A/N: Sorry for the long pauses between chapters, but I'm finding the inspiration to write again! Thanks, as always, for the reviews! They are VERY appreciated!

Trigger warning: descriptions of SA, violence, injuries from SA, pain, depression, intimacy

Chapter 21 – Monsters (BPOV)

I am sickly hot when my eyes pop open, revealing nothing more than the dark room before me. Glistening moisture covers my skin and the blankets tangled around my body. My only consolation: Edward's cool arms that are wrapped across my stomach and beneath my neck.

"You're awake, love."

His voice sounds so distant in my ears. Like it had to travel a million miles through cotton to get to me.

"I know." My voice is hoarse. Had I been screaming? I hadn't woken up screaming from any dreams recently. At least, not from this particular incident. The dreams I'd had so many weeks ago prior to and following our trip to Volterra feel like another lifetime.

"It's over." His voice isn't distant. It's muted. Muted even if he's whispering close enough that I feel his breath raise bumps on my skin.

I want to disagree with his words because he's wrong. My nightmares seemed worse when I was awake. I longed for the days when my nightmares were contained to my unconscious mind. Now, my waking moments were just as bad – if not worse – than the images portrayed against my closed eyelids. Instead of voicing my thoughts, my mouth forms different words. "Can you kiss me?"

Edward gingerly touches my chin with his hand, pressing his lips to my forehead. They were a welcome feeling on my sweltering skin. The kiss, sweet and cool, was short against my temple and I almost want to moan as he pulls away.

"Not like that." I try to force myself up, but my trembling hands couldn't seem to carry the weight of my body. "Like in the meadow, Edward."

I can see how his eyebrows pull together in the dull light. "Bella, I don't see how this is any different." He presses his lips to my forehead again, as if to prove his point.

"Kiss me like before." I nearly beg.

Recognition finally dawns in his eyes, and a new emotion takes over. Sympathy, maybe. It makes my chest ache with humiliation. Eventually, though, it seems that he agrees with me and he leans down, his fingers brushing at my jaw. He presses his lips to mine, molding his mouth over me. His lips are not gentle – there was an edge of desperation in how he moved. His fingers press deep into my muscles as they glide over my stomach, pulling at my leg to bend my knee over his.

Our kisses are broken by panting breaths, desperate for air, for life, for love. Mine were longing for passion. His for something I didn't know.

"Edward," my voice is a whisper as I breathe his name. He doesn't stop, he doesn't even reply. The coolness of his mouth is skillfully moving along my jaw, forcing my head to strain as he continues to my neck. His hands, originally starting off soft and slow, were increasing in their urgency as they roam, rendering my body almost entirely useless as I lay beneath him. Our lips meet again, hungrily, with little restraint.

"No more." He murmurs quickly, pulling his lips from mine. He's breathing harshly – much harsher than I've ever heard him breathe. I'm not surprised that I am, too. I can feel my body heating with a blush as I realize just how close we are – how close our chests get as we breathe deeply.

"I'm not scared." My chest tightens with my lie. Because I was – scared that at any second my body would pulse with fear, and I would pull away from the one I had always wanted most.

Edward swallows forcefully, closing his eyes. "That's not what I'm concerned about." He sighs, pressing another kiss to my lips. It's light and quick and it makes my heart beat with pain. "You're exhausted, love. You've hardly slept."

"I'm not tired."

"It feels that way now, doesn't it?" Edward sits up, pulling his arms from around me as he does so. He sits at the edge of the couch, his back to me, catching his breath. My movements are awkward as I push myself next to him with my only good hand, wrapping my hands around his arm. It's uncomfortable to have my cast against his perfect skin. It's wrong. A flurry of anger slips through me

"What are you afraid of?" My voice is harsher than I intend.

Edward turns to me, his eyes pained. "I don't want to hurt you, Bella."

"You won't."

Edward inhales sharply, closing his eyes. "No more, not right now." The tone in his voice told me that this wasn't up for discussion, and it would be no use to argue with him. I had gotten what I asked for – he kissed me like he did in the meadow. Arguably, he kissed me more passionately than he had in the meadow. Without fully comprehending my actions, I press my lips to the back of his bare shoulder.

