This chapter is for SagePunkSom, the second person to review. I'm so happy, someone actually reviewed!!

You all know it doesn't belong to me.

Edward POV

I walked back into the house, at least five hours after I had left. I knew I didn't have to go back and that I would probably be in trouble when I did, but I needed to show them that they couldn't control me. They could lay down all the rules that they liked, but they really had no control over me at all. I knew they had tried to find me, but couldn't, which just showed the lack of control they had over me. I was in full control of my life... mostly. They could try to stop me from cutting, or suicide, or running away, but they couldn't. And there was no way in hell they were taking away my blades!

I ignored everyone trying to stop me and continued blankly up to my room, shoving my bin next to the door. They had already taken off my lock, and I knew that if they really wanted to get in the bin wouldn't stop them for long, but it was the best I could do on such short notice.

Since my little expedition the itching under my skin had eased slightly, but not that much. I was never going to go a week without cutting again – it was torture. I was sure that everyone had at least some idea of what I had done while I had been out, it's not like I had tried to hide it at all. I knew the blood from the new cuts in my collection would have soaked through my shirt in multiple places, but I didn't care. The itching, which had relented for a while, was now back in full force. Another side effect of not cutting for a week, I suppose, it would be a while and many good cuts before the itching fully went away, I knew. And after that it would go back to the normal few hours between itches, and therefore, between cutting sessions.

I quickly went around my room, checking all my hiding spots to see if any of my blades had been removed, or the pills taken, luckily though, none of them were. Since Carlisle was going to demand possession of my blades I moved four of them to the top draw of my bedside table. If I gave those to him and pretended that they were all the ones I had it may stop them from searching my room and reduce the risk of them finding more of them. Hopefully it would also get them to think I was going to co-operate with them, even though I wasn't, so they would supervise me less, and maybe take away some of my restrictions, and maybe give me my car back.

I knew I would only have a few minutes before Carlisle would come up and try to talk to me again, so I would have to be quick, but that didn't matter. I took the blade that was still in my pocket, pulled up my sleeve and savagely slashed at the skin there a few times, before the itching subsided again. I knew that because of my recent abstinence it wouldn't last long, but it was better than nothing.

As expected the second I hid the blade and sat down on my bed the doorknob turned and the door shifted forward slightly before coming into contact with the bin. The bin only held out for a second or two before Carlisle or whoever was at the door shoved harder and knocked the bin over, allowing the door to open.

It was Carlisle, but he didn't look angry, as I had expected him to. Well, that was a lie, he did look a bit angry, he also looked a bit disappointed, but the main emotion on his face was guilt? Why would he feel guilty?

"Why do you look guilty?" I really, really wanted to know. If he were blaming himself for me cutting or running away or attempting suicide then I would have to tell him that it wasn't his fault, because it wasn't and I didn't need him feeling all guilty and self-piteous because of it. If he were blaming himself for not noticing sooner, then he could blame away because that kinda was his fault. Not that he was distant or anything, I was just too good at hiding it.

"I feel guilty because I should have noticed earlier what you were doing to yourself, and stopped you, and because I pushed you too far earlier, in my study, and didn't think that it would have negative consequences." I was shocked at his honesty before I realised that he was probably just being so truthful to try to get me to trust him and so the same. I shrugged, neither of the reasons he had given weren't his fault, so I wasn't going to try to make him think otherwise.

He continued, "I know that at the moment I'm not going to get any results if I try to talk to you, so I'm not even going to try. However I am going to lock your window, and leave your door open, and if you change either of these things you will be severely punished. You are not to leave this room, unless it is to go to the bathroom, and even then you must tell one of us, until the morning when I will come and talk to you again." I watched as he went over to my window and locked it. "You will also hand over all the blades in ou possession now, or you can look forward to sleeping in my room tonight, and every night until you do, as well as being under constant supervision."

Without a word I reached in to the draw where I had placed the four blades I had removed from their hiding spots earlier. I grabbed them, not taking any care at all and cutting my hand in a few places before dropping them in Carlisle's waiting hand. I was sad to see them go, but at least I had made sure that they were some of my least favourite.

Carlisle glared openly at the fresh cuts on my hand, and at the blood that was seeping through my shirt before ordering me to get downstairs so he could bandage them up properly. I just remained sitting where I was, giving no outward indication that I had heard him. When he saw that I wasn't going to move he angrily grabbed my arm and dragged me downstairs.

When we got there I noticed that Bella's boyfriend, Jasper was over. Interesting. I was sure that she had told him everything about me, from my suicide attempt and cutting to my recent running away, I could see it in the way he looked at me; as if he felt sorry for me. I can't imagine why anyone would feel sorry for me, I mean, I did it to myself and I wanted to do it, so it's not as if I had given them any reason to feel sorry for me. The only thing I felt sorry about was that I had failed in my attempt, but I doubted anyone else would feel sorry about that.

Carlisle had expertly bandages today's cuts and sent me back upstairs, where I had promptly taken the bandages off them. Why bandage them? Any excess bleeding would just help speed up my death, same with any infection. So, bandaging them didn't make much sense to me.