A/N: It's been forever, I know! I'm sorry - and as I've previously promised, I haven't abandoned this story. I'm still plugging away at it, albeit at a turtle's pace. Thanks for sticking it out with me.
This chapter is a bit different as we watch Bella grapple with the grips of PTSD and disassociation. Another reminder that this story is rated M and deals with mature themes. This chapter is on the heavier side, just as a forewarning.
Chapter 28 - Lost
I am worn.
All the pieces of me, every broken fragment, are splintering… over and over again.
I don't know the time of day, day of the week, month of the year.
I am frozen in this place.
In this despair.
In my mind,
He is inside of me again.
I push the thoughts away, like trying to swim upstream, like trying to fight through thunderous, roaring waves.
I am crashing, burning, writhing.
In agony.
The floodgates have lifted.
And I am lost.
EPOV
Jasper was struggling, that much was apparent. He was huddled away in a corner, Alice crooning over him, her hands firmly gripping his face, lips pressed against the shell of his ear as she whispered loving affirmations to him. The sight would have been nauseating were it any other day, and any other set of circumstances, but today – it was crippling.
He was a mess, having recently returned from the reservation, needing a refuge from his efforts to extract information about Victoria's whereabouts from Paul. Paul remained composed, the physical pain of slowly healing his bones, only to have them rebroken again and again was not enough to make him talk, apparently. Jasper's tireless efforts to try and break through were taking a toll on him.
He was on edge, every muscle in his body coiled and tensed. His thoughts were incoherent and disjointed, littered with the echoes of Paul's voice, his graphic descriptions of abusing Bella freshly burned into Jasper's mind. He didn't know how to process this; his own emotions were growing so chaotic and uncontrollable that he was relying on others to help him emotionally collect the parts of himself that were starting to fray.
He had contemplated leaving for a while, to be away from the home, away from Bella and away from me. He didn't want me to be able to access his mind – he was worried about what it might do to me if I were able to witness all that he had over the past several days. But in his current state of emotional overwhelm he was unable to filter his thoughts as expertly he once did. They were a spiralling nightmare, uncontained and out of control.
Leaving, albeit tempting, wasn't a viable option, not with Victoria still waiting in the wings for an opportunity to get to Bella. And, the only useful thing Paul had disclosed was that the newborns that he came with last time weren't the only ones at Victoria's disposal. She was building an army, indeed. With that information came the realization that leaving ourselves divided meant leaving ourselves vulnerable to openings – to attack. So, we stayed together, as close as possible. Within proximity to Bella always, in the very least.
And here, in this home, was not an easy place to be.
Not since Bella had disclosed to Charlie.
Not since she'd retreated so far inside of herself that it felt as though we might never be able to retrieve her again.
Not since she'd locked herself in my bedroom, refusing to do anything but sleep, fight her nightmares and wake up sobbing.
Worst of all, she'd completely refused my presence.
After she closed off at Charlie's house, I'd carried her to my car in my arms. Carlisle stayed behind to speak with Charlie some more, while I'd rushed Bella back to our home, hoping that removing her from the stress would bring her back to me.
But it didn't.
She remained stoic and speechless, her eyes glassy and motionless, fixated on the distance and the nothingness.
When I tried to embrace her, she recoiled so violently I thought I might have harmed her.
But I hadn't – not in the physical sense, at least.
It had been five days now since she became lost to us, and each day was growing more agonizing than the last. Her presence was felt, despite her absence.
The space she needed from me was painful beyond measure. Her anguish was undefinable, growing and multiplying as the days passed. Each time I thought I'd captured it and fully grasped it, it transformed into something intangible again. Like cupping sand in my hands, no matter how hard I tried to hold every grain in the confines of my hands something would slip through the cracks anyway.
Still, I was grateful that she wasn't entirely alone. The only presence she accepted, to my surprise, was Esme's. Very occasionally, she would allow Esme to enter her room. Usually this happened after a particularly brutal nightmare. And once a day Bella would open the door and allow Esme to bring her a meal, and sometimes, she would step to the side of the doorway and allow Esme to stay. Bringing her food was pointless, she barely touched the meals we made for her. She was eating enough to sustain herself, but no more than a few bites at each meal. And even that felt like a victory these days. Each time Esme brought her a meal, it was a possible opportunity that someone could land eyes on Bella, and be close enough to make sure she was still there. Still fighting. Still hanging on. It became the moment of the day we all fixated on, waiting to see her, even if through someone else.
They didn't share any dialogue, but I knew from Esme's thoughts that Bella's physical condition was deteriorating rapidly.
She had already lost a substantial amount of weight. The dark, purple circles that outlined her eyes were growing more and more prominent. Her sallow, sunken frame was more apparent than it ever. Beneath the layers of clothing she wore the angular edges of her bones would protrude, the clothing hanging off her like it was resting on a wire hanger, not human flesh and bone.
At this point, everyone in my family had tried to approach her, but she'd rejected all of us, save for Esme. She would allow Esme to join her. Bella would lay on the bed, as she had been for days, staring off into the distance, her face contorting in pain every now and again, while Esme kept vigil on a chair next to her.
They shared no words, but there seemed to be something about Esme's quiet presence that brought Bella some measure of relief. It was a relief to us all, that someone would be able to set eyes on her – just to confirm that there was still life somewhere in her… that all hope hadn't been lost.
The room is dark, save for a small sliver of light pouring through the window. The moon is illuminating the space around her, like a spotlight trained on an entertainer.
But there is no entertainment here.
I am not an entertainer, dutifully weaving through personalities and roles.
This isn't a show put on for pleasure.
There will be no standing ovation.
Though I predict an encore is likely.
All the same, she looks motherly, sitting in the corner, tucked away in the rocking chair. She is almost motionless, it's inhuman how still she can be. How still they can be.
Inhuman.
He was inhuman.
Heat, fire, molten lava coating my body, melting flesh from bone, finding it's way into every crack and crevice of my soul.
I push the thoughts away and my eyes find Esme's frame.
I watch her, refusing to look away.