"I trust you." I whisper. It's me I don't trust. I get no response from him as he stares out the glass of the wall. There are light streaks of gray appearing the sky indicating that I've almost made it through the night, and I positively wouldn't be able to sleep again.

When the sky lightens to the point of no return and I'm able to see my way to the dresser, I slowly stumble off the couch. I can see Edward watching me from the corner of my eye, but he makes no move to get up as I dig through the dresser for some clothes.

I take my time in the bathroom – to exhausted for a shower, but too restless to simply change my clothes. I bathe my arms in the sink, washing my face as many times as I can before I'm convinced Edward must think I'm drowning myself, and then I take my time brushing through my hair. It doesn't escape my notice that the mirror plastered to the wall seems to be covered up with random decorations that have appeared from around the house. I'm not sure whose doing it was – perhaps Alice or Esme, or anyone else who I confided in about my fear of my reflection. I didn't want to see the damage inflicted on my body and it seems that my wishes were taken to heart.

Edward is still sitting on the couch when I finally open the bathroom door. He's wearing a shirt now, and his khaki pants have been changed to dark blue jeans. The sky is alive with light as the sun is peeks over the mountains.

"Hungry?"

I shake my head slowly. It was hurting a bit, throbbing as I walked. "I might go sit outside."

"It's cold." Edward's in front of me in a flash, holding my jacket for me. I slid my arms into it, allowing him to pull it over the rest of my body. "I need to go. They are waiting for me so we can go hunting."

Edward must pick up on the anxiety I'm feeling deep in my stomach. "We're feeding, Bella." He adds softly, quietly. "We'll be back in a few hours."

"Oh." I whisper, feeling slightly embarrassed by my assumption. "I'm sorry. You shouldn't have delayed for me."

Edward offers me a small, crooked smile, touching my chin. "And deny myself the pleasure of holding you all night? Absolutely not!"

I try not to grimace at what he says, but I can't help myself. It's not a pleasure at all. He'd hardly held me between the fits that made me panic until I pushed him away, or the ones that made my cry until I begged for him to hold me tighter. None of that was pleasurable.

He holds his hand up, holding a small white cup. "Can you take these before I go?" He asks quietly.

I gulp, my stomach twisting into knots, but I accept the cup nonetheless. I exhale sharply as I spy the contents, realizing two little white pills are housed in the plastic instead of just one.

"Carlisle increased your dose." Edward explains easily. "It's the same medicine, Bella."

"I know." I feel like I'm suffocating as I toss the pills into my mouth, drinking down the water Edward hands me. Edward's arms wrap around me as I swallow, pulling both the glass and plastic cup from my hands and out of my sight. I lean into his embrace, needing the comfort and physical connection.

"I'll be back tonight. I promise." He murmurs, pressing a kiss to my forehead. His hands drop from my waist as he steps away, disappearing from the room.

The house seems suffocatingly quiet and large in Edward's absence. My arms – automatically curling around my torso – do little to quench that internal ache. Almost instantly, I can feel my neck throbbing with the beginnings of a migraine. My body's way of telling me it remembers what happened when Edward left before. . .

There's little point in staying in the room alone to think so I find my feet moving before my mind can completely grasp what I'm moving toward. Stairs are easier to climb down than up, and I let my body move, feeling almost as if I'm drifting without any energy expended at all.

Esme's humming catches my attention when I've descended the second set of stairs. I can hear her perfectly, though she isn't trying to be loud at all. I'm floating as I walk down the hall, past closed doors and framed pictures, until I reach the heartful notes.

"Bella!" Esme's voice breaks from the angelic humming, inviting me into the room. Room didn't quite capture the expanse of Carlisle's office. He managed to fit an entire hospital into the room and a full set of couches, along with his personal library. Esme probably renovated the room herself. She might have knocked down some walls to make it this big. Carlisle needed a big office.

"Would you like to join me? I realized it's been so long since I used my paints."

She gestures fluidly towards a large canvas standing atop an easel. The canvas seems a bit blurry, and I have to wonder why Esme would produce such a strange painting. It takes me a moment, and a few blinks, before I realize how out of focus my sight is. A masterpiece of crashing waves and pink skies stood out against the white plaster when my eyes have finally settled.

"It's beautiful."

