A/N: I've been wanting to post this chapter for days, but I kept going back and changing things and editing because I didn't feel like I captured the scenes as I wanted to. Hopefully you guys enjoy it! This is also one of the longest chapters I've written (over 7,500 words!) and I'm pretty proud of that. As I mentioned before, reviews are incredibly encouraging (and fun!) to receive so please spare a moment to write one for me!
Also, high-key freaking out because this story is over 6,000 views! It's pretty cool that that many people have read the story π
Trigger warning: discussion of PTSD, SA/injuries from SA, medical exam, brief mention of suicide
Chapter 10 β Anger (BPOV)
Carlisle's hands are light as they press over my ribs, inflicting terribly sharp pains over my torso. He drops his hands as I wince from the pressure.
"Sorry."
I take a slow, steady breath, trying to force the pain out of my body, but it doesn't seem to work. Carlisle steps back from the table he'd helped me onto, leaning onto his incredible oak desk that had been shoved against a wall haphazardly.
I was absolutely livid to find that Carlisle's wonderfully designed office β Esme's handiwork β had been turned into a hospital better than I had ever been to. After being coaxed into a mini-exam to check out some of my injuries, I'd discovered that a shiny medical table had been rolled in, along with various other pieces of equipment I had no names for. His large desk, bookshelves, and sofas has been moved against the north wall to make space for the other equipment that now resides under the Cullen roof. It was excessive and expensive and made me feel absolutely humiliated.
"How's your head?" Carlisle asks nonchalantly.
"It's fine."
Carlisle frowns at me. "Bella," he sounds forced. I didn't know that was possible for a vampire. "I can't help you if you keep lying to me. You have to tell me what's going on."
I bite my lip, watching Carlisle rearrange his expression to one of casualness.
The behavior sends bursts of frustration and annoyance through me. I felt like I was being lied to.
Everything was not fine. Why was he pretending it was?
Why did I have to express my own emotion when Carlisle refused to? When Edward refused to? Edward was incredible at masking what he was feeling. At least, he had been. Now, it seemed his internal fight was apparent β even if I didn't understand what it was about.
"Is it tender still?" Carlisle prompts gently.
My hand automatically floats to the back of my head where the pressure used to be excruciating. I wince, remembering the frustration of sleepless nights and adjusting against pain in my head and pain in my chest. It didn't hurt anymore.
My hand drops to my lap, slapping against my thigh painfully.
Of course the universe wouldn't take away my pain without replacing it with something much worse. The base of my head had been under constant pressure for a week after my horrific panic attack.
I close my eyes, fighting the images of Jasper throwing Emmett against a wall. That had been repaired by the time I came downstairs the next morning. But the image was scared into my brain β Jasper's wild look, Emmett's seditious one.
"No." my teeth find my bottom lip again and I'm biting, unsure of what to do. "It's the base of my head."
"Hmm." Carlisle nods, hearing my quiet words. "Why don't we do some more testing later?"
"No, Carlisle, please." I moan helplessly.
I sink my head into my hands β one casted and one not β fighting the urge to break down into tears as I had when Carlisle insisted on this exam.
"It's been three weeks, Bella. I'm sorry β but I really must do some tests." Carlisle had insisted.
I refused vehemently until he swore it wouldn't be invasive.
Three weeks. Twenty-one days.
It seemed like no time had passed at all. It seemed like I was just two seconds removed from Jacob finding me in my bedroom.
"I'm sorry. Constant pain after a traumatic head injury may signify something bigger going on. It will all be painless, I promise." Carlisle offers, his voice apologetic. I didn't look up to see if his expression matched his tone. "Maybe just an MRI, alright?"
I don't respond to him, feeling an uncomfortable lump forming in the back of my throat. My body was not accepting the no-crying policy. I hated crying β I hated the internal humiliation of begging my body to just listen to me when no one else did. Why couldn't my own body be on my side? Was this punishment for giving up and for allowing it to be abused?
"Is there anything you'd like to talk about?"
I look up, hoping this would be the end of Carlisle's questioning.
"No." I respond quietly, my heart thumping with tendrils of hope. Carlisle opens his mouth, and the threat of tears spring back behind my eyes.
"Is there anything else that hurts, besides your ribs and head?"
I find myself shaking my head, again trying to reason with my body against tears. Carlisle's mask drops, a frown etching onto his face. I pull my eyes away from his frown, focusing on the shelves of books behind him.
Thick volumes, some old and bound in leather and cloth, line the shelves. The books are a variety of colors β many sporting titles I'm familiar with from my English reading lists and others I'd never heard of before. I spot a few titles in foreign languages.
