ill with cancer, and that's when her drinking escalated and everything fell apart."

I stare at the imaginary dove on the wall.

"She got drunk and didn't go to the funeral. She wasn't there at all for my grandmother during her illness. We've never talked about it, but I overheard them arguing. Dad was going to leave her, but she beat him to it. He tried to get her help, but you can't help the unwilling."

Stretching my cold toes, I reach for an afghan and wrap it around my legs.

"One day she packed her stuff and left … no note, no warning, nothing. She drained the bank accounts, and took every bite of food that we had in the house," I say as I look over at Edward. "What kind of person does that? She emptied the refrigerator, the freezer, and all of the pantry items. She left us with nothing. Dad had to go to the grocery store before he could even comprehend what had happened."

I'll always be haunted by that look on Dad's face. She stripped away the essence of who he was; half of him disappeared that day.

"It was a relief that she was gone, but then I felt guilty for feeling that way. And I missed her because she was my mom.

"It destroyed my dad. He was never the same after that. He sunk into a deep depression, but he kept it hidden from me. I didn't realize how bad it really got. He was such a great father and he made up for my mom being gone. I had a great life with Dad.

"I thought he was okay, just sad. I didn't want to leave him, but he was so proud of me. He wanted me to start my own life. And I didn't know it, but he went on disability. Then he started going downhill. He'd forget that I was coming to visit. He'd forget what day of the week it was. He started having problems with his speech..."

Memories swell at the base of my throat. I swallow them, trying to force the pain from my voice.

"I had to put him in a home because I couldn't provide the care that he needed."

"Oh, Bella, I'm so sorry."

I shrug. "Every family has their problems; some are just different than others."

I lick my lips; they feel pasty, like the words I've been speaking have left some kind of nasty residue.

"Vodka turns my mother into someone I don't even recognize. She becomes a monster. She gets belligerent and then sobers up and cries and begs for forgiveness. And then things ... well, things fell apart for me, and I let her in. I let her say things to me, terrible things..."

"And I still do," a voice inside my head whispers.

"And she took advantage of it. Of me."

Pressing my knees to my chest, I wrap the throw tighter around my legs and glance at Edward on the other end of the couch. He's angled towards me, brows drawn together, eyes studying me so intently. I look away and stare at his coat that lays draped over the coffee table.

"That must have been incredibly difficult for you."

"It was," I say as I thread my fingers through the holes in my multi-colored afghan.

"I guess we've both lost our parents, just in different ways," he says.

I think about it for a moment and realize he's right. We have.

Oliver makes a choking sound like he's coughing up a hairball. Frowning, I lean forward, trying to get a closer look at him and heave in a fast breath, strangling myself in the process. Coughing, I rush around the table and blanch when I see he has a daffodil petal dangling from his mouth. Quickly shooing him away, I drop to my knees and begin carefully picking up the scattered pieces and gently stacking them into small piles. Edward silently joins me, copying my actions.

Once we have recovered the beloved pieces, Edward speaks softly, reverently. "Where do you want to put them?"

Clueless, I glance around the room and can't think of anywhere. My eyes trail around, and then it hits me. I rush to the kitchen, grab a chair, and reach into the cabinet over the refrigerator. With the utmost care, I slowly lower Grandma's favorite, blue depression glass candy dish. I keep it up there for safekeeping.

With each of us kneeling again, Edward attentively helps me place the crushed pieces into the bowl. His eyes catch mine, the green in his is a lush meadow glowing in the morning light, dew glistening.

Layers lay in those beautiful irises. Layers I don't want to interpret; can't interpret.

Not now.

I clear the coffee table off and set the small bowl in the center of it before placing the delicate, nearly bejeweled lid with the diamond-shaped topper on it. I move it twice to make sure it's exactly centered before I excuse myself to the bathroom.

Bracing my hands on the countertop, I puff my cheeks and blow out a heavy breath. Leaning forward, I peer at my reflection. I turn, studying the already-blooming kaleidoscope of blues, and purples, and the round spot on my cheekbone that has already poofed out like a puffer fish. Sighing, I grab a washrag and gently wash my face, wincing a bit. I brush my teeth and throw my hair up in a bun. I don't feel comfortable changing clothes, so I just leave on what I'm wearing.

Edward's eyes light up when I come out, and I can tell he wants to cheer me up. "I like your hair like that."

"Uh … thanks." I sit on the edge of the sofa and chew on my fingernail.

What in the world are we supposed to do now?

"Um, do you want something to eat or drink?" I ask.

"No, I'm good," he says, and my stomach follows up with a loud rumble.

"You should eat," he says.

"I'm not hungry."

"I could order us something. Do you like Chinese?"

"I don't really have an appetite," I say rushed as I give him a quick glance. He nods knowingly.