Esme puts her brush down. "I have another canvas. Would you like to try?"

"I'm not really good at painting, I don't think."

"Who said art needs to be good to be done?" Esme chuckles, her eyes twinkling. Her voice, like Edward's, doesn't quite catch my attention the way it should, and I can feel myself losing interest in her words as she speaks them. "Are you alright, darling?"

"I'm tired."

"Here, sit." Esme glides over to me quickly, gently ushering me toward the couch. She lays a thick blanket over me, adjusting the pillows behind my back quickly. "You were disturbed last night. . . Maybe you can get some proper rest now."

"Maybe."

Esme smiles sweetly, returning to her painting. The pure humming begins again, and I'm slowly pulled captive to Esme's mesmerizing movements as she paints. I could practically see the waves moving as she glides her brush, thick with paints, over the canvas. I'm tempted to beg her for a canvas so I can attempt it too, but one looks at my trembling hands makes me go back on my decision. Instead, I stuff my hands beneath my thighs in an effort to limit the shaking.

It was incredible. Far better than any landscape I'd seen in any museum Renee dragged me to or I visited during fourth grade field trips. Renee tried painting once – she'd flittered around between watercolors and acrylics, venturing into expensive oils before she gave the entire thing up. Painting, in her mind, seemed like a fun way to relax and express emotions. She underestimated the patience and skill needed to produce something worthy of admiration.

"Is Jacob going to come visit again?" Esme's prodding question interrupts the calming melody so suddenly that I jump in surprise. She shoots me an apologetic smile, brushing some of her caramel hair behind her ears.

I frown, looking at the knitted blanket covering my lap. "I don't know."

Jacob had been incredibly apologetic. He apologized for not coming to visit. He apologized for getting mad at me. He apologized for the hurtful things he said during my last visit to La Push. He begged me to come visit him again, and promised we'd do something fun. He implored me to think of Charlie and how difficult it was for him. He also suggested I come stay with him, insisting that there were hospitals and grocery stores and whatever else I would need in La Push. But mostly, he swore that if I forgave him, he wouldn't disintegration the trust I placed in him again.

"Is Edward still upset that he was here?"

I pick at the fabric of the couch, remembering the grasp Emmett had on Edward to keep him from attacking Jacob.

"Edward is capable of putting aside his feelings for something that makes you whole. Jacob is your best friend and Edward can't ignore that."

"He was my best friend."

Esme raises an eyebrow at me. "Surely you won't throw away a great friendship because of a fight, especially one that's been apologized profusely for."

Esme's words surprise me. "Don't you know what he said to me?"

"Only what was said to him his whole life, darling." Esme sighs. "Vampires have earned the name they are given. It took him some time to understand how different we are, but he apologized didn't he? He's trying."

I try not to let my frown turn into a full scowl, but I think I've failed. My trembling hands turn into fists beneath my thighs thinking back to my conversation with Jacob yesterday. He's hardly understanding.

"I think he came to apologize so I'd go to La Push with him. I think he wants me to be there for Charlie and to be away from here."

"Ah. Is that something you want?"

"No." I snap quickly, biting my lip as I realize how sharp my voice become. "I . . . I want to be there for Charlie. . ."

"But?" Esme's swirls her paintbrush in a mason jar of cloudy water, eyeing me.

"But everyone keeps telling me to be there for myself first." The words seem selfish to speak aloud. I clench my fists beneath my thighs, unclenching and clenching, unsure of what to do with the sudden frustration that pulses through me. "Charlie isn't going to come here. But I don't want to go to La Push. I don't want to forgive Jacob."

"That's valid, Bella."

My breath gets caught in my throat at Esme's words. No one had ever quite said that to me before – not recently, at least. I blink at her, forcing the fuzziness out of my eyes as I watch her painting.

"I miss being friends with him and going to La Push. I miss him. But everything he's asking for is loaded."

"I would argue that's a similar situation with us too, Bella." Esme sighs. "We're only asking you to get better so we can love you longer, aren't we? He's only asking you to go to La Push so he can have you back. I would, even, argue that we're taking it dangerously further by keeping you here to protect you."

"You're helping me. You want me to get better."

"I imagine he wants that as well."

