Chapter 33.

When Bella finally stirs awake, I'm ready for our morning, hair still damp from my shower. She smiles at me, stretching, arms raised up as she calls me to bed. I drop on all fours, caging her, kissing her, worshiping her.

"You're minty fresh already," she says against my lips.

"Morning…" I brush her hair back, holding her face in my hands, my eyes trained on hers. "We have practice outside this morning. Would you have breakfast with me?"

"Sure." She smiles, but her eyes inspect mine, like she suspects something's up. I'm not a good liar, so I kiss her quickly and get off the bed.

"I got some things already and got your coffee too," I say, taking a sip of mine. I'll need all the caffeine I can get to get through today.

She looks at the large iced coffee, no cream, no sugar, on the night table, beads of condensation already building up. I glance at the drink with contempt, for myself mostly, realizing how many times since we've been together that is all she had for breakfast.

"Thanks, Cullen." She hops off the bed and stretches again with a yawn. "What time did you get up?"

"A while ago." Technically true, but I've been up all night.

She walks closer, standing in front of me, her eyes on mine as she wraps her arms around my torso. I close my arms over her shoulders, hugging her to my chest and letting out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

"Are you nervous about this weekend?" she asks in a soft whisper.

"Our first show off…yeah." It's the truth. It will be the first time we perform our full routine in front of an audience. But that is obviously not the only thing I'm nervous about.

"You're going to be amazing."

"We'll see." I smile, looking down at her. "Are you nervous about this weekend?" I've been thinking about it all night, what has caused her to struggle…reading that oftentimes it's not just one thing but a combination of factors. Maybe it's the pressure that's getting to her with the end of the season looming…with everything else she has going on.

"Not so much about the show off," she says easily. "But dinner with my parents afterward." She cringes a little, looking up at me.

"Yeah, I'm nervous about that too."

She chuckles into my chest, tightening her arms around me. "They promised to play nice."

Bella has assured me time and time again that her parents are on board with us dating, and that they are both looking forward to meeting and getting to know me. I can't say I'm looking forward to meeting them. Not with what I know about them. How they treat bella. How they dismissed Coach's concerns about Bella's eating habits. I hope I am wrong about them, but everything points to them only caring about Bella for the money that she makes them.

"Great…" I say with a sigh, trying to not sound too sarcastic. I have bigger things to worry about than her parents. I kiss the top of her head and run my hands down her arms. "C'mon, let's get ready, so we have time to eat before practice."

~.~.~

Backpack with breakfast on my shoulders, Bella and I walk to the hill overlooking campus. To our bench. I bring a blanket too, so we sit under the shade of a tree instead of on the bench.

"What a spread!" she jokes, sitting down as I take food out of my backpack. To-go cereal cups, fruit, a couple sandwiches, and a few bottled drinks, all taken from the dining hall.

I smile a little, trying to calm the nerves rumbling in my stomach. I stressed over it all through the night and didn't really come up with a plan other than being honest with her about my concerns. Now, too tired to really be clever about it, I just watch her grab the Special K cereal cup, my eyes trained on her as she opens the lid, picks out a single flake, and puts it in her mouth.

Soon after, and sadly predictably, she turns the cup in her hand, looking for the label. But the label has been smudged with a Sharpie—my doing—so her eyes shoot up and meet mine, the smile slowly erasing from her face.

I look down and pour milk in my Corn Pops, watching through the corner of my eye as she grabs one of the sandwiches. There's no ingredient/calorie label on that either; I ripped them all off.

"Cullen…"

I take a deep breath and look up at her. Her eyes water. I feel worse than shit.

"Did Rosalie put you up to this?" she asks, looking hurt.

I shake my head in response, my eyes not leaving hers.

"I'm fine," she says. "I eat." She grabs a couple corn flakes, puts them in her mouth, chews, and swallows them exaggeratedly. "See?"

I take a deep breath and then just let it all pour out of me. "That's not enough, Bella, and you know it." I try to keep my tone even, not wanting to sound judgy. "Especially with how much we exercise, how active we are. Coach said you've been steadily losing weight, and—"

"So, she did talk you into this." The cereal cup and sandwich get forgotten on the blanket as she crosses her arms in front of her, looking at me with a mix of anger and sadness on her face.

"She didn't," I insist, rubbing my shaky palms on my thighs. "I reached out to her because I am fucking worried."

Bella sighs, looking down.

"I'm sorry I ambushed you like this. That was not my intention. I've been racking my brain all night thinking of ways on how to gently bring it up. On how to talk to you about this. How to tell you what I'm feeling."

"What are you feeling?" Her voice is small as she hugs her arms around herself.

"I'm worried," I say, scooting closer to her. "I'm scared. I'm angry at myself. It hurts me to think you've been harming yourself without me even noticing. It makes me afraid of what could happen next."

"I'm not harming myself. I'm okay," she says, softly, stretching out the syllables and reaching for my hand on my lap. "I have it under control, I promise."

"I want to believe you, but—"

"Would you feel better if I eat the sandwich?" There's a hint of humor in her tone, but it doesn't touch her eyes.

"Would you feel better if you eat the sandwich?" I counter, my eyes never leaving hers.

She sighs and reaches for the sandwich, unwrapping one corner and taking a bite. She chews slowly and looks up at me as she swallows. There's pain in her eyes—fear.

"Swan, please…" I scrub my hands over my face, my fingers rubbing my eyes. "Talk to me."

She takes another bite of the sandwich. Chews. Swallows. Takes a sip of her coffee then looks up at me.

"I'm okay," she says again, but this time her voice breaks. "I'm…I'm fine."

"Bella, I love you." I reach out for her face and run my thumb over her cheek, catching a wandering tear. "I love you so much. I want to help but I can't do that if I don't know what's going on."

