Fix You

Chapter Eleven

Bella's POV

I don't know what's come over me. Perhaps it's lust at its most powerful, but I just have to show Carlisle how much he means to me. I didn't even think; my sense of being rational just completely deserted me, and now I'm frantically grabbing his hair between my fingers.

I just missed him so damn much. It physically hurt having him away and, although it's selfish, I just need him.

The three days of his absence were some of the worst I'd ever experienced, no exaggeration.

On the first day, I was full of hope. I told myself that it'd be okay, that I could recover and regain a normal life. Carlisle was a rolemodel for me; he was being strong and resilient, so why couldn't I be the same? Perhaps I'd been through worse than him, but he was still an inspiration.

So, during that day, I made myself look like I'd recovered. I showered, spent time on my hair and make up, and found some nice clothes from my wardrobe. I cleaned up my flat and even considered venturing outside, but that seemed like a step too far. Besides, my wound was still a little sore and was certainly taking its time to recover. I always had to be careful with it and, on top of that, the prospect of rejoining the world outside seemed terrifying. Anything could happen.

I cleared out the empty bottles. It wasn't the answer.

By eight at night, though, I began to worry. It seemed like he wasn't going to turn up. It was a bit late...

The panic settled in my stomach, creating a light and sickening feeling. The sound of the clock ticking on the wall was louder than ever, and I started to wonder if he'd had an accident. Was he okay? Oh God, what if I lost him?

The urge to call him was overwhelming. But would that have sounded too needy? Maybe I should have just waited to see if he turned up willingly.

I decided on that, but continued to worry throughout the evening.

By eleven, I resolved that he wasn't coming.

He was probably busy with his wife. It was likely he'd forgotten about me, even though he'd promised to come over and had given me so much hope. He had other priorities, and though that was fair enough, it still felt like a kick in the stomach.

I curled up on the sofa, feeling oddly hollow.

A part of me told myself that I was being stupid. He didn't have to come over every single day; he had a life.

But another part of me argued that he should be there with me. He'd said he would.

The night was long and haunted me with images. It was nothing short of torture. The darkness seemed to suffocate me and I felt short of air, like I was trapped with no way of escape. I kept seeing the motionless man whose name I couldn't remember staring back at me once again, almost blaming me for his death. I could hear the gunshot and feel the almost undescribable agony as the bullet ripped through my skin. I could imagine the flames engulfing us all, turning our existence into dust.

I woke up the next morning on the floor. I was shaking and covered in a cold sweat, and somehow just couldn't make myself move upright. It terrified me, and I almost threw up the little contents of my stomach.

Eventually, I dragged myself up, almost swaying with the sudden dizziness.

I can't live like this.

I forced myself to stand and then checked if there were any notes of apology shoved under the door. There was nothing.

The disappointment was overwhelming.

I made my way into the kitchen and reached into the cupboard, thinking of nothing but making everything go away. It was too much to cope with and, although it was extreme, I just needed something to take off the edge.

A bottle of wine greeted me and the feeling it provided as the alcohol made its way through my bloodstream made me smile woozily. Everything was becoming a little more blurry, more distant, and my memories were merging into happier ones. Everything was better.

I spent my day in a mess. A mess where I could forget everything.

By the following day, I began to hate Carlisle. I woke up feeling absolutely awful, hurrying to throw up in the sink. Despite that, instead of reaching for some breakfast which would have been the healthy option, I reached for another bottle. I was trapped in a self-destructive circle which I somehow kidded myself into believing was helping me.

But then Carlisle turned up. Finally.

It was tempting to hit him, but I resisted, knowing he shouldn't be hurt. He tried to explain himself, saying the usual that he could help me, that I wasn't being safe and good to myself by drinking. I wanted to swear at him and lash out, but he somehow managed to get me calm on the sofa, with his arms around me. He tended to have that effect on me.

It felt wonderful, but so painful at the same time.

He managed to gain my trust once again. I'd forgiven him. It happened so quickly that it surprised me. It was dangerous how easy I was willing to put my faith in this man, even though he'd let me down.

But seeing him again now is overwhelming. He's being close and intimate, and I want to kiss him.

So I do.

And he's kissing me back.

There's no denying it. I'm not imagining things; his lips are pressing back onto mine, and I've never felt so alive. The rush of pleasure and excitement takes over, and I pull him as close as I can, relishing in his touch.

It's just bliss. Everything that I've wanted. Everything will be okay now. Carlisle wants me.

I can see our life in front of me; we'll be happy together, helping one another through anything that comes at us.

He'll leave Esme. He'll just want me and we'll be-

Everything is suddenly shattered when he suddenly pulls away. It's over already.

We're both breathing heavily in shock, but I find it strangely hard to look at him. I'm almost afraid at what I'll see, but I drag my eyes to his. I see regret, guilt, anger.

Just as quickly as the hope came, it disappears. The blackness creeps back, ready to greet me once again.

"Bella, I..." he stammers. "I don't quite... I don't know what happened."

"Isn't it obvious?" I reply without thinking.

"It can't happen. This can't happen."

"Why did you kiss me back, then?" I shout, feeling all the frustration returning full force. Why would he show so much enthusiasm if he thought it couldn't happen? "You can't mess me around, Carlisle!"

He runs a hand through his hair. "I know that. I just... I shouldn't have let that happen."

"You could have pushed me away," I continue, suddenly furious at him. "You could have let me down straight away, but no! You just had to get my hopes up and then stamp on them with your foot. Everything's revolving around you and that's the second time you've let me down! Why don't you just get it over with instead of stringing me along?"

"You said you needed me!" he counters, his own voice raising. "And I hardly had time to react, you were all over me."