She is safe.
Motherly.
Familiar.
She grounds me back down to the present. She reminds me of what home can feel like – what home should feel like.
She will not leave, not unless I ask her to.
She will not hurt me.
She has never hurt me.
She has no expectations.
She is my newfound saviour, I decide.
In the darkest moments, when all I can see is him – his hands, his lips, his grip…
Finding her face helps.
Knowing she's here can pull me back.
Even when I'm wrapped so wholly in him.
Unsure of what is real and what isn't.
I can look over to that rocking chair,
And I know that she's real.
And so he cannot be.
"Edward?"
Carlisle's voice pulled me from my thoughts.
I nodded in his direction, confirming that I'd heard him.
"Are you ready for this?"
"Not in the least," I explained, swiping at my brow as though it will do something to alleviate the debilitating sense of dread that was blanketing every living thing in our house.
"I know, son. But it's time. We can't do this any longer. The wolves are no longer agreeable and we cannot afford to sever our already tenuous relationship with them. And despite the difficulty of all of this, and Bella's precarious state, she still has a right to know."
I knew he was right, but it did nothing to change the dread I felt.
"Jasper, do they at least agree with our decision?"
Jasper stirred in the corner, pushing off the wall to join Carlisle and me at the table. His face was stoic and unreadable, but his thoughts were another matter altogether. Scrambled and anxious, filled with a vacant effort to conceal the darkness inside of him.
He looked emptier than ever, his eyes conveying a harrowing reminder of the darkness that still lives inside him. The darkness that spending several days with a psychopathic monster had apparently clawed back to the surface of his consciousness.
"They've agreed to allow us to take care of it. As long as it's done exactly as Carlisle has promised. They're concerned with ensuring this is done as humanly as possible."
"Good," Carlisle nodded, but his eyes betrayed the confidence in his words. I could see that he wars with this decision, with the necessity of it and with the consequences it will inevitably bring forth.
Jasper, Rosalie and I are the only ones completely unfettered by the task at hand. We are relieved. We are excited by the prospect of fulfilling some small sliver of our fantasies of revenge. Watching the life leave his body will bring me immeasurable, albeit short-lived, satisfaction.
"We're in agreement then? We'll do this in the most… humane way possible." Carlisle's voice quivered lightly against the words, betraying his efforts to appear composed and at ease.
"Not my style, but I guess you already know how I'd like to handle this," Rosalie remarked, leaning against the wall opposite the table, Emmett at her side.
"No, Rosalie, it's not. Taking a life… it's not something I particularly enjoy. Levelling this kind of punishment isn't a small matter to consider. And this is the most reasonable way to do this."
"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Carlisle," Rosalie quipped, an expertly sculpted eyebrow arching in his direction as she speaks.
"And what will you tell Bella?" Alice wondered aloud, her hands tangled around Jasper's forearms.
I tensed, the question reminding me of Bella's current state, the anxiety of considering what this might do to her resurfacing in my mind.
Before I can consider an answer, Carlisle speaks.
"We'll tell her the truth."
Despite the dread I feel hearing his words, I realize he's right.
A soft knock on the door and my body flies into panic.
Hands, gripping, tugging, pulling.
Wrenching their way through me.
Ripping me from myself.
I steel myself against it.
I force my eyes open and find the door. Holding there.
Who is it?
It opens.
…
It's Esme.
My relief is palpable, but my body can make no sudden movements.
I am too tired.
Each limb is the weight of a boulder.
"Bella?"
I can hear her voice.
It sounds heavenly.
I say nothing in reply.
She walks towards me, bypassing the rocking chair.
The room is dark, but lightning as the sun creeps over the horizon, painting the walls with its warm light.
She is at my bedside.
My body is on fire.
I want relief.
I think of the cliff.
The waves crashing over jagged rocks.
I think of jumping, my body hitting the water, crashing against it painfully, as though I'd just hit a bed of rock.
The waves are like that.
Fickle.
They come and go.
They rage and roar.
And then they quiet down.
They still.
No longer treacherous, but a solid sheet of placid water.
Burgeoning with life and promise.
Sustaining all the life that lives inside of it.
Alive.
I envy the water.
"Bella?"
I think she's been talking for a long time.
I was lost in thought for a few minutes, I realize.
"Bella?"
This isn't Esme now.
"I'm sorry, to bother you in your space. I know you'd rather be alone, but I'm afraid this can't wait."
Carlisle's voice.
I stiffen.
Like a board.
Like a pane of glass.
Hard, but painfully fragile.
Ready to shatter.
"It has to be today. They're no longer willing to wait."
"I'm sorry, Bella."
Edward.
I can hear shuffling around me, feet against the wooden planks of the floor.
I open my eyes.
I find the window.
The sun is pouring through the windows now, filling the space with it's glorious light.
It's illuminating everything around me.
My eyes see diamonds.
Millions of tiny diamonds, splintered against the skin of these magical creatures, prisms that capture the light and throw it back out in every colour imaginable.
It's breathtaking.
It stuns me.
It keeps me here.
It is holding me in place.
I am grateful.
I watch the sunlight dance against their porcelain skin, I travel the same path as the light, finding where it's resting.
It touches everything in sight.
It changes everything it touches.
I lift my hand in front of my face and realize that it's touching me, too.
The reflection of this magnificence is dancing along the dull flesh stretched across my hand.
It has changed me, too.
"What did you say?"
My voice is raspy and low.
It's unfamiliar.
I know they've heard me, though, because they're all staring at me.
"Bella."
Esme sighs loudly.
It's relief in her voice.
"It's Paul. We can't keep going this way."
His name, igniting every morsel of suffering my body is holding, like a match thrown to kindling doused in fuel.
As quickly as I came to, I am gone again.
I am back on the cliff.
I am jumping off it.
I am being pulled down, beneath the waves.
I claw against it.
"Carlisle will do it today, Bella."
Do what?
Someone tell me.
Someone help me.
"…as humanely as possible."
What?
Say it again.
Please.
Say it again.
I don't understand.
I try to bring myself back.