Her eyebrows knit together and her chin trembles as she tries to take in a breath. She opens her mouth, as if to speak, but then closes it back up.

I wrap my arms around her, hugging her to my chest, my stomach in knots.

"Sometimes," she starts in barely a whisper. I inch back slightly to look at her, but she avoids my eyes. "I get this fear that…that I'll become very fat and…heavy."

"Okay…" I nod at her encouragingly, not sure what else to say, not wanting to dismiss her feelings, and hopeful that we're maybe, finally, getting somewhere with this conversation.

"I know, realistically, this one sandwich won't make me fat," Bella continues, looking down at the sandwich still in her hands. "I just need to get better at fighting the voice in my head that tells me that it will, and then eat it anyway." She takes another bite, closing her eyes and chewing longer this time.

I take a moment to breathe, my heart in pieces at this silent battle she's been enduring. "Is there anything I can do, or that I should stop doing, that would help fight off that voice in your head?" I run a hand in my hair, as she looks up at me. After staying up all night reading and thinking about it, I've come up with a few ideas. "I know the times I've been bulking, I've been very preoccupied with my calorie intake, too, and…and eating so much in front of you. Did that make it difficult for you?"

She shakes her head softly, smiling at me sweetly. The tears that still coat her eyes pull at my heartstrings.

"There's a few resources on campus." I take the piece of paper out of my pocket, where I wrote everything earlier. "Counseling, specialists. Someone we can talk to. I'll go with you if you want me to. If it might be helpful."

"It's not that bad." She reaches for my hand, intertwining her fingers with mine. "I have it under control. I promise."

"Bella—"

"I know I need nutrition to function," she says quickly, defensively. "To do what I do. It's not like I have a death wish or anything."

"Maybe it would still help to talk to someone," I try again.

"I just wanted to look good for Daytona…" She shrugs and drops the half-eaten sandwich on the blanket, wiping her hands on her thighs before looking up at me. "And for the swimsuit photoshoot this weekend."

I can't help but groan as I try to string my thoughts together, my blood boiling. It's not enough that we have our first full-routine performance this weekend, her parents thought it would be wise to also have a swimsuit shoot, since they'd be here. I hate all this pressure that she's under. To perform. To look a certain way.

"Can I ask an honest question?" I say carefully, tentatively. "Just so I can understand better."

"Sure."

"Do you not think you look good enough for Daytona already?" I try to choose my words carefully, not sure whether I succeed or not. I know better than to comment on someone's weight or body, but to me, Bella is the most beautiful person I have ever seen in my life. Still now, as her cheekbones stick out over sunken cheeks. "Or that you didn't a month ago?"

"I guess," she answers dismissively. "But I wanted to look better."

"You mean thinner?"

"Yeah…"

"Swan—"

"Maybe I took it a little far. I won't lose any more weight, I promise. I'll even put on a couple pounds to get Rosalie off my back. She'll have to get me a new uniform; the double zero won't fit anymore." She laughs, like she's joking, playing it down, but I know better; she's deflecting.

"Bella…" My hand reaches for her face again, desperate for a connection. "You'd look beautiful at any size."

She half laughs, half cries, shaking her head at me. Her lips tremble as she utters the next words. "You wouldn't want me if I was two hundred pounds."

My stomach drops. Whatever part of my heart that was left intact breaks.

"Swan…" Anger bubbles under my skin at the absurdness of her assumptions. "Do you not understand my feelings for you at all?"

"You wouldn't be able to lift me or throw me." She doesn't look at me anymore; instead she picks at the edges of the sandwich, pinching the crust off.

"I can bench-press three hundred pounds and deadlift four hundred, thank you very much."

"I'm serious!" She lets the sandwich drop on the blanket with a groan.

"So am I." I press my fingers under her chin, making her look up at me. "What if my appearance changes? If I go prematurely bald, or lose an arm or something? Would you stop loving me or wanting me then?"

"Of course not!" Her tears are falling freely now, but I don't stop.

"Then why would you gaining weight be a deal breaker for me?"

"Because it's different." She fidgets with her hands, her fingers picking at the blanket.

"It's the same thing. Your weight doesn't make you you, Swan. And I love you."

She covers her face with her hands, and when a little sob spills out of her, I scoop her in my arms and bring her to my lap.

"I love all of you," I whisper into her hair, swallowing the knot in my throat and fighting off my own tears. "I love your wit, and your sense of humor, and the happiness you do everything with."

She cries softly into my chest while I hold her and breathe in and out with her to help her calm down.

"I love how you feel," I continue spilling my truth, burying my face in her hair. "How you make me feel invincible. How you never judge me or make me feel less."

Her hands fist my shirt as her tears spill onto my chest. "I love how passionate you are. I love that you're kind and down-to-earth and just beautiful inside and out."

I tighten my arms around her, not wanting to ever let go. "I love so many things about you, Bella, none of which have to do with your weight."

She doesn't say anything for a while, and we just breathe together, in and out, until she's collected herself. "I'm sorry." She peeks up at me, wiping her tears with her hands.

"There's nothing you need to apologize for." I cup her face in my hand, wiping more tears with my thumb. "We're on this together."

"I don't want you to think I'm sick, or treat me like I am, because I'm not."

"Okay. I trust you." I tuck her hair behind her ears, holding her face close to mine. "I just want you to know that I'm here for you, in case you feel like…like you're struggling."

"I'll be okay, I promise."

"No more watermelon cleanses?"

"No more watermelon cleanses," she says through a small smile, and this time there's finally a matching sentiment in her eyes.

I feel hopeful, relieved to have had this conversation with her. I trust that she will try to do better. That this will serve as a wake-up call. That she knows I'm here for her.

I won't let my guard down, though. I'll pay closer attention and be better myself as well.