"Oh." I wasn't really sure what to do about Jacob. I promised him I'd consider his apologies but there seemed to be too little time in my day to acknowledge all the thoughts in my head and the panic in my body.

"What about Charlie? Have you given that conversation any thought?"

I can feel my cheeks heating, and my head throbbing. I had nearly forgotten about Charlie, even if all my dreams were about him. A cold feeling slips down my spine. Picture perfect memories of Caius standing over my father's pale body in the cold castles of Italy float into mind.

My chest feels tight, closing in on my lungs, cutting me off from my oxygen. If any of the Volturi discovered how much my father knew he would be in as much danger as I was. He would have the same two options as me – dead or immortality.

"I don't know."

"Are you alright, dear?" Esme's voice is far away.

"I need water." I force myself up, the room spinning around me. "I'm fine."

I stumble out of Carlisle's office – away from prodding memories of him sewing me up, checking fractured ribs, offering me quiet words of comfort against panic.

"There's more air outside." Jasper's smooth voice makes me scream. He shoots me an apologetic frown. "Outside, Bella." He holds his hand out to me.

His palm is covered in crescent scars. A commonality for us. I touch my wrist, remembering the searing pain of James' bite. Jasper understood that pain – my pain, past and current.

"I can't breathe."

"I know." Jasper's voice is shockingly calm in the oxygen depleted zone we were in. His hand is stretched out, and I stare at it quizzically before remembering he means for me to take it. He's trying to help me. "It's okay, Bella."

My fingers feel strange against his, and I realize that I'd never touched Jasper before. His hand is cold as ice. I'm expecting it to be Edward's hand, but it's not. Edward's fingers are longer, thinner. Jasper's hand doesn't exude comfort when touching mine the way Edward's does.

Had he ever held the hand of a human before? Specifically, one he wasn't about to devour or change? The thought sends a shiver down my spine. The shiver is not unnoticed – Jasper's eyes fall on me instantly. He's usually quiet, shy, sticking to corners in the room. But he's none of those things now as he leads me to the front door with promises of more air.

I drag in cold, mountain air. It stings my teeth and shocks my chest. Jasper's hand leaves mine so I can use both my arms to hold my torso together as my panic rips into me.

"Charlie can't do this. He can't have this."

"He's strong, Bella." Jasper responds quietly. He's so calm, so level. He's so different than the vampire that yearned – yearns – for my blood.

"I have Edward. I know what I want." My choice made sense with Edward in the picture, but Charlie's choice would not be easy. "Charlie . . ."

"You don't know that it will come to that." His mellow tone frustrates me. Jasper's knowledge of the events in La Push is at the same pitiful level as mine.

"We don't know what Jake's told him. He's already in so much danger." My hands come around my head, an attempt to protect myself from the monsters in my mind.

"You're right." Jasper's voice is so confident it shocks me for a moment. My eyes shoot to his – calculating, confident, bold. "He is in danger. He is in more danger without a reassuring discussion with you, I would say. He's very likely distressed thinking of you being with us."

Jasper's right. The truth weighs on me – I've left Charlie to wallow in his fear and stress and uncertainty. This conversation was too much for me now. "How do I talk to him if I can't tell him anything more?"

"No one said that you couldn't."

I sink down, sitting on the stairs of the porch. The wood is cold against me, and I regret not grabbing a sweater. "What am I supposed to say about Jacob? And Edward? I promised I wouldn't say anything."

"Tell him whatever you want about the dog. What you chose to tell him about us . . . Well, we will have to respect it. It's your secret as much as ours."

Something washes over me at Jasper's easy acceptance of my decision to join his family. I feel somewhat guilty for not necessarily considering Jasper a part of mine even though I had adopted the rest of his family.

I peek over at him. He's leaning against the railing of the porch, the fingers of his left hand rubbing absently at his other wrist. My fingers follow suit – remembering the shallow scar that sits against my veins. James' bite that almost stole my life away before I was ready. I remember Edward's bite, overlaid on James', that saved me before it was too late. My stomach twists tightly.

What would my life be if I had been changed then? If I had the strength the fight off an attack? If Edward could take me hunting with him instead of leaving me alone?