The books make my chest clench in pain. I hadn't picked up a book in a long time, but the thought of walking over to the shelves and touching one sent spasm of fear through me.
When was the last time I read a book? I couldn't remember. . .
The thought flutters through my mind quickly as I look back to Carlisle, realizing it's been quiet for far too long.
Finally, after a long moment he nods. "What about the nightmares? Do you want to talk about those?"
I can feel my body stiffen under Carlisle's scrutinizing gaze and I wish I had better control over myself. I press my teeth harder onto my lips, wishing that I could just escape downstairs or to Edward's room. Anywhere where I didn't have Carlisle's eyes on me.
I didn't want to talk about the stupidly vibrant and realistic dreams of my bedroom. I knew everyone was aware of the dreams β it would be impossible to hide. But this was the first time someone other than Edward had acknowledged them.
The thought made tears spring into my eyes.
Maybe I had been hoping for a miraculous gift from the universe. Something β anything β to help me out. Something to get me out of this one-on-one time with Carlisle. Something to make my acting skills good enough that I could hide my pain and anxiety. But when had the universe ever gifted me anything when I truly needed it?
If I was gifted something from the universe, though, I'd want this entire thing to have never happened. Or, I'd ask for the old Edward back. The one that held me tightly at night and hummed my lullaby. The one that snuck kisses in class and breathed in the scent of my hair when he thought I wouldn't notice. The one that took me to the meadow and laid in the sun in silence with me for hours. That Edward was replaced by a new one with emotionless eyes and bitter words and a stark absence most of the day that seemed to cover the Cullen house in an undying gloom.
"Sweetheart, you can't keep us in the dark about this." Carlisle tells me, reaching out to touch my cheek. I flinch away automatically, but Carlisle is unphased. "Try not to bite your lip. You're going to break your skin." He says softly and I realize that he's right, I am putting enough pressure on it that it hurts.
He rubs his thumb across my skin, dropping his hand from my face. "We're only here to help you, to keep you safe. Can you help us do that?"
"There's nothing you can do right now."
Anything you can do β that everyone is already doing β will get you killed. I pull my knees up to my chest, grateful that my ribs aren't protesting too much as I wrap my arms around my legs.
"I'm sorry. I didn't want to bother you all."
"You're never an inconvenience." Carlisle reminds me. "What do you mean that there is nothing we can do?"
I shrug, not wanting to answer or engage in this conversation with Carlisle. My head was pounding, obviously made worse by the little sleep I had gotten last night. One exceptionally vivid nightmare of Edward lying dead besides my bed in Charlie's house made me too frightened to take my eyes off him. I ended up laying in his arms, unable to close my eyes out of fear that Edward would somehow morph into him or that he would just disappear completely, and I would never see him again.
Before the sun rose, Esme had whisked me away from Edward to take a bath. She promised that the warm water and a bit of cinnamon milk would help me sleep, but the whole hour she kept me in the bathroom just made me anxious to be with Edward again. The bath was utterly exhausting after I'd snuck a glance at my thighs and saw that the bruises were still fading away torturously slowly. That, coupled with my prior anxiety, led to a panic attack that required Carlisle's intervention and then Edward's after I refused all medicine. The few sips of cinnamon milk I forced down my throat came back up in a cruel way.
Overall, it was a stunningly exhausting and terrifying night that made me anxious, tired, and headache-ridden during the day.
Carlisle changes the subject, leaning back against the desk. "Are you still nauseous?"
"Only when my head hurts." I mumble, laying my head on my knees now. That was mostly true. My nausea was gone except when I had headaches, panic attacks, or nightmares. Sometimes, if I starred at my skin too long and saw the remnants of bruises or pulled my stitches the wrong way and remembered how I was hit so badly I bled inside, I would feel the nausea again.
Esme was pleased with my dietary progress and frequently fed me meals, even when I could hardly finish them. My nausea was mostly gone, but my appetite was certainly not back.
"The headache is likely from exhaustion." Carlisle says. "Peppermint and chamomile teas are good for headaches. Would you be willing to try some of that?"
I nod in response, not really caring that much anymore. I just wanted to be out of Carlisle's hospital and back into the Cullen house.
"Can you try some medicine?"
"No." My voice as sharp as the beats of my heart in my chest. Carlisle looks as if he already knew my answer, and he doesn't press it further.
"Let's head downstairs. Unless you have any concerns or anything you want to discuss with me?" Carlisle offers.
I shake my head, and, with a quiet breath, he helps me down from the table I was sitting on.