I can't even look at him anymore. I stare at the floor, willing myself not to cry. That would be so pathetically weak.

But I'm fragile. This is probably enough to break me.

I can suddenly see that this is never going to work. I need him so desperately, but now I've gone and screwed everything up. He knows how I feel, how much I crave him, and now he can't stand the pressure. He never asked for this, after all. He's going to leave and make me survive on my own.

I don't know if I can, but it's inevitable.

"This isn't your fault, Bella," he says, clearly trying to redeem the situation. He wants to apologise and make me like him again before he leaves. Well that's not going to happen. Not this time.

I don't bother to reply.

"Maybe it's, um, best if I leave."

The words each feel like a punch in the stomach again, but I nod slowly. Don't show any emotion.

It's so hard not to crumble in front of him.

"I'll... uh, I'll keep in touch," he mutters, staring at me as he heads to the door.

He won't.

He hesitates and, without another word, he slowly opens the door and disappears down the stairs and out of my life. I hurry and lock the door behind him, biting down on my lip until I feel the metallic taste of blood in my mouth.

Determined not to cry, I reach for a bottle of wine. The moment it hits my tongue, I feel a bit more relaxed. I know it's only covering the problem, like putting a band aid over a gaping wound, but that doesn't matter right now.

What matters is the pleasant feeling of numbness gradually overtaking my body.

Before I know it, the whole bottle's gone. I stagger on the spot; everything seems to have multiplied, and I giggle. That's funny. I have two televisions. Huh.

I hear some noise coming from the flat next to me and frown, squeezing my eyes together to work out who it is. I think it's that lonely young man who I've never spoken to. I remember thinking about him when everything happened in the caf-

No, I'm not thinking about that. I shake my head furiously, making my stomach turn over. I hold down the alcohol, though, and head to the door. I'm going to pay the man a visit. Get to know him. He'll like that. Yes.

He's alone, like me. I wonder if anybody's let him down. Probably.

I hammer on the door, smiling to myself. What a good idea this is. Why didn't I think of it before? I can make a new friend.

It's a long time before he answers, but when he does I'm pleasantly surprised. He's cute. He has messy brown hair and bright green eyes that are focused on my face, looking thoroughly confused.

"Hello?" he says slowly in a deep voice. "Can I, uh, help you?"

"I'm your neighbour," I reply, managing not to slur.

"I know that." His eyes squint. "Wait, are you the one that was involved in... y'know?" He gestures with his hands wildly. "The whole thing?"

"Yeah," I nod, stumbling on my feet. Why won't he just invite me in? I don't want to talk about this.

"I'm sorry about that." I close my eyes and sigh. "Wait, are you drunk?"

I look up and see him staring at me. "Maybe," I shrug. "Got a problem with that?"

My eyes trail over into his flat and wow, it looks really nice. It's cluttered with books, CDs, DVDs, and I can hear the TV blazing again. "You're in a bit of a state," he murmurs.

"Mission accomplished, then," I stammer, trying several times to force out the words. Too many... what are they called? Syllables. That's it, too many syllables.

"It's dangerous leaving you on your own," he frowns. "Do you want to come in for a bit? I'll try to sober you up."

Even though I don't know him, I agree and step in. He's caring about me; he's concerned and wants to look after me. That's all that matters right now. I think. "I don't want to sober up," I protest when he shuts the door.

"Why not?" he asks, heading to what I assume is the kitchen. I hear a noise that's probably a kettle. The noise is annoying.

"Because I like being drunk."

I slump to the floor without warning and, after hearing the sound I make, he hurries out, crouching by my side. "Are you alright?" Stupid question. He clicks his fingers in front of me, but I just want to stay in my trance. It's nice. "What's your name?" he asks.

That brings back memories of him and the café, and I try not to cry in front of a stranger. "B-Bella," I mutter.

"Alright, Bella. I'm Edward. I'm going to lift you up onto the sofa now, okay? It's probably cold on the floor. I'll get you a blanket."

As he heads off in another direction, I'm suddenly struck by how stupid I've been. He seems kind and thoughtful, but what if he'd turned out another way? What if I'd unthinkingly stepped into the home of a crazed maniac like James?

I feel sick.

"Here you go," he says suddenly, and I jump. What's going on? I'm meant to be forgetting everything, but it's all creeping through slowly and relentlessly. I'm going to end up crying in front of him and-

"I can't begin to imagine what you're going through," I hear him say, but I can't manage a response. I've no idea if it's worth my time getting attached to him; will he let me down too?

"It looks like you're seriously affected by it all. If you need help, there's no need to suffer in silence. I could... I dunno, you could talk to me. It looks like you've been bottling it all up."

I look at him for a long time, wondering just why he cares. I ask him aloud.

"Why do I care?" he repeats, chewing on his lip. "Well, I guess... I've always wanted to talk to you, to actually have a friend here, but I've chickened out everytime. Now seems like the perfect opportunity." He pauses. "Although it's not all about me. I'd like to help you, clearly."

He seems perfect.

Why can't Carlisle be like this? Why can't he be unattached, actually wanting me too?

I've no idea if I'm being horribly selfish, but my mind is unbelievably messed up. I can barely string sentences together anymore.

"Thank you. I d-don't really deserve it, though," I manage eventually. "I've been an idiot."

"You can tell me about it if you like," he says. I glance over at him, and I truly believe that he means every word. Maybe I'm being stupid, or just too damn hopeful, but I honestly think I'm right.

With a sigh, I manage a tiny wry smile. "How long have you got?"

So Bella's steadily getting worse... I'd love to know what you think - is she being selfish or stupid? Is Carlisle being unfair reacting the way he did? What do you think of Edward? Please let me know if you have the time.