I take a mental tally of what I can hear, see and feel.
I am laying down, wrapped in blankets, hands tucked away.
I feel something shift.
Something change.
The blankets are moving down my body.
I look down at my hands.
They're folded across my chest.
They feel different because sitting on top of my folded hands is a small, pale hand. Slender fingers and neatly manicured nails.
I look up.
It's Esme.
I am flooded.
Overflowing.
Emotion is pouring out of me.
I don't understand the emotion.
But I can feel it.
Physically.
My body is shaking.
My breathing is rapid.
My face is red and hot.
And wet.
From my tears.
I am pulled up, into a sitting position.
I can smell cedar and lavender.
Someone is holding me.
It smells like Esme.
I bury my face in soft, wavy hair.
Brown and thick.
Esme's hair.
She is holding me.
To my surprise, I realize I am holding her too.
I sigh, internally chanting my reminders.
The things that keep me here, when I am at threat of disappearing:
I am no longer his captive.
I am no longer treading water, barely staying afloat.
I am no longer enslaved to the water, no longer trapped in it's icy depths.
I am here.
In this room.
In this moment.
In Esme's arms.
EPOV
"You were right," I whispered, bristling against the words as I spoke them.
"Yes," Carlisle agreed, pushing several instruments into his leather briefcase. I was grateful to find no righteousness in his tone.
"I'm sorry I doubted you."
"No apologies necessary. I understand your reluctance and your concern. We were all trying to do the best we could in a very challenging set of circumstances."
"Yes, but had I pushed her, as I wanted to, it would've made things worse."
"Maybe. I believe she needed that time, to feel everything she'd been avoiding. But I'm also able to recognize that there was a cost."
Carlisle's thoughts shifted to the image of Bella's body from minutes ago, arms wrapped around Esme, paper thin and frighteningly frail.
We'd been at odds a few days ago. I questioned his judgment and his expertise. I insisted that we force compliance on Bella. She was barely eating or drinking, and every visit with Esme gave me a window into the changes her body was undergoing as a result.
She was in the middle stages of starvation, and I worried that organ damage wouldn't be far behind. I believed her physical health now needed to take precedence over her mental health because if she starved herself to death there would be nothing left of her anyway. What good was it to preserve the needs of her mind if her body was no longer capable of supporting that mind?
Carlisle disagreed. He'd read papers in the Journal of Psychiatric Medicine that talked about deep dissociation as being one of the first steps of healing. The survivor would travel deeply inside of themselves, unable to avoid their trauma, forced to confront it for the very first time. Carlisle believed this was where Bella was at – deep inside of herself and confronting, for the very first time, all that she'd suffered.
He worried that forcing medical interventions upon her would break through that and throttle her into a state of distrust and crisis.
I'd pushed on though and even went so far as to gather the supplies, threatening to start the process myself. I was outside her door, feeding tube and IV supplies in hand when Jasper and Emmett restrained me, dragging me away from my bedroom door, where Bella's corpse-like body was lying in wait.
It was my own state of hysteria. Perhaps I was beginning to process all of this, too. It was very unlike me to question Carlisle's judgment, especially when it was sound and rooted in reason and fact. I had a clear window into his mind, and I knew it to be the most honest and logical encapsulation of living consciousness. I'd never had cause to question him before now, but with everything sane turned on its head, my own ability to think rationally was wavering.
"I think we have all we need," Carlisle remarked, closing his briefcase, meeting Jasper at the top of the stairs.
The task at hand was something we all wanted to be present for. But protecting Bella needed to remain a priority, and so it would only be Jasper, Carlisle and me that were in attendance. The rest would stay behind to protect Bella.
We convene in silence, prepared to leave and stocked with all the supplies needed for an execution, but before we can reach the door, the sound of Alice's voice stops us in our tracks.
"Edward, Carlisle – come!"
Soft, tiny shuffles against the wooden panels of the floor echo through the house.
Bella.
I listen attentively.
"Bella, what're you doing? This isn't a good idea. I can see what you're planning, you know."
Alice speaks slowly and softly, the way one would speak to a small child that is easily frightened.
We race up the stairs to the bedroom where Bella is pulling a large, black hoodie over her head.
"Bella?" I call out, desperate to hear her voice again.
She stops, her eyes lifting and finding mine.
There she is. As though she'd never gone. As though I'd never broken her, left her, betrayed her. As though he'd never harmed her, shattering her.
In her eyes, I can see it.
I can see her again.
"Either I come with you, or I make my own way there," I explained, wrapping my hands around my arms as I try to shake away the chill that was crawling along my spine.
"Bella, this won't be easy… Paul will be there. We won't be able to prevent him from saying whatever he wants and so he'll use this opportunity to harm you in any way he can. And while he absolutely won't be able to harm you physically, verbally he will try."
I scoffed.
His words are not harmful.
Not anymore.
He lives in my flesh, in my bones.
He is apart of me.
I need to see this.
I want to see this.
Months ago, my determination to see this would have disturbed me.
Today, it thrills me.
It's a ceremony, I decide.
A celebration of death.
Because it will free me, in some way.
Maybe my body can rest again.
If he's gone.
If I'm not waiting for him to hurt me, or the people I love.
Maybe.
"Bella? Are you hearing us?"
I nod.
Even though I have no idea what they've said.
I can guess.
They're predictable.
"I can do this. I'm strong enough… I want to do this."
I can hear squabbling. Quiet, clipped arguing.
Someone is on my side.
Someone agrees with me.
I can feel myself fading away again.
I should speak now, or it'll never happen.
"It's my right," I say softly because every cell in my body is tired.
They stop.
The room is quiet.
Some moments pass in near silence.
Their chatter is softer, more hushed.
I can't make out the words, only faint whispers echoing through the room.
"Ok," they concede.
"You have to tell us if it gets too much. We'll leave if it becomes too overwhelming."
I nod.
I look around the room, fighting the blurring, fighting the feeling of his hands on my chest, on my neck, on my thighs.
He isn't here, I remind myself because my head forgets sometimes.