My legs are a little numb and wobbly as we slowly descend to the first floor. I'm not sure if it's from the way I was sitting earlier, or general muscle atrophy from barely using my legs in the past three weeks.
Could muscles atrophy that quickly? Edward was constantly carrying me around. When I would protest being carried, Edward would make a comment about not denying him the pleasure of holding me close to him. That usually guilted me into staying quiet. The last thing I wanted right now was to make anyone feel bad.
I absent mindedly follow Carlisle into the kitchen as we grace the first floor, taking a seat at one of the chairs near the island counter. He's slow paced as he prepares the kettle on the stove, dumping large peppermint leaves from the fridge into the water as it begins boiling. Alice must have seen that Carlisle would offer me peppermint tea and grabbed some from the store.
"Where's Edward?" I ask Carlisle quietly.
It was strange how empty the place always was, and the emptiness made me anxious knowing that the ones I loved were out putting themselves in harm's way for me. Emmett and Jasper were nearly always gone, no matter the time of day. Alice, too, sometimes. I never asked about Rosalie, I was too scared. Somehow, it seemed, she had gotten even colder to me than normal and thinking of her made shivers run down my spine.
I often didn't know where Edward was during the day, but his nights were spent with me.
Carlisle answers smoothly without missing a beat. "Hunting. He'll be back soon."
I can feel my breath falter as I think of what that means. Edward had gone hunting with Emmett just yesterday and had returned with bright topaz eyes. He had gone weeks without hunting before that trip, and it was ridiculous that he might go again just hours after one trip.
"He's with Emmett and Jasper, isn't he?"
They were tracking scents and trying to get themselves killed. My heart stutters in my chest. He's going to get killed. He's going to die. I'm never going to see him again.
"Try not to worry yourself, Bella." Carlisle urges kindly, turning to face me. "I recall you being quite concerned with James, but we're all here just fine, aren't we?"
"That's different." I whisper. I stare down at the countertop. It was black marble with cream colored granite swirls. My fingers trace at the designs as Carlisle lurks, watching me.
"Sugar?"
"No, thanks."
I glance up, meeting Carlisle's eyes.
My fingers stop tracing the patterns, feeling frustrated again by the tightened expression he wore. The transition was so subtle it made me angry.
"Do you know why you have migraines and nightmares?" Carlisle asks, his voice controlled.
I feel my fingers curl in vapid irritation as I stare at Carlisle, my vision tinted furiously by my sudden anger. He doesn't react to the blood rushing through my ears β he's still, his expression calm, his hands at his sides.
What did he expect me to say? Yes, my head hurts because I was shoved against my headboard, and I can't sleep because I dream repeatedly about being tortured against my mattress.
Resentment shoots through me. Because of you. You and Edward. That's who he wants. Edward and the coven leader.
"Do you know what PTSD is? It stands for post-traumatic stress disorder."
"I know."
The tea kettle whistles behind Carlisle. He turns, grabbing the pot and tipping it over a mug. "People who have been through traumatic events experience it. . ."
I glare at his back, hating the calm tenor of his voice. It didn't sound like he was off his soapbox yet.
"Do you feel like you went through a traumatic event?"
"What do you think?"
"That's beside the point." Carlisle says, his voice so gentle against my harsh one. He turns, placing a steaming cup of tea in front of me. "What do you think?"
"What does it matter what I think?"
My heart was pounding so hard it hurt, and somehow that seemed to fuel my anger toward Carlisle. He could hear my heart. He knew how pathetic I was. They all did β all the vampires knew what a pathetic, lowly human I was.
My fingers wrap around my casted wrist, remembering the pressure that broke my bones. He knew what a pathetic, lowly human I was. He knew what he was getting himself into β waging war against vampires and wolves. He didn't seem to mind very much.
"That's not something I can answer." Carlisle tells me. "I can't dictate the value of your words or thoughts."
I want to scream and nod along with him at the same time. He's right β and that's what makes it hurt so much. Because he hadn't valued my words and neither had Edward or Jacob. No one had valued my words or my begging or my screams. Not even Jasper a few days ago or Carlisle in the hospital. Everyone was out hunting against my wishes.
I surprise myself by laughing. It's a vicious laugh. One that shakes my body and pains my chest. "Who agrees with that?"
Carlisle's eyes harden, his mask dropping.
I smile, sudden pride flushing through me. I cracked is faΓ§ade, even for an instant. "Maybe not even you."
Carlisle winces so quickly I almost miss it. A shock of pain shoots through me, realizing just how badly I've hurt him, but I'm still so angry that I can't seem to care enough to say anything.
