Day 5: Part 3

The Burning Fields

I awoke from a nightmare.

"Bella?"

My body was rigid on the bed. I was lying on my back and both my arms and legs were spread out. My hands were gripping the comforter so hard I was sure that if I relaxed my fingers it was really going to hurt.

I waited for my heart to slow down.

But it wouldn't.

Suddenly, I felt a wave of dizziness as the muscles in my throat contracted shut. I tried to take a breath, but the only result was a high, whiny sound as air tried to get through to my lungs.

"Bella?" Alice bent down next to the bed. "Bella, what's wrong?"

I tried to take another breath, but my chest only heaved with the effort. A wave of panic came, so strong and so intense that it caused my eyes to roll into the back of my head. I clawed at my throat blindly, scratching the thin skin until it felt wet.

My stomach retched as the panic began to set in. I felt the tight burn of bile as my stomach attempted to rid its contents. My lungs were open and desperate for air and I felt another wave of dizziness as the bile began to trickle into them.

"Oh, fuck," Alice said. "Bella, count!"

I tried to suck in another breath and then shook my head emphatically. In one, two. Out one, two. In one, two. Out –

"Oh god, oh fuck." Alice's voice reached a panicky high. "COUNT!"

I opened my mouth and began to gape. Alice screamed for Edward.

"You have to breathe, Bella! You – " She paused and through the onslaught of light-headedness, I felt the cool air of the room reach my stomach as she threw the comforter off of me and lifted my shirt. "I'm sorry," she whispered and then I felt a sharp bite of pain over my belly button.

My throat opened in a violent gasp. The small of my back seemed to lift off the bed as I stretched my torso, allowing my lungs more room to open. The relief of breathing lasted only until my brain understood that there was something foreign in my lungs, and I threw myself over the edge of the bed and began hacking onto the ground.

The panic began to set in again. This was much worse than not breathing. This was taking small gasps of air only to have my lungs dispel more than they brought in. Repeatedly, until I could imagine my lungs contracting in on themselves and shriveling until only a dried-out version of their original shape remained.

I slammed my hand on the edge of the bed, frustrated with my body's inability to behave. This, this thing that my body was doing right now, was actually killing me. My body was using my emotions, my panic, and killing me.

My stomach turned again. But this time, it was not from blind panic, but from guilt. Oh, god. Are you doing this? Are you going to do this, again? Again? After everything . . .

"What happened?" Edward cried, sprinting into the room and skidding across the floor. I opened my eyes and looked down at the floor. A small pile of wet, sticky-looking bile lay there. A few loose dribbles were also splattered in sporadic dots on the edge of the comforter, marring the silken red fabric.

I ruined it.

"Bella, are you okay?" Edward said.

"Breathe, Bella!" Alice cried.

I spit. "I am breathing," I choked out. "Like I'd stop breathing."

Edward began to rub small, nervous circles on the small of my back. When he had opened the bedroom door and the room had adjusted to the change in pressure, I could smell him before he had reached me. He was close enough now that I could tilt my head to the side and lay my head in the small area between his arm and shoulder. Though my face was wet and sticky, I rubbed my nose into the sleeve of his button down. It was warm from his body and smelled like his musk; a rich, deep smell that reminded me of leather chairs and pine needles. I inhaled deeply, stretching my injured lungs until I was sure the scent of him was imprinted in my mind and the images it brought forth were burned into the backs of my eyelids.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," he said as I heaved a dry sob. "What happened, are you okay?"

"Yeah," I croaked. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just . . . stupid panic. The usual Bella shit."

Perhaps sensing that I wasn't ready to sit up, he sat down next to me on the bed and pulled my head into his lap. I buried my face between his stomach and hips.

He chuckled. "I take it your nose doesn't hurt?"

I pulled my head back from his stomach far enough to reach up and touch my nose. A plastic sheath was covering it from the bridge between my eyes down to under my nostrils. It perfectly encased my nose. I ran my fingers over the hard plastic until I reached the ends. Copious amounts of rough tape kept it in place.

"No, it doesn't hurt. Did I break it?"

Edward sighed. "Afraid so." He sounded nervous. "I, uh, well, I took the liberty and fixed your nose for you while you were out. I hope that's all right."

"Fixed it?" I asked. "As in, performed surgery on it?"

"Does it matter?"

I lowered my head and burrowed my face back into his stomach. I moved my jaw a little, finding comfort in the scratchy material of his jeans on the side of my face.

"No," I said in a soft voice. "It doesn't matter."

Can you fucking do this? Can you do this? After that?

No. I'll probably fail epically. And do with agony.

Because it almost killed you.

I buried my face harder into Edward. He began rubbing my back again.

"The cops got him," Edward said in a small voice after a moment.

"That's good," I said in an even smaller one.

Edward and I, we should have just existed. On that bed, away from the plights that insisted on creeping around the edges of our bubble. In that bathroom, too, with it's sandy tiles and ridiculous brown door. But there were plagues there, in those places of respite, that altered and blurred the essential reality of what was outside them. The plagues were both so overwhelming and so ironically insignificant, that they burned whatever lie before both of us. And the trails that could have been forged, should have been forged, were marred by the knowledge of those fires. We, Edward and me, were following ashen trails of what should have been undiscovered ground but were forever ruined by plagues that always superseded our arrival.

Fucking shit, what Edward and I had was good. It was always good. I had always said it was good; it felt good, seemed good, and . . . remained good. But it wasn't excellent, wasn't phenomenal or fantastic or any other similar word that meant better than good.

Not because it wasn't those things, but because, whatever it could be, it wasn't enough.

I turned my head to look up at Edward. He was still rubbing my back but his focus was across the room. I turned over and followed his gaze.

Alice was sitting on the ground by the bedroom door. Her body was slack and unmoving, as though she had fallen asleep sitting there. But she had thick, uneven trails of makeup running two black lines down from her eyes to her chin.

Edward spoke. "Alice?"

She looked up at me. Her body shook, once, as a silent sob ripped through her.

She parted her lips. "You're leaving us again, aren't you?"