Fix You

Chapter Ten

Carlisle's POV

Guilt has become frighteningly familiar to me, just like an old friend. Actually that's not a particularly accurate comparison, because what I'm feeling leaves me wringing my hands in frustration and praying for things to get easier.

And even doing that still makes me feel as though I'm betraying somebody along the way.

I pull up to my house in the car, sitting still after I cut off the engine. The sudden silence somehow manages to taunt me. I'm being a coward avoiding my problems, but I know I can't stay here all day. I have to go in and see Esme.

I need to act as though I've been at a boring meeting instead of seeing Bella once again.

It's hard living a lie. Soon, everything is going to catch up with me and everything will change.

After reassuring myself that I can do it, I step through the door, expecting accusations to come firing at me from my wife. I've used the lie about work meetings several times now and I'm beginning to wonder if she suspects something. I definitely would. Even though Bella's out of hospital now, it could still be on her mind, right at the back, whispering to her constantly.

Bella's certainly on mine.

I've tried my hardest to give her up. I had actually plucked up the courage to tell her that I had to leave, to move on, but at the last possible moment, I crumbled. I've gone against everything I believe in and I've become a liar.

I just can't stop seeing her. I'm drawn to her, and I'm starting to realise why, even though I furiously deny it.

I even gave her my number, for Christ's sake. That was a dangerous move and, as I sit down on the sofa, exhausted from the day's events, I shake my head. It was a stupid idea which seemed good at the time, but now it could-

"Carlisle, you're home!"

My wife heads in and wraps her arms around my shoulders possessively. Ever since I announced I'd no longer be seeing Bella, she's been more like this, as though she's trying to recapture my attention continuously. Normally I'd be happy with such a development - excited, even - but now it feels like an inconvenience. The last thing I want is Esme doing this and I plaster a smile on my face, hoping it looks convincing.

"Can I have a bit of space, please? I feel a little tired right now."

She steps away, nodding. There's hurt in her facial expression. More guilt for me. "How was it?"

I look at her in confusion for the briefest of moments, then catch myself. I can't afford to have lapses in concentration like that otherwise the secret would no longer be one. "Boring."

My brief response makes her face crumple with sympathy. Another pang of guilt. You're a terrible person. "Oh, darling," she murmurs, reaching out to lightly touch my hand.

I don't deserve her. It's times like these that remind me of how caring and loving she can be, and anybody would think I was stupid for risking our relationship.

Maybe, if I try hard enough, I can make it work again. I can somehow convince myself that we're okay, and that Bella is indeed just a friend.

I think for a moment, then edge closer to her. She responds, running her fingers gently through my hair. "I've missed this," she admits.

If I agree with her, I know deep down that it would be a lie. Despite this, I nod, knowing one more can't hurt. "Fancy an early night?" she adds, looking at me suggestively. It's been so long that I can barely take the hint, but once I do, I actually have to contemplate it. Making love should be a natural thing, something that I shouldn't think twice about, but now...

I just wish my mind would stop thinking. I wish I could stop wondering how Bella's coping, if she's suffering from anymore flashbacks, pondering what she's doing right this second. I wish I could start living normally again, being happy.

I wish I could stop questioning if I'm actually happy.

I wish James would burn in hell for all he's done.

I manage to scramble out of my thoughts and look at Esme. She's looking hopeful, and after all that I've put her through, I just can't say no. Knowing it's probably foolish, I smile. "An early night it is."

I stare out of the window the following day, watching the trees blowing in the heavy wind.

It's one of my very few days off work, so I don't really have any excuse to go anywhere. Esme has planned a meal for us in the evening, and during the day she's demanded that we visit her son, from a previous marriage, Emmett. We get along fine, so that's not what bothers me. I feel restricted, like I'm being forced into doing what she likes.

Is she really so paranoid that she's keeping a close guard on me?

If so, I couldn't really blame her.

I can't help wondering how Bella will be, though.

The following day, I decide to hold off again. Yesterday was difficult, keeping away like I did, but, coming home at the end of the day, I didn't feel as bad as I usually had. Sure, a small part of me was worried about Bella, but she hadn't phoned me, so I naturally assumed she was doing fine.

It was nice to feel like an honest person once again.

So I continue, trying to live a normal life like before. I head off out to work and will force myself to come straight back home afterwards. I won't be weak and give in.

It's been three days. Three days since I've visited Bella.

It's been tougher than I imagined as the time has gone by.

I'm trying to wean myself off, but I've been constantly worrying. Anything could have happened in seventy two hours; there might be a serious reason why she hadn't phoned. My heart pounds with anxiety and I press my foot down on the accelerator, nervous to get to her house quicker.

In retrospect, it was stupid to leave her. She's emotionally damaged, what was I thinking?

It's terrible, returning to her when I said I wouldn't. But I've made more of an effort with Esme, so I don't feel quite so guilty. It's still there though, reminding me.

I park my car and hurry up the stairs to her flat, nearly stumbling along the way. I'm gasping for breath when I ring the doorbell, and it's a very long time before Bella answers. Horrible images flicker through my mind as the minutes tick by. When she does appear, though, I exhale with relief.