Carlisle turns his back to me again, reaching for a plate from the cabinet. "Your migraines and headaches are stress-induced." He tells me, his voice just as soft as before.
When he turns to place the plate in front of me, piled with a muffin and grapes, his expression is blank. All evidence of his prior pain gone.
"Esme baked them last night." He gestures toward the muffins. "You haven't had anything to eat all day."
I hate his expression. It's not one I've seen home don before. I hate that he can so easily replace it when I've torn it off a little.
I turn my gaze away from Carlisle, my eyes falling on the counter where the kettle was sitting. I glance down at the counter my hands rested on, surprised that the two slabs of stone were different. The counter in front of me didn't have elements of grey that the ones across from me did. I never imagined Esme would allow different colored counters to grace her kitchen.
"Your symptoms make sense given everything you've been though."
I find myself tracing my nails over the patterns of the granite again. "You don't know what I've been through."
My voice is sharp, but it doesn't break Carlisle the way it did before. His eyes remain watching me, with clear intent and ease, as he had been trained.
My mind works fast, seemingly for the first time in weeks, as the pieces fit together. My eyes drop to my hands again, feeling laughter bubble in my chest again. It was an inappropriate time to laugh.
"No, I don't." Carlisle agrees. "You haven't trusted me enough to tell me."
"You haven't allowed yourself to care." I hiss. I push the plate away from me with enough force that it bangs into my mug, sending the mug tumbling and tea spilling over the counter.
Carlisle doesn't react at all, not even to grasp the cup before it spilled which he easily could have done. My laughter escapes me in a harsh breath.
"I'm not your patient, Carlisle. Stop treating me like one." Stop acting like a human around me. Stop controlling your expressions so tightly I feel I'm being lied to.
Carlisle doesn't respond at first. He picks up the mug and setting up upright. "You're not my patient." Carlisle's expression is hard, pained.
I exhale sharply, anger pulsing through me. "Stop holding me at a distance to make it easier for yourself! Look at me and see me, Carlisle."
The words seem wrong being directed at Carlisle when I know they should be directed at Edward. And maybe even Alice, too.
Carlisle doesn't respond. He takes the mug, filling it up with more tea, and placing it in front of me again. "Drink some tea, Bella. It will help."
"Tea can't fix everything." I snap, shaking my head. I reach to push the cup away, and Carlisle moves it from my grasp. The only fuels my anger. "You can't fix everything."
Carlisle is silent for a long moment. "We're doing what we can, Bella."
My voice was rising as the anger inside me was. "You think you can't die."
"I think we don't want to." Carlisle responds, his voice careful. "I think we want to fight for something." He walks towards me, watching me with pitiful eyes. His hand comes to my hip, pulling my arm toward the counter. "No one is injecting you with drugs, you don't have to hold your side like that."
"You think I don't want to fight?" I breathe in sharply. "I'm not suicidal." I yank my arm away from his hand.
"I didn't say you were, Bella." He sighs, looking defeated. "I want to help you, but I can't until you start trusting me."
Tear burns my visions as the sharpness of his words. "Edward is hunting. Alice sits in the corner waiting for the future. And Esme is baking muffins. And you quit your job. Don't tell me I have PTSD. Don't tell me that I'm suicidal β that I'm not fighting for anything."
"We've done this to take care of you. But we can't help you until you allow us to."
"You're doing it to take care of yourself." I mutter.
"Yes, we are." Carlisle agrees, his voice holding more emotion than it had before.
"Why?" I snap. Remorse rushes through me when I spy Carlisle's sorrow-filled expression. It was not what I was expecting.
"You're my daughter." Carlisle tells me earnestly. His voice holding more emotion than it had before. This time when his blank expression cracks, I don't feel pride.
I pull my eyes away from him, glaring at the counter with contempt. The tears were brimming at my eyes again.
"Losing you will break this family apart and I can't have that. I can't allow you to wither away into nothing."
"I won't."
"Bella, you're holding your side again." Carlisle tells me quietly. "Do you realize when you do that?"
I drop my hand, frustrated that he was right.
"It's a stress response." Carlisle tells me. "You hold your wrist or your side when you feel stressed. That's a physical symptom of PTSD."
"I don't do it very often." I mutter, but I don't know if I'm right because I didn't even realize I was holding my side. My blood boils with shame and anger at my body. Even my own mind betrays me.
"It's hard to acknowledge when you've been through something traumatic, but it's the only way you can begin working on your trauma." Carlisle pushes the peppermint tea towards me. It's still steaming with heat. "Drink this. It will help you."