"Do you want to watch TV?" I ask.

"Sure."

I reach for the remote that sits on the end table and flip through the several local channels that I get for free. "What do you want to watch?"

"You pick."

There's not much to pick from, so I choose an old sitcom.

We go through hours of TV, and just like he promised, he stays on his end of the couch, a magnetized anchor. I feel that pull towards him, a subliminal undertow.

I welcome his silence. I have no desire for chit-chat.

He steals glances at me, quite a bit actually, and I watch him secretly from my peripheral. He looms. I feel him every second like a second heartbeat in my chest. I wish he wasn't here—I don't want him to ever leave. Something deep inside of me—archaic—revels in his protectiveness.

My eyelids grow heavy like someone attaches barbells to them. They droop and a second later, I bolt upright and hear someone screaming. My mouth moves in sync with the awful noise, but it sounds like it's coming from someone else.

Gasping for air, I clutch my throat as the room narrows, and I see a flash of light. A faint voice in the distance calls my name. "I'm dying; I'm dying," pounds in my veins and rages through my bloodstream as hands wrestle with mine.

I hear my name again louder and some mumbling.

The daffodils.

I force my eyes open, and I can't find them. They've disappeared, been ripped away... they're gone, they're gone, they're gone, my mind shouts as a metal clamp encases my throat.

"Bella, Bella, the daffodils are in the dish. Look at the dish. They're there, I promise, on the coffee table. Listen to my voice. I'm here. I've got you, sweetheart. I won't ever let you go, I promise. It's Edward; it's Edward, Bella. I'm here. You can get through this. Open your eyes and look at me, Bella, look at me right now," he says in a commanding voice.

My eyes pop open, and he's there before me on his knees, inches away. It's his face, his beautiful face; an ethereal angel. His mouth moves as his hands squeeze mine, and I watch his lips as my gasps finally force air into my starved lungs. The room widens, and my heart skips a tiny bit slower. My eyes close, and I collapse backward into a heap on the couch.

He leans against me, one hand continuing to squeeze mine tightly as fingers brush my bangs and caress my face over and over again as I take tiny steps back from the edge of the abyss. "I'm still here; I'm here Bella. Listen to my voice. I've got you … you're doing great. Keep breathing. It'll be over soon, I promise."

My shallow breaths slowly oxygenize my blood, circulating it to my extremities.

"Ce qui vous est arrivé?"he whispers in the faintest of voices. "Oh, Bella, my Bella."

I lay there lifeless, exhaustion spanning every inch of my body. I'm held down by boulders. My bones have turned to rock. His fingers brush through my bangs, along the contours of my cheek, and downward across my chin, over and over again, soothing me. On his next orbit, I feel fingertips slowly trace the outline of my scar, and my eyes fly open. His hand drops, but he keeps my other hand firmly grasped in his.

"How do you feel?"

My vision sharpens, and I frown. I thought he had an ethereal quality to him, but he doesn't. Instead, all I see is ashen-colored skin and brows furrowed so deeply I imagine it must be causing him pain.

I try to sit up but realize he's on his knees, leaning heavily against me. He scoots back and loosens his grip on my hand before holding it between both of his.

"Tell me you're okay," he begs.

My throat burns. "I'm okay," I croak.

"Are you sure?"

My eyes dart around the room, and I'm in my house, but how did Edward get here? It takes several seconds before it all comes back to me.

He rubs his thumb across my knuckles, his Adam's apple bobbing. "You scared me," he whispers.

I pull my hand away and rub my eyes.

"What do you need?" he asks. "Do you want some water?"

Still rubbing my eyes, I nod.

As I listen to his hushed footfalls make their way to my kitchen, I try hard not remember why I woke up screaming. I fight it with everything I have, but the scenes flash before me like lightning bolts:

I'm running barefoot as twigs and briars cut gashes into my feet.

I know who's chasing me, who's inches behind me, breathing their fiery breath on my neck. It's Jacob, and I'm too panic-stricken to turn around.

Because which face will I see?

Someone calls my name. It's Edward, his harmonic voice, but he's now the one chasing me and for some reason, I run even faster.

I trip, and plummet into a pit. I grab onto something on the wall, and I'm dangling precariously, hanging on for dear life, suspended above a dark, bottomless hole. My grasp loosens and looking up, I see that I'm hanging onto a single daffodil. Tightening my grip, I'm so relieved, so thankful that the daffodil has saved me so I start digging in, trying desperately to climb back up the wall when a hand grabs my ankle, and the daffodil rips from the wall.

But it's just an arm … with no body ... with claws for fingernails that dig into my skin.

It's Jacob's arm...

And I'm dragged down, screaming my way through the infinite blackness.

Edward whispered that he wanted to know what happened to me...

I pray to God that he never finds out.