I do not own Twilight.

Emmett is looking at me like some sort of miracle worker when I exit the bright white room, but I feel like anything but.

I feel like a cheat. Like I've deceived everyone in the past few months. Edward, Mike, my mom, Emmett, me….

There's nothing obvious that makes me feel this way, although Emmett's raised eyebrows don't make me feel any better.

"Did you hear everything?" I ask, more like a sigh than an actual question.

He shakes his head. "But I think we were all in shock by how…alive he came."

"He was angry," I say. "And hurt." By me, I don't add because I don't need to.

Emmett laughs once, but it's not humorous, more so excited by the day. "When isn't he," he says. "He hasn't spoken in two weeks, Bella. Fighting with him is better than silence."

I sigh when we get outside because I feel like I've been trapped in that building for days when it's really only been a few hours. I take in the air, stale with the cloud covering and lack of breeze, but fresh air nonetheless.

"Does he get to go outside?" I ask suddenly, blinking up at the hidden rays of sun.

"They get recreational time," Emmett says and he stares up towards the sky too, like it'll hold all of the answers we are looking for.

I think about the look of Edward's toned body, the way his forearms are defined with muscle and wonder if that's what he spends the majority of his time doing.

"Do you think he's made friends?" I ask and then feel a sudden stab of guilt that I have to ask Emmett these questions. Aren't I supposed to be making sure Edward is well? Aren't I supposed to be asking Edward these questions? But the reality is, he hasn't asked me about the outside life—but mostly because I don't think he wants to know.

"He doesn't come to the room with black eyes or bruised fists," Emmett says. "So, he hasn't made enemies."

A small smile plays at my lips and then I'm laughing because it's almost humorous that that's all we can ask of him—to not make enemies.

Emmett's laughing along with me and I think it's a cathartic release for both of us.

"I asked him to talk to you," I say after we've calmed down, standing by our cars in the parking lot. "I think he will the next time you visit."

Emmett looks at me and his baby blue eyes are soft, gentle in a smile. "Thank you," he says, "for everything."

"I'm doing it for all of us," I say, because I think that'll take the guilt off of him for asking me, the pain off of Edward for thinking I've only come because of Emmett, and the confusion off of me for wondering why I came.

I play with the keys in my fingers for a moment before asking, "Has your dad visited?"

Emmett stares ahead of him, thinking and then shakes his head.

"He wants to, but…" he trails off and I nod, because I know he's only trying to protect Edward.

"How does he feel about it all?" I ask.

Emmett sighs. "He thinks Edward's wasting his life. And he still doesn't think he plays a part in any of this at all. The anger, the fighting…he's more blind than Edward, I think."

"Has he told anyone…about your dad? I mean, has any of his therapy sessions been about your dad?" I ask when Emmett's brow furrows. He doesn't like talking about his dad any more than Edward ever did—ever does.

"Yeah, I mean when his sessions with me first started, I made sure to bring it up. I know Beth focused on Edward and dad's relationship for a while, but you know how Edward is."

I nod, because I do know how he is, especially on this subject. He'd rather act as though it's not a subject at all.

"And what about your mom?" I ask.

Emmett shrugs, but I can see the hidden anger, the offense in his blue eyes. "Haven't heard from her," he says simply. "But they've talked about her, too."

I drop the subject because I know it's still raw.

"Why won't he see Beth anymore?" I ask.

Emmett side-eyes me before looking away. "She focused a lot on your relationship with Edward. I don't think he liked hearing her…opinions of it."

I grit my teeth and swallow against the acid taste in the back of my throat. This is what I figured; she had poisoned Edward of me.

"Opinions?" I ask drily.

"Everyone has opinions," is all Emmett says, but it speaks volumes. She thought I was the problem.

Maybe I am.

"I should probably get going," I say, motioning towards my car. "My mom's expecting me for dinner. She'll think I've driven off into a ditch somewhere if I'm back too late."

"You gonna come back?" he asks before I leave him.

I pause, glancing over at him. "You think I should?"

He rubs his hand over his forehead. I watch, wondering how many times he's visited, how many times Edward has sat across from him, silent and inattentive. I wonder how many times he's gone back and had to tell his father that Edward was a statue again, and I wonder how many times he's had to defend his little brother against his father's harsh words.

"You've probably figured this out already," he says, "but Edward is still head over heels for you." I suck in a breath because, even though I had already guessed this—known it, really—it's so much different when someone says it out loud.

"I don't want you to feel obligated to him just because he's still in love with you. I know he's going to ask you to come back, beg you, but I'm afraid it's not going to help if you don't feel the same—and I'm not asking you to figure out if you still love him," Emmett says when my eyes widen. I feel like I'm choking on air and not just because I am the one who asked him if I should come back. "But I really need you to think about where you want this to go."

Suddenly, I'm less certain that he hasn't heard everything we said in that white room.