"How am I supposed to tell him about me?" I exclaim, clapping my hands over my face as if that would make me disappear. My gut churns anxiously. "He wasn't supposed to know. He was supposed to just think I moved away to college and then . . . I don't know, got into a car accident or something. Alice would have figured it out."

"It is still possible for us to spin that story for him. To give him a clean break."

Jasper's words make me flinch. Edward's clean break almost broke me. Charlie didn't deserve that from me. "I don't want to say goodbye to him."

"This is an opportunity to prevent that, isn't it?"

"It's too dangerous."

Jasper breathes deeply. "He's safe with the wolves. You know better than anyone how little gets passed their boarders."

"They protect their own. You told me that." My heart wrenches painfully in my chest as I remember the wolf situation with me. "If Charlie chooses us . . . If he chooses to protect this secret, they may not want him anymore."

"As much as we hope to have the best of both worlds, we can't."

Jasper's words make my shiver. He's right – again. Only this time he's not just talking about the situation with Charlie, he's talking about me and my need to hold onto both worlds. My human world and my vampire world were at odds with each other.

"I dreamt about him a lot last night." I'm not sure what's compelled me to speak those words. But I keep going. "I dream about him being killed for knowing too much."

Jasper's dark eyes meet mine. They're filled with raw anger that makes me shift away from him automatically. "Your dreams are motivated by fear."

It is a blanket statement. His words are not just about last night. How much does he feel when I am dreaming? How much of my emotion does he decipher and keep to himself? I almost open my mouth to ask him, to tell me what secrets he protects for me. But my anxiety stops me. I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to think about it either.

I glare at my hands. They're shaking even as I try to force my muscles into immobility. Charlie was probably terrified, not even realizing what monsters he was surrounded by right now. How could I possibly explain my comfortability with the Cullens? And my desire to marry Edward and become immortal with him? That would be a difficult conversation.

"What do I tell him about me and Edward?"

"I'm sure your father is still aware of your love for him." The words seem too tender coming from a vampire covered in battle scars. I laugh quietly, and Jasper watches me quizzically before shrugging his confusion away. His facial adjustments sober me quickly.

"How do I explain our future to him?"

"You know Charlie better than I do, and you know your relationship with Edward better than I do."

I scoff quietly. "I highly doubt that."

Jasper offers me a sympathetic smile. "In calamity, gears certainly shift, even the most steadfast ones. Still, I would think that your future would be no different than what you both had in mind previously."

My nails bite at the sleeve of my shirt. Goosebumps rest on my skin, pink and tender in the chilly air. Jasper knew a lot about us and our emotional landscapes, but he was still wrong.

"It's already April." I mumble, feeling slightly self-conscious expressing my relationship woes with this particular Cullen. "I don't think Edward is ready for this."

Jasper's eyes narrow at me. "It's May."

"Oh." A shiver crawls down my spine.

"May ninth, actually." The strangeness in Jasper's voice makes me uneasy, but I try not to pay much attention to it.

I force myself to swallow past the lump that's formed in my mouth. There's something significant about today, but I'm not entirely sure what. "Was graduation today?"

"No." The curtness in Jasper's voice makes me tremble. "I forget that humans dislike the cold. Here." Jasper's holding a sweater in his hand – my sweater, from the hook next to the door. "I'm sorry."

"Thanks." I mumble gratefully, pulling my arms through the sleeves. I shudder beneath the fleece, appreciative for some warmth and stunned that I didn't recognize how cold I was.

"Have you had a conversation with Edward about this?"

"Charlie?"

"No, Bella. About your future."

"No, I don't think so." I mutter, trying hard to remember. My head hurt trying to think. "I think he told me he accepted my fate, or my death. He wasn't going to try to fight me about my soul anymore."

"Is that what you want?"

"Yes." It was what I wanted. I wanted to be with Edward forever. I wanted him to be mine for however long eternity was.

"Perhaps, when Edward returns tonight, you should have a conversation with him." Jasper suggests patiently. "It might be difficult for both of you, but it would clear up some misunderstandings and confusion."

"Or you could just let him read your mind and then I won't have to talk to him at all." I mumble petulantly. Jasper's laugh catches me off guard, and mortification fills me as I remember he has the same capacity to hear me as Edward does. I suddenly regret the words that slipped from my mouth.

