A/N: I've had a marvelous day, and your reviews are the cherry on top.
And now! Let us have more angst.
It shouldn't have happened.
Modern elevators were equipped for things like blackouts, especially in a big, fancy building like this. A failsafe should have kicked in, bringing them safely to their destination and opening the doors.
But, it hadn't.
Edward busied himself for a few minutes, uselessly jabbing buttons. Out of the corner of his eye, he kept tabs on Bella, noting the staccato rhythm of her breaths and the way she rocked slightly on her feet. At one point, she started to pace, but the limits of the elevator frustrated her efforts.
"They say to sit tight," Edward tried after he'd spoken to the emergency response over the speaker. All things considered, it wasn't the smartest move. There was nothing wrong with Bella's ears, and she doubtlessly heard what was said.
Bella didn't look at him. She did, however, press her back against the far corner and slid down the wall. She rested her head on her knees, wringing her clasped hands.
He stayed standing at first, body locked and rigid. It went against everything in his programming to keep his distance when she was in such obvious pain. The sadness that had radiated off her in the room upstairs had been bad enough; he would have comforted her if he could have, even though he was the source of her pain.
But this?
Bella's claustrophobia could be intense, debilitating even, in the right circumstance. Trapped in a dark elevator with someone she loathed had to have been several layers into hell.
And wasn't this the fruition of one of his worst nightmares?
One of the things that made Bella Bella—one of the heartbreaking quirks that resulted when one was raised by a childish mother and an absent, clueless father—was this sense she had that her emotions were a burden. When they first knew each other, she'd apologized for any small outburst he witnessed.
The first time Bella had cried in his arms, Edward had come to a profound realization. She didn't trust anyone in her life to take her pain seriously, to care about what she needed. Back then, she'd felt safe with him, safe enough to expose her vulnerabilities and deep emotions without fear or apology.
He still knew her well enough to see how hard she was fighting to hold on to control. He wasn't safe anymore. He'd well and truly shattered that trust he'd once worked so hard to gain. The pieces of it weren't shards but sand scattered in the wind.
His arms around her would be no comfort now. She had no reason to believe he only wanted to ease her burden.
Edward slid down the wall of the elevator opposite her, wrapping his arms around his knees.
Her whole body trembled, vibrated visibly. Even in the low light, he could see her knuckles were bone white with the effort of holding herself together.
Minutes went by like hours. It was agony not to help.
And finally, he had to try.
"I know I'm the last person you'd want help from, but I'm here. If you want to talk. Or you need… I don't know. Anything. Anything you need. I'm here. Really."
She didn't look at him.
Her breaths were coming at too-quick intervals now. She had to be close to hyperventilation.
"Bella, I never meant… I know what you must think after what I did. But—"
"Shut up," she said through gritted teeth. The words were barely audible—she didn't have much breath to spit them—but still fierce.
He did try. But then, her voice whined in the back of her throat. She really was beginning to panic. "Bella," he tried again.
"Don't talk to me. Don't… Don't…"She gasped, the sound a wheeze.
"Okay. Okay. I won't. I'll…"
He stopped talking.
Hands clenched against his legs, he closed his eyes and tilted his head back. The sound of her distress was his version of hell. It was killing him—each sound another knife in his already perforated heart. Anxiety spiked, and he reached for the coping mechanisms he'd developed with the help of his therapist. He reached in his mind for one of his go-to's, a thing that soothed him when his nerves spiked. Unclenching his fist, he tapped the notes of a song against his leg, as though he were sitting at his piano.
"Stop it." Her voice came out shaky, breaking on the last word. "Please don't."
Edward's head snapped up. "What?"
"You were doing it on purpose." The words were broken by a sharp gasp in between. "You know you were."
"Bella, I swear, I wasn't doing anything. I'm sitting here. What did I do?" He'd been deep in thought, whispering silent mantras in his head in time with the beat of his fingers.
She didn't answer at first. She swayed back and forth, head on her knees as her breaths slowed just the slightest bit. "You were humming our song," she said, quiet and broken. She seemed to slump then, the rigidity fading not in relaxation but in some kind of defeat. "I don't know what this is for you, but it hurts. Why would you do that?"
"I swear I didn't realize I was humming," he said, guilty and furious with his own subconscious. "I would never—"
"God. Just shut. Up." She laughed—the sound bitter and tired as she continued to wring her hands. "You don't get it. How hard it is not to talk to you. Fuck, I miss your voice so much."