When my head forgets it hurts the most because it feels real.
I push against it, fighting harder than before.
I can do this.
I must.
I don't know how it unfolded this way, but it did. Bella was sitting in the backseat of Carlisle's Mercedes, head resting against the window, eyes closed, breathing slow and steady.
I sat in the passenger's seat, listening to Carlisle run through the procedure in his mind, debating the small details with himself. He's bent on ensuring that this is done as humanely as possible. He has never done this before, though he's read about it extensively in medical texts. He feels ready, he understands the procedure, the steps, the possible complications. But he is torn.
His mind briefly cycles through images of Bella, recalling why this is necessary. Recalling why we're left with no other options.
Paul did this, and there is no other way to ensure Bella's safety or the safety of others. This is our only viable option.
"I can do it," I explain, my voice the softest whisper, afraid that Bella might hear our conversation.
Carlisle's shoulders tense, his back lengthens and straightens. He looks at me, his eyes weary and tired.
"I can, Carlisle. I've watched you replay this in your mind a thousand times already. I understand the steps, I understand the procedure as intimately as you do by now, and I've taken the time to read the literature."
"And you're not conflicted?" Carlisle's voice was hard and unnervingly hollow.
"Not in the least."
He nods and his eyes shifted from mine, finding the road again.
"And that's why I have do this myself, Edward."
"Because I'm not worried about the death of Paul? This is more humane than the torture he's been put through for the past week. And it's infinitely more humane than what he forced Bella to endure."
"You're right. This is more humane, and torturing him was not, but we were left with very few choices. And I understand that this is yet another choice with no other possible outcomes. But it doesn't change that I'm about to take a life away… I'm about to extinguish someone's existence. That isn't my right, nor is it my job. I'm conflicted not because I feel empathy towards him, but because I fear the consequences. I've devoted my entire life to preserving the human life, and now I'll be responsible for taking it away. The very thing I've fought against my entire life is the very thing I'll be participating in today."
I pause, contemplating his words, soaking them in. Carlisle is a better man, vampire, creature – whatever – than anyone else I've ever come across. He can see the perspective of everyone and everything in ways that are unparalleled. What must it be like to see the world in such a complicated array of emotions and thoughts?
Bella holds this quality, too. It's a remarkable and rare thing. It's what makes them so special.
I glance in the rear-view mirror noting that Bella has pulled the hood of her sweater clear over her head, her face covered by the thick cotton fabric now. Her hands are pushed inside the pockets and her head is still resting against the window.
She's bundled tightly, wrapped in several layers of clothing. She's cold, I realize. Even in the middle of June, Bella is cold. She has no insulation left to guard her against even the slightest chill in the wind. It's cooler than usual today, the sun hiding behind the clouds and failing to warm up the moist June air.
She hasn't said anything since she got into the car. The argument started and ended quickly, with Bella speaking for the second time in days to assert her right to join us. The thought of her standing face to face with Paul again, even under these circumstances, does nothing to help quiet the animal stirring inside of me.
This is all wrong because it's exactly what Paul wants. One more opportunity to get to Bella. He'll say or do anything within his power to haunt her one last time. It'll be the perfect parting gift for him. The perfect way to go.
I know because I've seen his mind. I've been inside of it.
I know how he thinks.
I know that he's obsessed with Bella. And his obsession extended well past his arrangement with Victoria. She merely presented him with the perfect opportunity and circumstances to do what he'd long dreamed of doing. We all knew it was a bad idea, but we all agreed, long ago, that removing Bella's agency would be detrimental to her well-being. It would complicate the tenuous trust she'd grown to place in each of us.
Forcing her into, or out of, anything would only serve as a reminder of every moment he forced himself on her. It would devastate me to think that she held him and I in the same place in her heart and mind.
Carlisle's thoughts were whirring around his head, moving at warp speed from one second to the next. It was distracting and so I turned my eyes away from Bella and instead fixated them on him. Where was he going with this?
"Bella?"
She stirred slightly in the backseat but maintained the same position.
"I understand the desire to witness this. But we need to know that if it becomes too much, you'll let us know. You'll allow us to help you. He will be restrained… and so he won't be able to physically harm you. But, in the past, he's used Edward's ability to torment you. I believe he'll do it again. Are you prepared for that possibility?
She didn't skip a beat.
Bella nodded once.
The conversation is over.
The car had stopped.
The sound of dirt and pebbles bouncing off rubber and metal has quieted.
With the hood pulled over my eyes I can't see where we are, or the route we've taken to get here.
But I know we're at the Reservation.
On the Quileute land.
I smile, thinking of the effort it must have taken to work out terms in the treaty – to place a pause on this decades-old feud long enough to deal with this.
To deal with him.
I listen to the sound of the car door opening and closing. I can briefly hear the rustle of leaves, the wind whirring past the car door.
I lift my head, push back the hood and look outside.
In the literal blink of an eye, Edward is at my door. He opens it, extends his hand toward me and waits.
I cringe.
Not at the thought of our hands touching, but because what was once something he did without permission or reservation, is now something he calculates before attempting.
Even the slightest touch, if not properly executed and considered, could unreasonably send me into a tailspin of chaos.
I place my hand in his, and my entire body reacts to the sensation.
I am filled with relief. With joy. With sorrow.
I exhale.
I sigh.
I feel the same contentment, the same opening feeling, that the earth feels when Spring has finally arrived after a long and hard winter.
The way the frozen ground slowly softens, giving way to the water that drenches it during the reawakening of Spring.
These feelings are conflicting.
In my body, there is a place where relief and anguish both reside.
This is the part of me that is reawakening.
Like Spring has finally come.
Like the frost that has gripped me is finally fading.
I want to breathe. I want to greedily inhale every drop of this feeling.
I want to hold onto it and package it up so that I'll never be without it.
It's the simplest thing, yet the most profound.
My hand in his.