"Brilliant idea, Bella." Jasper's snarks back. "I have enough on my plate with Alice."

"I don't know how to talk to Edward!" I scowl at my hands as I speak, realizing just how many times I have said some variation of that line. I don't know how I feel about Jacob's apology or his friendship or his revelation of secrets. I don't know what to say to Charlie or how I should broach the subject of my immortality. I don't know if I had a conversation with Edward or what to say to him. It was becoming abundantly clear that I knew nothing at all.

"That's one hell of a confession." Jasper murmurs. Suddenly the air doesn't feel ample anymore. It feels constricting like inside the house. Jasper sits down several feet away from me – the closest we have ever sat from each other.

"What?"

"What happened that you suddenly are incapable of speaking to my brother?" Jasper rests his arms over his knees. His voice is light, but it stops my heart in my chest.

My fingers touch the plastic of my cast, and I flinch, remembering the excruciating pain of my bones breaking. Jasper's scarred fingers touch my chin, turning my face toward him. He's so close I can count the scars on his neck.

The strength of his gaze raises goosebumps on my skin. "Where are you?"

"What?" I gasp. His hand drops from my face.

"Tell me where you are."

I stutter, confusion pushing through my mind. Had he lost his mind? "Forks?"

He leans away from me, his fingers clenched and his voice smooth. "Tell me more, Bella."

I gulp the mountain air, my eyes twisting around the yard trying to place myself in the world. "The porch. Here at . . . I'm – I'm outside at home."

"What are you doing?"

My fingers rub against the wood of the porch. "I'm sitting here . . . on the porch." Jasper hums in agreement. "Talking to you."

"You're here, Bella. Not there." Jasper's voice is forceful. "Center yourself when you feel like you're getting pulled back into your memories."

My fingers curl into fists. My chest hurts, but I know it's not a building anxiety. I'm feeling stupidly manipulated by Jasper . . . As if he hadn't helped me just now, but something the opposite. I lean my forehead against the wooden posts next to me. "I'm so tired."

"You just stopped a panic attack in its tracks. Remember where you are, who you're with, what you're doing. . . Distract your mind."

My fingers feel for my cast again, my heart thumping in my chest. "I'm so tired."

"I know." Jasper murmurs. "That is the thing about pain. It is soul-sucking."

"You would know." I wince at my words, realizing just how cruel they sound. "Sorry."

"I don't offend easily, Bella." Jasper chuckles. "I may not know pain clinically like Carlisle, but I know pain."

"How do I keep it away?"

Jasper is silent for a long time. I'm almost worried I didn't speak the words aloud. Just as I open my mouth to voice them – for real this time – he speaks.

"You feel pain deep inside you – inside your mind, your chest, your heart. That pain does not belong in your body, Bella. Pain is a tricky beast – it makes you think you need it. It makes it hard for you to imagine life before it or a future without it. But your body is not a coffin for pain to be buried in. You must pull it all out from the depths of you, resurrect it, give it a name, give it your time and energy. . . But then you must give it a place to live outside of yourself."

I laugh coldly. "I can't touch it anymore."

"One day you will be able to carry it in your hands, feel it, consider it, understand it. But then you will be capable of putting it away without it decimating you. That's when you know you have healed."

"Fever dreams." I mumble. But my gaze falls to my trembling hands, imaging holding my fear and pain without it strangling me. Would my two hands ever be able to hold the weight of my dreams, my memories, and my injuries?

"Let it live in words, in art, and in music. Give it to us to hold so you can have some freedom. The real adversary of pain is not comfort, Bella. It's life – living."

"I'm alive now." I insist quietly. But I know my words are a lie and if I can't believe them, no one else would. I stare down at my hands. The plaster edges of my cast mock my words, shadowing over bones that had only begun to heal. I had not done anything worth noting recently. I had not gone to school, seen my friends, read, or engaged in any sort of hobby or activity. I couldn't even be classified as alive. Most days, I was lucky to make it outside. Most days, I struggled to get to the couch.

"I think . . . I'm depressed?" I feel my muscles pulling into a frown as the words as they float back to me.

"Here." He holds out a thick leather-bound book and a pen. I'm not sure when he disappeared to retrieve it.

"What is it?"

