Posted: 2019-04-20; Beta'd by the amazing Eeyorefan12.

~ Erin

"I know," Bella snapped. "It's the 'perfect metaphor'." She curled her fingers into air quotes as she spoke. When she looked up at her psychiatrist, Jennifer, she had to give the woman credit for not smirking. She'd be tempted to, listening to someone grumble like she was.

Instead, Jennifer smiled gently. "You say it like someone who isn't convinced."

Bella sighed, feeling frustrated. "No, it works. I get it. Just—"

"Just what?"

Her eyebrows pinched together. "It feels so real."

"Delusions usually do."

Bella sat staring at the beige carpet beneath her feet. It was unhelpfully devoid of any distracting patterns. The whole office seemed to be designed upon such principles.

"Can we talk about them a bit?" Jennifer prodded gently.

"I'm sure you'd like to," Bella said.

Matt would have said she was grouchy.

This was old ground, covered and covered again until the initial footprints had been ground into obscurity. The psychiatrists in Port Angeles had established the theory and every psychiatrist since had adopted it as well.

Because it made sense, Bella reminded herself.

Jennifer's face remained impassive. "I can remind you of the general theory, yes."

Bella let out a long breath and nodded. May as well let the woman fill the space with it.

"When your first boyfriend, Edward, broke off your relationship and moved away, you said he was a vampire, a creature that literally sucks the life out of you. His leaving precipitated a profound depression for you. To counteract this, you formed a friendship with the mortal enemy of the vampire—a werewolf. He died trying to save you from another vampire, who was herself motivated by vengeance on your former boyfriend. Her attention meant that Edward still had feelings for you. You claimed your friend Jacob, the werewolf, was killed trying to save you from this hostile vampire's attack."

"Victoria." Bella said.

"The one you imagined at the cliff." Jennifer's eyebrows rose meaningfully.

"Yes."

"You tried to summon the vision of your ex-boyfriend, by trying to kill yourself—"

"I wasn't trying to kill myself," Bella said, voice deep, and insistent. "I was just being incredibly stupid."

Jennifer shifted in her seat, scribbling a quick note. "It doesn't help you, to play into the delusion, Bella."

Bella looked down, finally huffing out a semi-convincing, "Sure."

"Blaming this figment of your imagination allowed you to evade the guilt you felt for Jacob's death." She paused for a moment, as if considering something. "I don't think I've said so before, but It is a very elegant metaphor, Bella. It speaks to the creative powers of your mind. Certainly to your literary interests."

"Thanks," Bella mumbled, cocking an eyebrow. She could have sworn Jennifer was suppressing a chuckle. They were both fans of the romantics. She didn't doubt Jennifer did appreciate her delusional inventiveness.

"And it fits with the trauma you've experienced. You shouldn't be feeling guilty about seeing these things again. They're your mind's way of warning when things are becoming too much. As far as manifestations go, it's gentle. Seeing faces is far better than the violent and psychotic episodes I've seen other patients struggle with."

"I'll try to remember that," Bella said dryly, next time I see any vampires, she thought. Her snort punctuated this silent utterance.

Setting her paper aside, Jennifer put her hands together on her lap. "Rejection hurts, even long after the fact. That you picture him still as a vampire means that hurt remains real. It also says many good things about your friendship with Jacob, to portray him as a werewolf—a creature that protected you."

Bella nodded. Jacob had been a good friend. She had yet to remember him without that familiar stab of guilt.

"You've made phenomenal progress, moving on in your life. Being well for so long, psychologically. I think you're well aware that there will be setbacks and things that trigger delusions. Now particularly. It's only been a few weeks since your husband died."

Bella listened to all this and nodded when Jennifer stopped talking. Now she wondered why her psychiatrist was still silent. Following Jennifer's gaze, Bella realized her own fingers were tracing the outline of the crescent-shaped scar on her wrist. She stopped abruptly, tucking her hands under her legs.

"Are you thinking of harming yourself again, Bella?"

"No." It was immediate, and insistent.

Jennifer's own hands moved smoothly to pick up her pen and paper. "But you're seeing Edward's face in those of strangers?"

"Yes."

"Have you thought about trying to summon that again?"

"No."

"Even in the car, when you had your accident?"

Bella's head whipped up. "No," she said, horrified. "I have children. I would never put them in danger. Ever. Not to see bloody Edward Cullen, not even if it let me see Matt."

"Have you seen your husband, as you've seen Edward?

"No," she croaked through a tightened throat.

"It's very common to see the recently-deceased."

Bella managed to nod.

She wished she had seen Matt.

What she wouldn't give for that small comfort.

Jennifer wrote more notes, and Bella relaxed a little. Their session was almost up. That knowledge was a relief.

"You're doing really well, Bella. I hope you recognize this."

"I know." She did. Sort of.

She and the kids were existing. They got up, she went to work, and the kids went to daycare. She made meals and cleaned the house.

"One last thing: when was the last time you saw friends? Socially?"

Bella swore silently and offered what she hoped would be a passable evasion. "Couple of weeks ago."

"When exactly, and where?"

"The funeral."

There was active disapproval when Jennifer spoke next. "You know that's a trigger for you. Not seeing friends, being alone."

"It's been difficult—"

"It's integral to your well being, Bella. Your children need you to be well, so you can be well for them."

God, if the woman hadn't found the tap for the guilt faucet.

"I'll try to get out with a friend." Biting her lip, she kept to herself the fact that she really didn't have any. Not here. She hadn't for years. Matt had been it.

"Good. I expect to hear about it when you're back in two weeks."

Bella almost bit her tongue. They'd been holding steady at monthly appointments since she and Matt had moved north to Vancouver. It was easy to grumble about the inconvenience and cost, but the real reason for her frustration was a burning resentment of the control these psychiatrists had, and continued to have, over her life.

"Great," Bella said, making her unfelt smile stretch to a convincing width.

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