It's curious to me, that this person could have drawn such an audience. The small home of Sam Uley is packed, nearly to the brim, with people – young and old alike. Human and inhuman. Vampire and wolf. Everyone that knows of our existence and their existence and lives in the town of Forks is present. At least two dozen people in total. If the occasion weren't so inherently grim, it would almost be poetic. The perfect picture of coexistence and tolerance right here in this room.
I suppose despite the occasion it's still poetic. We'd all gathered here for one reason – the same reason. United under the banner of protection and justice.
This moment, this day, will bring me relief. Immeasurable relief. Although Victoria will remain a threat, Paul will not. And that's something.
The thoughts in the room ranged from depressed, to anxious, to remorseful, to celebratory.
The most menacing minds in the room come belonged the wolves who had spent extended periods of time with Paul, listening to his verbalization of every horrendous thing he'd ever done to Bella. I scan their thoughts and stop myself almost immediately. The detail they knew surpassed my own knowledge. I wondered if some of it had been embellished by Paul, I wonder if he'd added events and details to try and goad them, to try and shock them enough to spur them into premature action.
I hope. I hope these new events aren't shreds of new truth he's dumped into the equation.
Bella. Bella!
The panicked thoughts stunned me for a moment, as I tried to determine where they're coming from – who they belonged to. My gift is usually more apt, more useful at determining who has said what reflexively, without active thought or effort. Today, however, was different. The thoughts in the room are overwhelming, and I attempt to evade some of them, making all of it a bit more hazy than usual.
I scanned the room, my eyes finding faces, trying to find which thoughts seem consumed with Bella.
It can't be Paul, he's in another room, experiencing intense sensory deprivation until we're ready to start the show.
A few more seconds and scanning and then I realized who the thoughts belong to.
Jacob.
He's glued to the wall across from me, his eyes locked on mine. There is something there, brewing inside of him, bubbling out of every pore. His agony is spilling over.
He knows, I realized.
The last time we saw Jacob he hadn't spent any extended period with Paul. He didn't know. Bella clung to that – it gave her the reprieve she needed, allowed her time and space away from the reality of everything else. I cringed knowing that it was so swiftly taken from her.
I could tell that Jacob knew the intimate details. His face, generally quite pleasant and youthful had transformed into something unrecognizable. The weight of this was wearing on every cell in his body. Imprinted into his consciousness.
It's strange, what love does to people. I understand and empathize with Jacob, because I know well how this can destroy a person, shattering everything sacred and innocent. Changing the world. Changing everything. How do you hold these thoughts in your mind, and hold her in your mind? How do you continue to exist knowing the magnitude of the trauma she endured? Knowing that you did nothing to stop it, knowing that you hold some accountability.
Accountability, in this situation, is a bitter pill to swallow for all of us. Myself especially.
I left her. Alone. With no protection, foolishly misguided into thinking my absence would protect her. Instead, it led her right into the hands of a person who would almost destroy her.
Next to Paul, I held the most accountability.
But Jacob watched. He lived with her day to day, watched her transformation, watched the weight fall from her body until she was next to nothing, watched the light leave her eyes, watched her wither away, a fragmented version of her former self… and he didn't know any different.
He had no clue.
He could have prevented it, he could have stopped it. Had he been more attuned, less self-absorbed and distracted by his own infatuation with Bella, he might have been able to stop it before it steamrolled her into nothingness.
Jacob's eyes were fixed onto mine, his mind conveyed all his questions and thoughts, intended for me directly.
Where is she?
Is she ok?
Can I see her?
Is she ok?
Will she be ok?
Is this enough?
Doesn't he deserve more?
I wish I had answers to all his questions, but I could give him the satisfaction of answering one. Moving toward the door at an inhuman speed, I pulled it open to reveal Bella, standing beneath the dim yellow light of Sam's front stoop, arms wrapped around her body tightly, as though this was what she needed to do to hold herself together. Carlisle stood at her side, a briefcase of supplies resting on his arm. I'd gone in first, before Carlisle and Bella, to make sure that preparations had been made. She didn't need to walk into a room to be ambushed by Paul's presence. Gratefully, it appeared this convention had already been considered. He was locked away in another room, tied to a chair, blindfolded and mouth duct taped closed.
Bella's long, slow exhale drew me back to her, where I could see her struggling to pull courage through herself, trying to find enough of it to face this moment.
The room quieted, all thoughts transforming, their focus shifting to Bella. I pushed them away, intent on ignoring them, counting them as less important – mere distractions. I focused solely on Bella, my consciousness focused on trying to read her body language and determine her ability to cope.
This moment gave us all pause. We were here because of Paul – more specifically, because of what he did to Bella. I'm acutely aware of how painful it must be for her, to be stuck in a room with sympathetic onlookers, each knowing far more than they should about what she's been through.
The wolves, it appeared, knew far more than anyone ever should. Possibly more than Carlisle knew. Paul spared no details in his venomous ravings, providing clear and apt descriptions of every horrible thing he forced upon her.
All bets are off now. I can't contain myself. I can't control myself as I once had. I must be near her – I must be touching her. I can't watch this train wreck happen without having my arms around her, offering her some protection from the harshness of this moment.
I moved to her side, my hand sliding around her waist, settling against the prominent indentation of her hip bones.
She doesn't recoil.
She sighs.
Her body slackened, falling into mine – falling against mine.
She allowed her thick swathe of brown hair to fall away from her face, acting as a shield against the curious eyes that had glued themselves to her. I wanted to offer her more protection, to shield her entirely from these curious eyes but before I can adjust my position, Carlisle moves to her side, his body close, but not touching, guarding her from all angles now.
We move through the room at a casual pace, trying to follow Bella's lead. She settles on a spot near the kitchen where Emily is standing, preparing tea and arranging a small tray of snacks.
Emily looks up and cringes when she finally gets a good glimpse of Bella. Bella noticed, but pretended not to, pulling a chair from the kitchen table as she gently set herself down onto it. She moves in a way that keenly illustrates how fragile she really is. Each movement is careful and calculated, as though she can afford nothing less. And she can't. Even the simplest of falls right now would undoubtedly result in a serious fracture, or worse.