I grasp the mug, allowing the warmth to seep through my hands. I didn't realize how cold my body was.
Carlisle grabs some napkins, mopping up the spilt tea. A small part of me feels sorry for knocking over my mug and spilling the drink, but I'm too overwhelmed to offer an apology.
"Would you like for me to sit with you?" Carlisle asks, tossing the napkins in the trash.
I shrug slowly, laying my head against the counter. The cool stone feels good on my cheek. It makes me feel less empty knowing that the anger brewing beneath my skin has disappeared just as quickly as it appeared.
"Will they ever stop?" I ask Carlisle, turning my face toward him. Carlisle's eyes are dark, and I can't help wondering how long it's been since he's hunted. I'm not sure that I've seen his eyes bright golden since I came to live with them. I would have thought Carlisle would be better about his hunting.
"I can't imagine they will, Bella. You're very important to us all."
"It's so dangerous, Carlisle."
Carlisle shakes his head at me, cutting me off silently. "They have all made their decision to protect you, to care for you. Only worry about yourself now."
"I just have to respect their decision?" I ask bitterly.
Carlisle's expression is soft as he nods.
"Why can't they respect mine?" I question weakly, focusing on the granite again. I'm tracing little abstract design with my finger. Carlisle is quiet for a long moment before he answers.
"We want no more harm to come to you. We want you to feel safe." Carlisle says firmly and his tone, or maybe his words, spark tears in my eyes. I stare more intently at the counter, willing the tears to disappear, but they don't listen. Instead, one rebelliously drops onto the skin of my cheek. "And I'm not sure you've given us a good reason to stop."
"I don't need a reason, Carlisle." I want my tone to be firm, to show that I'm offended and mad. But it doesn't come out that way.
"You're asking us to allow someone who harmed you to run free." Carlisle responds gently. "I'm afraid we can't do that."
He only harmed me to get to them. He only harmed me β raped me β to kill my family. This isn't about me. This was never about me. This was about them.
My body pulses with rage at his words. "Is me saying no not enough?" My hand smacks onto the counter in fury. I'm proud of myself, then, for my voice coming out exactly how I wanted it. I didn't cry. I screamed.
Carlisle breathes in deeply, his eyes pained. "You're merciful, Bella. So very merciful. But I'm afraid that we can't let some crimes go unpunished."
"It's dangerous."
"You underestimate how capable we are, sweetheart. I think you forget all the power we possess as vampires. With Alice, Jasper, and Edward, we're even more capable."
"Carlisle, he is going to . . ." I trail off quietly, realizing the words I was about to say. Carlisle expecting eyes narrow slightly at me through his gentle gaze. "Never mind."
Carlisle sighs, nodding. "If you're only concern is that we'll be harmed, then all I can do is promise that we won't. Let your family stand for you now, Bella."
Let them die for me.
Carlisle sits with me for a bit longer, reading a yellowing book that had been on the table. Despite my fury, Carlisle's presence was calming and comforting enough for me to move past it. Instead of focusing on it, I force myself to finish a few sips of the tea. When I can no longer stomach it, I ask Carlisle to get rid of it. He does so, pausing for a moment to frown at how little I had sipped.
Carlisle leaves me in peace as I aimlessly wander around the house.
I'm not sure where Esme is β I'm sure she would've prepared the tea before Carlisle and I had even gotten downstairs if she were home. If Edward went with Jasper and Emmett, I imagine that Alice did, too. But Esme has never been one for violence.
It's supposedly warm outside now that it's close to May, but even inside I'm shivering throughout the full day unless I'm wrapped in sweaters. Carlisle mentioned something about trauma and body temperature this morning, but I didn't remember exactly what he said.
The sun is high over the mountains when Carlisle joins me in the foyer. I had been sitting on a bench besides the window, shifting my eyes between the piano Edward hadn't touched in weeks and the wooded front yard.
He says nothing as he stands, looking outside into the yard with a small smile on his face.
"It's warm in the sun. I'm cold." I say, feeling the urge to fill the silence.
"Why don't we go outside?" Carlisle suggests, smiling. "You've been cooped up in the house for too long." Carlisle reaches for my sweater hanging on the coat rack, draping it over my shoulders as we both step out into the fresh air.
Carlisle is right; I have been cooped up inside too long. I realize that as I breathe in the smell of the woods and damp air, feeling a new cleanliness washing over my lungs.
