A/N
My girls over on Facebook got a teaser of this chapter last night (details of the FB group on my profile) and it was ... well (?) received.
So on that note! Enjoy!
—-
Friday arrives without incident; a small mercy I'm glad for these days. Or maybe it's because I have a brighter outlook —I'm not sure.
Edward hasn't been at school. Three days without seeing him has been strange. I worry, but then I remind myself that it's not my place to worry about him.
As I pull the car to a stop in the driveway, my phone rings from the passenger seat and I narrow my eyes at the unrecognised number illuminating my screen.
"Hello?" I answer, my voice filled with trepidation.
"Hey … is this … Bella?" asks the deep unfamiliar male voice. I'm silent for a second, contemplating my options. Quickly deciding I'm too curious to lie.
"Yeah, yeah … it's Bella."
"It's Emmett. Edward's brother?" I freeze, looking in the general direction of their house briefly, unable to see it from here. "Look, I'm … I'm really sorry to call you like this, but I need your help."
"Is everything okay?" I ask, unable to hide the slight waiver in my voice. Edward may be ignoring my very existence, but I do worry about him.
"Not really. Can you come over? I don't really want to talk over the phone."
"Um …" I falter, not sure if I should. Distance, remember? I need space. Edward made it crystal clear that he wants nothing to do with me. It's typical that the moment things start to look up, Edward finds a way to ruin it. I should be angry.
Emmett sighs and instantly, I feel bad. I'm not sure why. "I'm really sorry to do this, Bella, but right now you might be the only person who can make sense of him."
"Okay, give me five minutes."
"Thanks."
Ending the call, I sigh and let my head fall back against the seat. "Shit," I groan. What have I just agreed to?
I decide to walk around the corner to the Cullens' house instead of driving, figuring the extra time will give me a few minutes to pull myself together and clear my head.
In reality, it has the opposite effect. Turns out, after a lifetime of refusing to think too much into anything and avoiding every issue I've ever faced, recently, I've had a personality transplant and now I overthink every-damn-thing where Edward Cullen is concerned.
I should be angry about that too.
By the time I reach the ornate front door, I don't remember the walk here, nor can I calm my erratic breathing and clammy palms.
The doorbell chimes loud. Their house is massive, and I hear it echo throughout the space inside, only adding to my trepidation.
The door opens and I'm looking up into the worried, frantic eyes of Emmett Cullen. He's a lot larger close up, not that he gives me any time to truly consider him.
Ushering me inside quickly, I look around the spacious marble foyer. It's almost clinical -too bright, too clean, too perfect. Sterile.
"He's upstairs." I watch Emmett for a beat as he makes his way to the large winding staircase, clearing the stairs two at a time. My mouth opens and closes, confused as I think of something to say, but he's gone and then I'm scrambling after him, almost tripping in my haste.
I lose track of where I am after the second staircase, though I'm guessing we're heading towards the attic —which is only slightly less terrifying than the prospect of a basement.
Opening a door, he walks inside and I follow blindly, trying my hardest to take in my surroundings, remember my way.
The walls are a dark, slate grey; most of the furniture white, a beautiful, stark contrast. Turning in a slow circle, I almost squeak when I notice Edward's body lying spread-eagle in the middle of a large bed. He's asleep, but he looks anything but peaceful. He looks … dead.
I gasp and rush to his side, throwing my purse to the floor.
"What the hell happened?" I ask, touching his cold, clammy face, feeling his forehead, searching for a … pulse, ignoring the feel of him under my fingertips.
Emmett sighs, running a nervous hand through his short hair as I look at him in desperation. "I don't know what he's taken, but he's fucked."
"Did you call an ambulance?"
Shaking his head, he lets his arm drop. "He begged me not to. Before he passed out. He was saying your name over and over, making no fucking sense. I can call my dad, but ..."
Edward doesn't move as my hands touch his skin, he's unresponsive and unrecognisable in this state, and I'm out of my depth, with no fucking clue of what to do. He's breathing, he has a pulse, but it's erratic.
Lifting one of his eyelids, I gasp. Black, the blackest of black. He blinks rapidly, moving his face out of my grasp and screwing his eyes closed again, mumbling, incoherent.
"Can you get me a cloth of some sort, and a bowl of cold water?" I ask Emmett, not looking at him.
I hear him move, leaving the room.
"Fuck, Edward. What did you do?" My voice cracks, not recognising the person in front of me, terrified for what I know this is.
Emmett walks back into the room, placing the bowl of water beside me on the floor, and handing me a clean washcloth.
Taking it from him wordlessly, I soak the cloth and start carefully brushing the wet fabric across Edward's forehead.
Emmett doesn't make a sound. I don't either, not sure what to do or say. I'm an eighteen year-old girl who pretty much raised herself. I have no idea what I'm doing.
Looking at Edward, my anger doesn't surface. It can't. Not right now.
After a few minutes —which feels like hours— he starts to stir. His head moving languidly from side to side, his eyes screwing closed tighter. I think he's dreaming, his expression tortured.
"Bella," he whispers. My hand stills, raised slightly above his brow. I can't move, I wait, watching him closely.
"Our dad works at the hospital." Emmett's voice cuts through the stillness of the room as he places a glass of water on the table beside Edward's bed. "Edward doesn't want to embarrass him, or rely on him … for anything."
I sit on the floor, hesitant to move my attention from Edward.
"I don't understand what he's doing. Why he's doing it." Resting my arm on the bed, I lower my head to rest on it, never removing my gaze from Edward, too worried that if I look away, something bad will happen.
"He's always … struggled." It's all Emmett gives me, and it answers nothing. I'm used to that by now. Everything surrounding Edward is cryptic. "It's not the first time he's done this, but it is the first time he's actively asked for someone."
I turn my gaze to Emmett briefly, just in time to see him shrug.
Edward stirs again, his arms flailing slightly, his clenched fists twisting, his brow furrowed and jaw clenched tight. I reach out without thinking and place my hand on top of his lightly.
Instantly, he relaxes.
—-
A/N
Thank you for reading!