Jasper smiles, pushing the book into my hand. "A place to put your pain. A journal, or diary, or whatever you would like to call it."

"Oh." A pen falls into my right hand, and Jasper curls my fingers around it.

"You have so much pain, Bella. You can try to push it all away and bury it deep within you. You can try to pretend like you don't remember what happened. No matter how much you try, the thoughts will always hit you full force. They will invade your dreams. They will drag you from happiness and peace."

My fingers trace the spine of the book. It feels so comforting and so discomforting in my hand. It's not mine – and maybe that's where the comfort lies. This book is not from my room.

Jasper leans back, away from me again. He looks tired suddenly. "I can feel your pain even when you think you can't, Bella. You'll feel lighter once it's all out, don't you think?"

"I don't know."

Jasper stands up. "The contents of this notebook will be yours alone unless you wish for any of us to see what's inside."

I stare down at the journal in my lap until it blurs and refocuses and blurs again. My fingers brush at the thick leather as I open the notebook. The pages are yellow with age, though not a single one has a lick of ink on it. The notebook is beautiful and I'm almost a little upset that I would taint it with my thoughts.

Jasper's words echo in my mind. Pain buried so deep I can't consciously feel it, but it's there. It's destroying me, and it's destroying him and it's destroying everything I love and want. Furious tears spring to my eyes, and I quickly swipe at them with my palm.

He did this. He caused this. A monster that basked in his malevolent plans.

I press the pen to the paper, letting a blot of ink form. And then I write one single word.

Vile.

But it is not enough. Four small letters are insignificant to the true horror of the act or the one who occupied it. I cross it out, scribbling until the word has vanished with the pulp of the paper rubbing off. But that's not enough. My pen hits the porch with enough force to send it bouncing down to the lawn. The blotched area stares at me from the page – a vile reminder of the indescribable month I have endured.

My fingers fight with the page, ripping it from the book. With the page in my hand, I feel powerful. I feel in control. My hands reach for it, grasping at slips of paper until they tear furiously. A scream echoes from my chest – deep and ethereal, willing the paper to fight me. I pull at it until the page is nothing but tiny shreds littering the floor like confetti.

I curl my arms around my hollow, empty torso watching the pieces flutter in the wind. They crawl around at my feet. My skin burns with fury when one of the pieces touches my foot.

I want to scream at it to leave me alone. To not bother me anymore. To take it's needy, incessant self to someone else. To find in itself the capacity to live independently of me.

My fingers reach for the book again. Reaching for the papers – tearing them. Each page. One by one. I pull them apart. My body feels as shredded as the pages. Broken down my losses. Lost innocent, hope, love, happiness, comfort, friendship. . . Life.

My eyes lift to the trees that boarder the outskirts of the yard. They're a blur of browns and greens. Colors I detested when I had first arrived in this town. Colors I'm learning to detest again.

If I had stayed in Phoenix, none of this would have happened. If I had stayed in Phoenix, I never would have met Edward.

You would be half alive without him. My mind whispers to me.

I'm half dead now. I whisper back.

I drop a handful of shreds to the wooden floor. They scatter quietly, losing their battle with the wind. My chest aches with my own failure. I gave up. I let the darkness take me when I should have fought. And now I fight with the darkness daily.

When I reach for the book again, I'm disappointed to find the pages are gone. The binding is destroyed. There's nothing left for me to rip up. All the words that Jasper wanted me to put on the paper are still within me. All confined to a vault in my mind that no one can succeed in reaching but me.

I push myself up slowly, the weight of the last few weeks pressing on me. I stumble inside, needing the warmth of the house to save me.

I pause in the foyer, unsure of where to go. Who was home? Who was here to help me? To reassure me?

My eyes catch Jasper. He's in the den, a book in his lap. But he's watching me with his hallmark expression of quiet calm. The awareness of his demeanor makes me uncomfortable.

A thousand words spring to my mind. I'm weak. I didn't fight before, and I can't fight now. I'm not ready to dig up my pain. To write it down. To allow the world a glimpse of it. I'm not ready to hold it in my palms and explore it. I can't do that. I'm not strong enough for that.

"I – I can't. . . I'm sorry."

Jasper doesn't respond, and that only twists my chest tighter.