Alice and Jasper tried to get me to go out with them just for the heck of it. Like Carlisle, Alice had insisted I had been cooped up inside for too long and probably forgot what fresh air felt like. But I panicked, yelling at Alice through frantic tears that I never wanted to go to Forks again. I realized much later she never suggested we go to Forks, but no one asked me to the leave the house after that.
We sit on the porch swing, gently swaying back and forth on the patio. I'm hugging my legs to my chest again, resting my hand on my knees. Carlisle, thoughtfully, has his hand on the base of my neck, gently massaging some the worst pounding pains away. I'm not sure how he knew that's where my head hurt, but I'm glad he did.
"Do you miss your friends at school?" Carlisle asks me, making quiet conversation. My shoulders shrug automatically, and then I feel a little guilty at my disregarding answer.
"I was never really close to them." I tell him honestly, trying to take away from my initially rude response. "I miss Angela the most, maybe. She was sweet."
Carlisle nods. "She comes from a good family."
"Do you miss your friends from before?" I ask Carlisle, turning my head to look at him. Carlisle chuckles freely, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he looks onto the yard.
"I suppose." He says, still laughing. "It's been many years, so I can't say I miss them terribly at this point. I'm quite content with the company I currently keep. We have plenty of friends now, Bella."
"What was it like? Back then?"
Carlisle, still smiles, sighs. "It was. . . a very strange time when I think back on it. Knowledge was an interesting thing, especially. We craved its understanding but detested new information and ran from advancement. I suppose that set the tone for much of what happened in the seventeenth century."
"Did you like to learn back then?"
Carlisle smiles, looking at me. "I was the son of a priest, Bella. I was schooled in a very specific type of knowledge. Philosophy, ethics, religion. . . Back then, so much was based on the Church."
"And what do you think?"
Carlisle breathes a quiet laugh. "I became a doctor as soon as I could handle the blood. That should tell you a lot about what I considered true and right."
We're quiet then, both of us enjoying the outdoors.
I'm beginning to fall asleep on the swing, still wrapped in my sweater with my arms around my legs and Carlisle's ice fingers on my neck, when Charlie's cruiser becomes visible on the long driveway leading the Cullen Mansion. I have to rub my eyes a bit, pushing the exhaustion away as he nears.
I can tell Charlie has had a difficult day when he's slow getting out of the car. He tries to plaster on a smile and a happy face as he makes his way up the porch. Carlisle squeezes my arm, standing up from the swing. Instantly, I miss the feeling of his fingers massaging my head as the pounding returns with vengeance. I moan, resting my head against my knees.
"Charlie, it's nice to see you." Carlisle says, clapping Charlie on the shoulder. "I was about to warm up some food for Bella, are you hungry?"
"I'm good, thanks Doc." Charlie's voice is much lower than Carlisle and I'm straining to hear him.
"Alright." Carlisle agrees, heading into the house to give my father and I some privacy. Charlie walks heavily toward me, sitting down beside me on the swing.
"How are you? You look tired." Charlie mutters toward me.
"So do you."
"Ah, I'm good, Bells." He adjusts on the swing, make the swinging motion a little jerky. It's a strange difference from Carlisle, who didn't distort the gentle swaying even as he stood up to greet my father.
"Is Sue still making you food?" I ask him and he nods quickly. "Good."
Eating at the diner every day was awful for my father, and somehow, I felt he was doing exactly that right now. Burgers and steak every day would probably give him a heart attack within the next few years.
"I've been in La Push, mostly. Sue's been around almost daily. She's cooking food for Billy and I." Charlie tells me, smiling. "What about you? Are you eating?" Charlie asks, his eyes raking over my body.
I try to hold back a sigh, knowing that I'd lost a lot of weight since the attack. It wasn't intentional, I was just never hungry between the pain, exhaustion, and headaches.
"I'm eating."
"Good." Charlie mutters gruffly. He looks a bit uncomfortable as he sits with me, and I'm a bit worried it's because of some events prior in the day. Charlie is quiet besides me, looking out onto the river that crosses the yard before the trees start. I can't help putting the thoughts aside as I begin to feel my eyelids threatening to close.
"Carlisle mentioned you're having headaches. Are those better?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. They're gone." I lie to him. Charlie used to catch me on my lies easily, but now I can't tell if he's oblivious to my frequent fibs or if he chooses to accept the lie over pursuing the truth. Now, he nods easily as he turns back to the river.
I can smell some food wafting in from the house, and almost instantly, the smell makes my stomach churn. I press my eyes to the tops of my knees, breathing through my mouth to calm my stomach. We sit quietly until Carlisle brings a small bowl of chicken soup for me and a sandwich for my dad, laying both plates on the small wicker table in front of us. Despite his earlier protest, Charlie nearly inhales the sandwich whole.