The room is still almost silent, with a few hushed conversations carrying on in various corners. Thoughts are louder now, everyone curious to know when it will start – what we will do. How this will work.
Despite lacking the ability to hear thoughts, Carlisle is already aware of this. He understands the dynamics of the room perfectly and is planning to offer a detailed explanation to Paul and the audience that has gathered.
I ignore all of it.
And I watch her. She is terrified, I realized. Her hands are folded on top of her lap and shaking despite her efforts to stop them. Her breathing was laboured, her face ashen white, and a small sheen of perspiration coated her forehead. Her heart was thudding against her ribs, a chasm of angst and terror tearing its way through her. Her eyes scanned the room searching for him..
In this moment I am witness to a small fraction of the terror he has made her feel. I crouched down in front of her, continuing with my brazen displays of affection as I cradle her hands in my own.
I lean in, eyes finding hers, and I whispered to her, softly and gently.
"He's in the other room, Bella…"
She said nothing but nodded in understanding. A feather's weight of the tension her body is holding released with this knowledge.
"We'll protect you now. I promise," I pull her hand to my lips and leave a soft kiss against the ivory white skin that stenches across her knuckles.
She remained quiet, but in her eyes, I could sense a pain that building and multiplying, one that she was trying to quarantine from this moment.
A tear escaped her eye, but she brushed it away before it could so much as leave a trail in its wake.
In my distraction, I'd failed to notice Carlisle's thoughts percolating and transforming. He was uneasy, he felt the crowd that had gathered was unnecessary and barbaric. He couldn't tell who in the crowd was here to mourn and who was here to celebrate.
But I can.
And there was virtually no one present that attended in mourning and sadness. The thoughts were solemn, for the most part. Paul's mother isn't here, I realized. From the thoughts around me, I discerned that she was elsewhere, mourning the loss of her son, mourning the darkness that blossomed in him in secrecy. It was for the best, really. How painful must this process be for her?
I shrugged the thoughts off as quickly as they came. I had no room in my mind or heart to extend empathy to anyone that wasn't Bella. Carlisle is braced against the wall, deep in thought, trying to tease out meaning and understanding behind the presence of so many people. His thoughts shifted and I knew then that he wanted to ask my opinion, but he didn't want to interfere with my efforts to support Bella.
"I'm just going to speak with Carlisle, only a few feet away and then I'll be right back, ok?"
Bella nods, the movement barely noticeable. Like a starving animal, she reserves her energy for only the most essential things. Movement and conversation, in her mind, don't appear to be essential right now.
I can hear Emily's mind whirring, determination setting in as she decides she wants to talk to Bella.
Her thoughts are gentle and tender, and I feel like my intervention is unnecessary. I left Bella to Emily, making my way over to Carlisle to hopefully ease some of his worries.
"What do you think?"
He knows that I'm aware of this thought process and he was attempting to keep the conversation as minimal as possible, trying to conceal the theme of our conversation from the present company.
"I agree. Though some of your fears are unfounded. It isn't what you worried it would be."
Carlisle nodded in understanding.
It still feels inappropriate, to have such an audience.
"I agree," I said, leaning against the wall, my body parallel to his own.
For Bella's sake more than anything. But for ours as well. The only reason they've agreed to this concession is that Sam forced the elders into submission. The wolves that spent time with Paul during the interrogation know how far beyond rehabilitation he truly is. They were left with no other choices and only one qualified person to carry out the procedure while ensuring as little suffering as possible. But I can't help but think about the long-term consequences this will have.
"I don't think you have to worry about that," I explained, my eyes fixed on Bella's frame, hunched over as Emily spoke to her softly and gently, offering her food and refreshments with very little in the way of reply.
Carlisle's eyes followed mine, resting on Bella as understanding dawned on him.
They empathize more with her than they do with him?
I nodded, confirming his theory, grateful that he can understand my nonverbal communication as well as he does. It afforded us privacy in the essential moments.
Sam finds us before the conversation can continue further, his face severe and worn. He has aged considerably in a matter of days, and his thoughts are littered with a complicated array of conflicting thoughts and feelings.
"We'll have a ceremony after the… procedure… is done. Bella is welcome to stay, but your kind is not."
"Of course," Carlisle replies, his eyes shifting to a darker shade of yellow, the prospect of the events to come beginning to weigh heavily on him.
"Almost everyone will leave while it happens, except for the pack and the elders."
"I believe that's wise." The relief in Carlisle's voice is palpable.
"And when it's over, we'll take care of the body," Sam explains. My eyes catch him and he can tell that I disapproved of this contingency. I had plans for his body, and none of them included a respectful or decent burial. Sam easily transitioned into the next topic of conversation, glancing over at Emily and Bella sitting side by side at his kitchen table.
"How is she doing?"
"She's alive," I muttered, having no other words to describe Bella's current condition.
"You'll let us know if she needs anything? If there's anything we can do to help?"
I looked toward Sam, hearing in his thoughts the same sense of responsibility I'd been carrying since this started. He felt responsible for not understanding the depth of Paul's darkness. He'd been witness to bits and pieces of it throughout the years, but always attributed it to his being a troubled youth, troubled teen and then a bitter involuntary member of the pack.
A small part of me wanted to offer him comfort, wanted to tell him I didn't blame him.
But I can't.
Because I do.
I blamed myself. I blamed Jacob. I blamed Sam.
For now, watching the life drain from Paul will have to be enough.
Sam chased away the unnecessary witnesses with ease. A few assertively barked commands and the small home was cleared of anyone that wasn't essential. It left the tiny home feeling even smaller, if possible, the space more clearly defined now that it wasn't crowded out by anxious bodies.
Carlisle went inside the room with Jasper a few moments ahead of the rest, Sam reluctantly joining them. They prepared while the rest of us waited.
I know that soon Bella will be face to face with him again. And when they remove his blindfold and the rag covering his mouth he will be able to say anything he wants. This was a request from the Quileute's. They believed it inhumane to have him die while unable to see or speak. They weren't counting on Bella's participation in the events of today. Nobody seemed disturbed by her appearance, but they didn't appear pleased, either.