"You never let me talk after I—"
"Because I could never do it." Her head snapped up, and her glare was livid. The ferocity came back full force, fury in every word. "You don't have any clue, do you? What it took to walk away from you? If I heard your voice, I couldn't have done it. Even knowing what you really think of me, I'd have come running if you called." Another bitter laugh and she rested her head on her knees, looking away from him again. "I guess you were right. I'm just a silly little girl."
"That's not what I said, and I didn't…" Edward twisted his fingers in the fabric of his shirt, trying to get a handle on his spiraling emotions and the well of words in him. "When I said what I said, I—"
"I don't want to hear it," she snapped. "You think I need to be told you were in a bad place? I loved your parents too. We were all in a bad place. I tried so hard to be there for you when they died. I knew how badly you were hurting. I tried so hard to help you. Every time you pushed me away, I came back. I always came back for you." Bella rocked, shaking her head.
"But you've always got to be the martyr. The only one who gets to hurt." She wrapped her arms tighter around her legs, as though making herself smaller. "And then you said those horrible things."
Edward ducked his head, eyes closed against the shame and regret.
"I never would have believed you could hurt me like that. Not me."
"Bella—" he started, voice raw.
"Shut. Up."
It was a demand.
It was a plea.
The silence between them was awful.
Then, she seemed to come alive. She leaped to her feet and punched the wall. "I need to get out!" She started to slap and punch the wall; filling the small space with metallic thwacks as she screamed, "Let me out! Let me out!"
For too many long moments, Edward could do nothing but stare, horrorstruck. Then, he jumped up, calling her name and grabbing her hands.
Bella thrust her body backward, throwing him off. "Don't touch me. Don't… don't." She slid down the wall, curling in on herself again, as her breaths got sharper and quicker. "I hate this."
Not, I hate you.
Not even now, trapped in a tiny room with the person who'd hurt her the most, would she throw hurtful words at him.
The least he could have done was obey her one command—shut up.
But the fear she would hyperventilate was very real.
He swallowed hard. "I said what I said that day because I wanted you to hate me. I kept trying to tell you to leave me. You wouldn't believe me. That I deserved that. Deserved to lose you."
As he spoke, he reached out with his foot. Ever so gently, he pushed a toe against hers.
She gasped—the sound stopping the quick staccato of her breaths. She breathed in deeper. She was shaking hard now, and she didn't tell him to shut up.
"I think I thought I would actually die if you left me," he said, carefully scooting an inch closer. "It felt like I would." He swallowed thickly. "It still does. Every day."
She whimpered, but when he stretched, so one leg touched the length of hers, she didn't tell him to get away. Her breathing slowed further.
"You should know, I put in the work. Therapy. A lot of it. Ripped myself down to the foundation. Everything. Everything I should have done to begin with, to be the man you deserved. I'm… that was rock bottom. What I did to you—who I was that day. It was rock bottom."
He reached out, pressing fingertips to her hands first, feeling the tension. Her fingers were digging into her skin so hard it must have hurt.
When she didn't protest, he worked to loosen her grip, his fingers gently but firmly working their way under hers. When she didn't pull away, he took her freezing, trembling hands in his, grounding her as much as he could.
"I'm so sorry," he said.
It didn't feel better.
He'd never thought it would.
But he didn't realize he still had hope until her hands tightened briefly around his.
Such a tentative touch.
But it was there.
Seconds later, the elevator jolted. Her hands gripped his as they both looked up in surprise. The bright lights came on, and the doors swished open.
They were back on the ground floor—the sound of people nearby reminding them where they were.
Bella pulled her hands from his. She got to her feet, her hands thrown out to steady herself because she was still trembling. Pulling her purse up on her shoulder, she walked away without a second glance, her arms wrapped around herself and her shoulders hunched.
"You okay, buddy?"
Edward blinked, still staring at the spot he'd last seen her. It took him another moment before he focused on the security guard peering in at him.
The man offered a hand. "You hurt?"
Letting the man help him to his feet, Edward almost laughed.
He was decimated. Destroyed.
"I'm fine," he said, numb. "Thanks."
"Power's back on, but who knows how long. Be careful out there. They say the storm is only going to get worse."
"Worse," Edward echoed.
The ragged hole in his heart bled out with every beat.
He nodded.
Worse was only to be expected.
He headed out into the storm.
A/N: So now you know.
Thoughts?