I pick at my soup, taking small sips of the broth before deciding to focus on the sourdough bread that was delivered with the soup. Bread would make my stomach settle.
Charlie is almost done with half his sandwich when I've just swallowed my second bird bite of bread, and he turns me, concerned about my eating. It takes a moment of assure Charlie, and another lie about eating just before he came, before he accepts my words and focuses on the rest of his food.
"So, uh, Bells." Charlie clears his throat awkwardly, wiping his hands on a napkin. "I wanted to talk to you about something."
I swallow thickly, suddenly nervous. That last time Charlie decided to talk to me, he wanted to convince me to file a police report again.
"What is it?" my voice is weak and shaky, and I force myself to eat a tiny piece of bread to help focus my mind on something.
"Well . . ." Charlie looks uncomfortable as he swallows, clearing his throat for a second time. "Renee called again. . . Yesterday." He pauses, looking at me. "I didn't tell her anything, I promise, Bells."
"Thanks."
Charlie nods with a grimace. "Here's the thing: I think you should tell her something, anything." Charlie speaks quickly as my eyes fall on him, and he pales as he talks. "Just β Just hear me out, Bells, okay? She's freaking out right now. . . She's really worried about you. And you're not calling her often, even messaging her, really. I just β I don't know what she thinks about it all. But. . . maybe, you should go to Jacksonville for a bit β just a few weeks or months or something."
"What?"
"You know. . . Just get away from Forks for a bit. It could be good for you."
I can feel my body going faint at his words, my headache increasing in intensity. I drop the piece of bread I'm holding onto the plate, slightly disturbed when it bounces onto the patio floor. I want to reach for it and pick it up, but I'm not sure how that will help me battle my nausea. The guilt of dropping the bread makes little tears pop into my eyes.
"Bells, go to Jacksonville. They have good doctors there, too, so you'd be taken care of medically. I . . . I don't think that Forks is good for you."
I can feel my heart in the chest sprinting and my mind trying to grasp his words.
Jacksonville. Renee. Weeks. Months.
Away from Forks. Away from the place that hurt me the most. Away from Edward and the rest of the Cullens. To Renee and her overly watchful eyes and her highly energetic house.
"No!" my voice is shrill, panicked, and fearful all at once. I'm not sure if the wetness on my face is tears or sweat, but I try to brush it away. My hands are shaking.
"Bella, please, just listen to me." Charlie pleads, turning fully towards me.
"Dad, no. No. I'm not going. IβI can't."
"Bellaβ"
"No." I say again, trying to be firm. But my voice is so pathetically weak.
"Bella." Charlie's voice is much firmer, much stricter and I inhale sharply at his tone. "Just listen to me, please." I'm quiet, trying to hold in my panic, and Charlie continues. "I let you wither away before. . . I know I should have βI should have done something. And I know that now, Bells. I'm going to be the parent now, okay?"
"I'm old enough." I'm gasping, panting with panic. "You can't. You can't make me do anything. I won't go."
"I'm not making you do anything." Charlie grumbles, frustrated. "A few weeks in Jacksonville with Renee won't kill you. Carlisle even said something about the sun and healing and changes in scenery or whatever."
"You talked to Carlisle about this?" Somehow, that makes the panic even worse. Each breath scorches my throat as if the air around me is on fire instead of cool and damn with misty rain.
"I mentioned it, briefly." Charlie mutters, realizing he made a bit of a mistake telling me about talking to Carlisle. Why hadn't Carlisle warned me about this? He had all day to talk to me.
"I'm not going to Jacksonville, Dad." I tell him. I'm pressing my nails into my palms and it's hard to unclench my fists knowing I'm going to tear my skin. My whole body feels like it's shaking and weak and about to dismember itself at the same time.
"Can you try? I come here every day, Bella, and you look weaker and skinnier. It would be good for you."
"No. Being here is good for me." I argue, shaking my head wildly.
"I get that, I do." Charlie tells me. "A few days?"
"We'd have to tell Renee, Dad!" I nearly shout, and I cover my mouth, realizing how loud I'm being. "We'd have to tell her what happened. You know how she is, she'll never let me come back to Forks if she knows."
"I know." Charlie sighs, kicking his foot against the wood. "I'm not trying to kick you out, Bells. I want you to be here with me." He spies my expression, looking guilty. "I want you to be healthy and good again."
"I know, Dad." I mumble, wiping my face again. It's tears, I think.