"Are you ready for this?" I asked her, my hand outstretched to hers.
She nodded, placing her hand in mine, standing to her feet at the slowest possible pace.
Emily watches as I hold onto Bella's waist, steadying her against my body.
She wonders why Bella is here. She worries that she's dying, but she doesn't know how to ask. Her worry isn't misplaced. I share the same fear. Seeing Bella out and moving, it's apparent to me how unwell she really is.
She leans on me the entire way there, bracing against my chest as I help walk her toward the room. It's curious to me that Sam chose his and Emily's room. Though I suppose with such a small home he had few other options. Certainly, the room they intended for their future child wouldn't be suitable at all. They hadn't wanted to keep him in the dim, filthy shed. It seemed unfit, too impersonal and disconcerting for what was about to unfold.
I adjust my grip on Bella as I feel the beginnings of her faltering. Her legs are starting to shake, and her
body rumbling with the effort it was exerting to keep her upright. I'm unsure that she'll even make it to the room without collapsing in a heap on the floor.
My instinct is to lift her up and to cradle her against my chest as I once would have without thought. But I'm more careful now, recognizing how easily such a gesture might alarm her.
"Bella? Can I carry you the rest of the way?"
I can feel her tense against the suggestion, but her body slumps forward in defeat. She doesn't want this, I know, but she's left with no other choice. I scoop her into my arms, her head falling against my chest as her arms wrap around her waist. She's still shaking, fear a likely contributor.
We stand together outside the door. I can hear Carlisle pulling supplies from his medical bag, pulling syringes out of their sterile wrappings, flipping the lid off a vial of medicine – the pentobarbital that he'll inject into Paul's system to sedate him before he injects him with a cocktail that will effectively paralyze him and induce respiratory arrest, and then the final injection: potassium chloride to stop his heart.
Carlisle moved quickly, arranging the supplies in the corner, reviewing the procedure in his head for the thousandth time.
I knocked once, awaiting confirmation that it was ok for us to enter.
The door opened, revealing Jacob, pain seared into his soft, boyish features. He doesn't take his eyes off Bella, his stomach churning at the sight of her sickly body. He worries too about her health, wonders concernedly if she's dying. He wonders if we've left something out if we're keeping information from him. He thinks about confronting me, but decides against it at the last second, common sense reminding him that now is not the time.
He stands aside, pointing toward a chair in the corner of the room. Quil and Embry are standing on either side of it, protective looks on their faces. They too looked worn. I listened, taking mental note of Bella's vitals. Normal respirations, a slow, but regular heart rate – she was the beacon in the room.
I helped her out of my arms and into the chair. Her eyes scanned her surroundings until she saw him. Her face paled and her eyes widened.
His eyes were covered by an old rag, as was his mouth. His hands were fastened with steel chains to the chair he was sitting on. His hair, cropped short and close to his scalp, was glistening in the pale light of the room, a thin sheen of sweat coating his coppery skin. He looked like a captive of war, torn apart and crudely pieced back together again. His once brutal presence was minimized to a mere whisper, the threat of his body all but extinguished. I recognized, however, that despite this, Bella was still afraid. Her limbs were vibrating at a low frequency in the chair, arms pulled around her, struggling to hold her fractured existence together.
Carlisle stood, clearing his voice and effectively halting the soft murmur of conversation buzzing through the small room. He stood in the middle of the room, arms folded and face severe. The imprint of what was likely a bed previously situated exactly where he was standing illustrates the extent of the transformation this room underwent to accommodate this tragic moment.
All eyes were on him and he remained uneasy with this reality.
"Thank you for offering me your attention, and for trusting me to facilitate this process. I wanted to explain to everyone present, and Paul himself, what is about to happen. I trust he's been adequately prepared prior to this moment for this eventuality?" He spoke directly to Sam, who nodded in acknowledgment.
"Very well…"
Carlisle spoke for a few minutes, briefly describing the process and explaining which medications would be used and what effect they would have on the body.
Paul offered no response despite being able to hear. His thoughts were a dull current, barely present enough to register. The sensory deprivation had dulled his consciousness, his thoughts dulling in the process.
"Are you ready?" Carlisle questioned, his eyes fixed on Bella.
Bella nodded, her knees lifting against her chest, her head resting against them.
Sam moved in slow motion, clearly dreading the potential consequences of removing Paul's blindfold and mouth covering and as he did the pack descended on Paul, surrounding him, offering a protective covering meant to shelter Bella. They moved like a well-prepared, well-oiled machine, clearly having been coached in advance. Their reaction reflected their thought process, that they believed he still possessed the potential to harm Bella. And though physically he was no longer a concern, his potential to cause harm still remained.
He stirred slowly as the blindfold was pulled away from his eyes, squinting up towards the dim light shining down on his face. He was having difficulty adjusting to the light. When the rag was pulled away from his mouth, he moved his jaw, trying to work out the stiffness in his jaw.
It took seconds for the atmosphere in the room to shift tangibly.
I heard his thoughts a nanosecond before he spoke them, my uptake too slow to react appropriately – to protect Bella from his verbal assault.
"Mmm. I can smell you, sweetheart," his voice was a weakened version of its former magnitude, warbling out of his broken body in fragments. Seconds too late I moved to stand in front of him, a single hand wrapped around his neck, squeezing him hard enough to prevent him from speaking.
He jerked against the chains holding him in place with very little effect, his body too weak to produce the desired effect.
I'd expected some resistance from the pack, from anyone, but nobody moved. Everyone held their respective positions, unflinching in the face of my hand firmly wrapped around Paul's neck. I assessed the amount of pressure I was applying, aware that if I applied minimally more pressure I could snap his neck. The thought was tempting and I could tell from the thoughts whirring around the room that very few of the present company would object.
The scene unfolded far too quickly for Bella to register immediately. I was sure she could see it by now, but she sat, as still as ever, in her seat in the corner. Quil and Embry kept their eyes on her, trying to figure out what they should do, their internal conflict a dull whisper in the background as I focused on her.