Then, when I take in her face, my heart sinks.

She looks so ill.

Her skin is deathly pale and her eyes are red raw. I see that she's shaking, too, and has an unreadable expression displayed for me.

"Where have you been?" she murmurs. There's a hint of anger in her voice, and this is confirmed when she slams the door behind me. "I've been waiting for you."

I say the first thing that comes to mind. "I'm sorry. You could have phoned me, I gave you my number."

"I didn't want to sound needy." She paces around the room continuously. "I wanted to see if you would turn up without me having to ask." She pauses, taking a shaky breath. "I thought you'd forgotten about me." Her voice breaks and she stares at the floor.

I sigh, edging closer to her. She doesn't back away. "Bella, that's never going to happen. I thought you would be able to cope. Seeing as you hadn't called me, I assumed you were doing okay."

"How can I? Not on my own. It's so much easier when you're around." The words come out in a rush, almost tumbling after one another, and I stare at her. Does she really depend on me that much? Is she deliberately trying to make me feel guilty?

It's not a good thing.

"Maybe you're fooling yourself into believing that," I say.

Her eyes are brimming with tears. I suddenly feel ashamed for being so harsh. "I knew this would happen. I knew it." I watch how she crumbles in front of me, turning into a vulnerable wreck. It breaks my heart. "It should have been obvious that you'd eventually tire of me. Why did I let this happen? Why did I let myself hope?"

She hurries behind the kitchen counter, reaching for some wine. I begin to protest, warning her of the dangers of drinking while on medication, but she doesn't take any notice. She swigs it all straight from the bottle, swaying on the spot. Almost instantly, she drinks some more and, as I head over, I notice the large quantity of empty alcohol bottles in the trash.

"Bella, you need to be careful."

"Screw that."

"Really, you do," I insist, taking away the drink. "It's not helping. It's not the way."

"It does. It makes the images go away."

It's worse than I thought. Just how bad have these past few days been?

"Let's sit down," I say calmly, reaching for her hand. Instead of moving away like I expect her to, she does as I suggest. She sits and stares at the coffee table, breathing heavily as a way to soothe herself.

"How are you doing, Bella? Really, honestly tell me. How have you been these last couple of days?" I ask quietly, praying that she'll tell me she's okay, that maybe she was over-reacting earlier.

She stares over at me, looking a little lost once again, and it somehow feels right to touch her, so I do. I hold her carefully in my arms, afraid she might break, and her quivering body rests against mine without protest. Her head finds its place on my shoulder and I run my fingers through her hair, trying to be comforting. I can barely concentrate over how soft and long it feels, but I tilt my own head to rest against hers.

It's very intimate, and I can almost hear her heart beating. We don't move, and all around us is silent, apart from the distant sound of cars hurrying to their destination.

"I thought I was starting to cope, Carlisle, but... but I'm not. I'm not at all. It keeps coming back to me, I k-keep seeing that poor man staring at me. I keep feeling the b-bullet and I... I... it stops when you're here. Or... or when I've... when I'm drunk."

We pull apart and I take in her bare face, red and blotchy from the tears. She still looks effortlessly beautiful.

An urge to kiss her comes out of nowhere, and it takes all my self-restraint to stop myself from doing so. I've already crossed too many lines, told too many lines, and kissing her... that would be adulterous. I've worked so hard to stop this.

But it sounds so damn appealing and... it just feels right, even though it's so wrong.

Bella remains quiet after her confession and I reach for her hand again. "Don't worry. I'll help you through it."

"Will you, though? Can you promise? You haven't been here for three days, why should I trust you?" She stares at me and waits for my answer. I shouldn't really promise as there's no way I can keep it, but she seems so distressed that I just nod. I'll try my best to be there. I need to be around her, anyway. It's becoming blatantly obvious.

"You can, Bella. You can trust me. And of course I'll help you. I really will. I'm a doctor, that's my job. Let's forget what happened, yeah?"

Looking dangerously close to crying again, she closes her eyes and clasps her hands together. "Thank you," she whispers.

"It's okay. It'll be okay."

We sit quietly for a time I can't measure and I think furiously to myself. I really should refer her for some counselling; the growing reliance on alcohol is far from good, as well as her dependence on me. I can't be here with her all the time, it's just not possible. There's also bound to be something healthy out there that will help with the flashbacks other than-

"Carlisle, what are you thinking?"

Bella's question catches me offguard. I decide to answer honestly. "How to help you."

She pulls away, looking worried. "That sounds ominous. You won't send me away anywhere, will you? You can't make me go." Her voice rises close to hysteria and I reach for her hand again.

"No, Bella. If you don't want to go anywhere then I won't force you. I just want to help you as best as I can."

She stares at me. "I'm not used to anybody caring for me like that."

"Really?"

She nods. "It's... it's heartwarming."

I open my mouth to say my reply, but in a movement that would be missed in the blink of an eye, Bella suddenly leans over and forcefully places her lips on mine.