"Think about it, please?" Charlie nearly begs me. "I'll come visit you β every weekend. Or more than that if you want."
"I'll think about it." I finally agree, reluctantly. I would think about it, but I wouldn't decide to go.
Renee would freak out. She would find out what happened. She would be furious we didn't tell her. She would never let me out of her house, let alone her sight, ever again. I'd be a prisoner, suffocating in her house. She would be worse than the overly sensitive ears and eyes that never sleep in the house I currently live in. She would drag me to every single doctor in Phoenix to fix me. She wouldn't understand what I really needed β time and space. Charlie understood that better than she would.
"Thank you, kid." Charlie breathes heavily. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you upset."
"I'm fine." I mumble, pressing my temple harder to my leg. My head hurt so much. "I think I'm going to lie down."
Charlie nods, standing up quickly. "Do you need help?" he asks, sounding urgent and panicked. I shake my head slowly, pulling myself to my feet. The Earth shakes just a bit as I walked slowly towards the door.
"I'll head out, let you get some sleep, alright?" he says.
"Thanks for coming. . . I'll see you tomorrow, right?" I ask him, hesitantly. Charlie nods, his eyes narrowed with a small smile. "Bye Dad."
Charlie closes the door behind me as I step inside, and Carlisle is at my side in an instant, supporting my weight as he guides me to the couch.
"Dizzy?"
"Yeah." I lay down, resting my head on the cushion. Carlisle covers me with a blanket, laying his hand on my forehead.
"Try to sleep. It will help." Carlisle tells me, patting my shoulder. He stands, but I'm quick to catch his hand in mine. The house was deafeningly silent and empty.
"Where's Edward?"
"He isn't home yet." Carlisle's voice is shallow. I'm not sure if it's a slight irritation with my constant asking or something else.
Regardless, my chest prickles with unease. I don't want to sleep alone.
"Can you sit with me?"
Keep me company. Protect me so I can sleep.
Carlisle's expression softens. "Of course, Bella." He sits on the chair next to the couch.
"I'm not going to Jacksonville, Carlisle." I tell him defiantly, my eyes nearly closed from exhaustion and dizziness.
"No, I never imagined you would." Then he sighs quietly. "But I do think you should get a change in scenery. I don't want you in here all the time β this is not healthy."
"I'll get out of the house later." I mumble, making Carlisle laugh.
"That's just fine for now." Carlisle promises. "Perhaps you can visit Jacob and his friends. You used to spend a lot of time with him."
My heart clenches tightly at his words. I missed Jake. I hadn't seen him since he'd come to the house to argue with Edward. That was days ago. . .
"That's a little complicated."
"Don't let the conflict we have with the wolves stop you from spending time with your friend." Carlisle tells me, his voice stern. "It's no doubt that Jacob was key to your survival while we were gone. A friendship like that is important."
"I'll think about it."
Carlisle nods, going silent for a long moment. "Bella, I wish you would let me give you something for your headache. Even some Advil."
"No." I whisper, forcing my eyes open to look right at Carlisle. He's staring at me in concern. He sighs gently, nodding.
"No medicine." He agrees finally. "But one day, I'm going to need you to start trusting me again."
"I do trust you." My words are a little slurred as I adjust my position, resting more comfortable against the cushions. Carlisle hums something in response before falling quiet.
"What were you reading earlier?" I ask him, pushing through the fog of my exhaustion again. I'm not sure why I wouldn't allow myself to sleep, maybe from the fear of the nightmares I would surely encounter, or maybe because I was desperate to see Edward when he returned home. The clock ticking by the corner alerted me that he had been gone for many hours and that was worrying.
"Descartes." Carlisle responds quietly. "A book on philosophy."
"I haven't read anything in a long time." I mumble, looking at Carlisle. I don't mention that the idea of picking up a book makes my chest hurt. "Edward used to make fun of me about my book choices."
Carlisle smiles. "Yes, I do remember him mentioned your preferences."
"Would you like me to read to you, Bella?" Carlisle asks me after a few moments. I'm surprised I have enough energy to open my eyes and look at him, and I nod quickly, excited. Carlisle smiles in response to my enthusiasm.
"Wuthering Heights, it is." Carlisle tells me.
I close my eyes as Carlisle begins reading, finding myself feeling more relaxed than I have been in a long time. The panic of my earlier conversation with Charlie is slipping from my veins and my worry of Edward and his siblings' safety is slowly dispersing as Carlisle's voice fills the room. My attempt to stay awake and listen to him is a futile effort, and soon I find myself slipping away from reality and into some of the most terrifying dreams I've ever had.