She didn't move. She barely flinched. Her eyes were glassy as she gawked wide-eyed in Paul's direction. Her brown eyes reflected nothing but rage.
A deep, profound rage was building behind her eyes, in every angle of her jarringly frail body.
In her slender fingers as they slowly curled around the arms of the chair, in her spine as it lengthened and in her heart as it pounded forcefully against her ribcage. She was breathless with the intensity of it, no longer trying to deny the steadily building feeling. Her face, once ashen gray and empty was filled with evidence of the anger burning its way through her.
As I stood with my fingers wrapped around the vermin's neck, every thought of vengeance I'd ever harboured being actualized in this moment, the satisfaction of his fiery skin burning into my ice-cold flesh exciting every dark and dormant part of my nature, Bella did something entirely unexpected.
She stood to her feet, slowly, her knees wobbling from pure exhaustion, and she screamed.
A bloodcurdling, heart wrenching, shriek tore from her tiny, unassuming body, echoing around the small room, catching every member in attendance by total surprise.
The sound carried on for what felt like an unnaturally long time. She stood there, fingers curled against her palms, face a concerning shade of red, her eyes wide and shimmering with anger and frustration… she was transformed. Something and someone entirely different.
In one moment her body shook with the force of her scream. And in the next moment, it didn't. The sounded halted so abruptly that it was alarming. Unnatural.
I watched in shock as her body started to cave in on itself. Her knees buckled, her arms fell limply to her side but, mercifully, before her head could hit the ground Jasper's hands had found their place against her, holding her inches above the wooden planks of the floor.
"Bella?" He shouted, shaking her with the smallest amount of force he could exert.
She didn't stir.
"She's ok, Jasper," Carlisle explained, his voice an even enough tempo that I believed him.
My position shifted when I felt a hand rest on top of my own. I looked up to see Carlisle standing beside me, his eyes forlorn, his mind conveying everything he refused to verbalize.
I've got this… I promise.
At his words, I realized that this role was never mine to claim. Ending Paul was not my duty, nor was it an intelligent use of my resources. Bella should have been my only concern in this moment, but instead of reacting to her need for me, I chose to remain in the position of avenger – though this was never mine to hold.
When I released my hand from around his neck, Paul gasped and choked against his own attempts to catch his breath. He sputtered and panted, oxygen deprivation leaving him desperate and frightened. The life that we'd torn from him had burgeoned inside of him once again as he contemplated his potential end.
"Fucking… leech," he gasped out between frenzied his moments of hyperventilation.
"I'd recommend you keep your mouth shut if you want this to happen the way it's meant to," the words sounded wrong coming from Carlisle, but I'd come to expect the unexpected in the recent weeks.
"You think I care how this goes down?" Paul panted, his body heaving with its efforts to right itself.
"You should," Jacob quipped, his unusually silent presence coming to life from his corner of the room. He stepped into Paul's view, his palms curling into fists as he spoke.
"If it were up to me," he started, speaking slowly, punctuating each word with his fist smacking against his palm, "I'd end you slowly. I'd drag it out. I'd let you suffer a thousand times over. A thousand times worse than what you did to her."
Paul laughed, a clipped and strained sound replacing his usual gravelly voice.
"You don't scare me," he taunted, sitting more upright, his chains rattling against the steel arms of his chair, "I know how to get to you, too, Jake. I know how to rattle you, and I know how to rattle him," he nodded in my direction before continuing, "I know where all your weaknesses are. And I promise you that long after I'm gone, you'll still be trying to cleanse yourselves of the image of me fucking her."
When Jacob lunged at Paul I was prepared and primed for reaction. I flew in Jacob's direction, interceding before he could land his fists where he'd meant to. My hands slapped down onto his shoulders, holding him in place as he struggled against me.
"Not like this," I growled, "he has what's coming to him, but not like this."
Jacob struggled against me, his body rumbling with the change that was threatening to claim him.
"Jacob!" Sam barked, the alpha command evident in his voice.
"Why are we protecting him? Why do we care about treating him humanely? He doesn't deserve it!" Jacob's tortured voice pierced through the room and the heads of every member of the pack bowed in acknowledgment. They all agreed but understood the reasons where Jacob struggled to.
"This isn't our job – our job was to protect her, and we couldn't… we didn't. But this isn't how we do this. This makes us no better than he is. He has what's coming to him, but we will retain our humanity despite all of this. We have to."
"That's cute," Paul laughed, "but you know he's wrong, Jake. You know you want to crush me for what I did to her. I know it kills you, that I got a piece of her before you did. You wanted it all along – you dreamt about it. You dreamt about fucking her and I got a piece of her before you could… before either of you could. Maybe you're both a bit sour because she was mine before she was yours…"
I released my hold on Jacob and turned to face Paul.
"In a matter of minutes, you'll be nothing. And despite what you did, she'll continue to live. And while you rot into the earth, she'll be alive and well, building a life, healing, living."
Paul opened his mouth to speak but Sam had reached his threshold. He pulled the cloth back over his mouth and stood next to him, non-verbally taking responsibility for keeping him in line.
"Let's get a move on," he ordered in Carlisle's direction.
"Edward," Carlisle whispered, his head nodding in the direction of Bella who was now resting against Jasper's chest. I didn't hesitate to return to her, to take my rightful position.
I felt peace when she was in my arms again, holding her, her slight weight a familiar beacon for me. I inhaled her scent, savouring the flames of thirst that scorched my throat, reaffirming over and over that she was still alive. She was still fighting and this was all the hope I needed.
I stood, holding her in my arms, knowing that her body had caved in because it'd had enough. Knowing that she was ok, here in my arms, in a state of forceful rest, but close to me. I watched, unable to tear my eyes away as Carlisle inserted the needle into Paul's vein, depressing the plunger as the thick opaque-white liquid ran into his veins.
And when the third syringe had been fully emptied into his vein, I sighed in relief, a small smile finding it's way onto my face.
The slow thrum of his heart, fading into nothingness, stuttering out its last final beats, was a rhythm I wouldn't soon forget.