I do not own Twilight.
Sorry, this is another non-Edward chapter, but these chapters are important in and of themselves to get different perspectives. At least, that is what I am going with. Besides, everyone loves a good Emmett.
The phone feels like dead weight in my hand, heavy and nonexistent at the same time as I listen to the incessant ring tone. I don't even know if this is still his phone number, but I find myself hoping that it is, and that it isn't at the same time.
Finally, after the fourth ring, and just before I am about to hang up out of anxiety, his low but unusually sweet voice greets me. I freeze, not having heard this voice in over a year.
"Hello?" he repeats, clearly knowing someone is on the other line.
I take a breath and before I lose my courage, answer with, "Emmett?"
The other line is silent for a few seconds, before the timid voice on the other line calls back, "Bella?" and I bite my tongue against the automatic correction of the nickname.
"Yeah," I sigh. "It's me."
In this moment, I am regretting everything. Every decision that led me to this call, every emotion that had me running off to my apartment, knowing that Mike was not home, to speak to Emmett in private.
"Bella, I…" he trails off, and I understand why. It's the same reason that I cannot come out and say why I have called. "How are you?" he settles with, but I don't feel like making small talk.
"Okay," I answer quickly, staring at a cracked mug on the counter, unseeing.
"That's good," he whispers, and then clears his throat. "How's…how is Mike's hand?"
My teeth clench. "Healing."
I can almost hear Emmett nodding before he cuts to the chase. As he always had been able to, he knows exactly why I have called. Emmett has a way of seeing the underlying cause for every movement someone makes.
"He told me," he simply says, but it puts everything in perspective.
I collapse backwards a foot, and fall heavily into the chair that I am glad is there.
"I…I just felt like I needed to visit," I say, hoping he understands. I know they probably weren't too thrilled with my decision; they wanted Edward to heal, and I hope I didn't set him back in that.
"I know. We're…glad you did."
I sit straighter, surprised by his words.
"Have you…?" I cannot finish the question, because I don't know what I am asking at this point. I don't know what I want; I don't know what I want Emmett to tell me because I don't know if I want to know.
"Does it make me a horrible brother if I've only accepted a call? Never visited?"
I rub my hand across my forehead and let out a saddened laugh.
"No," I say. "It doesn't. He's lucky to have you as a brother, no matter what."
Emmett's quiet for a while before he says, "I don't know if that's true," and it breaks my heart, not only for Emmett, but for Edward as well. I have a feeling he is being purposefully careful with what he is telling me, but because I can't bury the need for more information on this family and the troubled son that I had been so heavily involved with, I dig.
"Does your mother know?"
"No." There's no hesitation to his voice.
"Does he...want her to?"
"No." Again, zero hesitation and then, "I don't even know how to get in touch with her, anyways."
A sob threatens to choke me into silence, but I swallow it back.
It's been two weeks since I'd seen him and I just need to know. I know I shouldn't care and that I don't deserve to know, but there's something running down my spine, spreading to my limbs, my fingers, my toes, that threatens to paralyze me if I don't know. "How is he?" I cave.
A heavy sigh is my answer.
"I don't know if you want that answer, Bella," is his eventual reply.
"Has he been fighting?" is my immediate question. It slips out without a forethought and I want to hit myself for the concern that laces through my tone. It's not easy to hide over the phone, even when Emmett can't see my emotionless expression, my sickly pale face.
"Who?" he asks. "Other inmates? No. Himself? Yes."
I don't exactly know what that means, but the implication makes me sick.
"You know how he is, Bella," he adds before I can think too much about his previous words. "He doesn't open up to anyone. He won't talk to his attorney, the counselor, us." His voice breaks on the last word. "You were the only one he ever—" he stops himself abruptly, knowing this is dangerous territory, but I know what he was going to say—you were the only one he ever opened up to. You were the only one who could get through to him—and it makes me sick to my stomach knowing that he is right, that Edward only ever felt himselfwith me. Even Emmett, his older brother whom he was closer to than anyone else in his family, received the silent end of Edward's thoughts and troubles.
"I'm sorry," Emmett says in response to my silence. "That wasn't fair of me."
"No, no," I answer quickly with a sudden, dying need to get off of the phone, to get out of this conversation. "It's okay; you're right. He hardly ever opened up to anyone. But I can't…be that for him anymore, Emmett." It's my voice this time that breaks and I wipe hastily at the tears that gather at the corners of my eyes.
"I know, and I think he's realizing that now, too. You should never have been that for him. At least, not you on your own, and I think that's what he is struggling with. He's the one who fucked this up, Bella. No matter what, no matter how sorry for him you feel, remember that. I know he can be very…convincing, but just remember you are the victim here, not him."
I swallow heavily, shadowing myself in his words. It's the most he's spoken to me about mine and Edward's past relationship and hearing this from an outsider who was also an insider gives me another perspective. Not the jealous, angry one of Mike; not the confused, concerned one of Rosalie; not the misunderstanding, disgusted one of my mother; not even the overly-understanding, passionate one of Charlie.
I had called Emmett for defense, for some sign that I'm not crazy, and I don't know if I got that, but I hang up with him feeling…stuck. You are the victim here, not him, he had said, but I can't help but think…
Aren't we all?