Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight
A month had gone by, one very slow month. And in that month, my cutting progress had eventually gotten better. Slowly, but surely, I was getting better. I wasn't sure how to deal with the withdrawal symptoms, as Edward called it. I wasn't sure what he meant by that-I wasn't getting the jitters or anything like what I had previously seen with all of the drug deals around me as I had grown up.
He seemed pleased with himself, that he was helping me improve like this. I was merely frustrated with myself because, no matter how many times I admitted otherwise, I wanted to cut all the time. All the time, not just once a day or once every few days. It was five or six times a day. It was literally trying to kill me. And I didn't know how to handle it.
He didn't seem to notice how I was suffering, but I hid it well. I made sure I smiled at all the right moments and I laughed after the punch lines at dinner. It was hurting me to keep the truth from him and to lie to him so effectively. But it would hurt me more to tell him that I really couldn't handle not getting a form of release.
So I just kept it from him and settled for the lesser of the hurts.
After two months, I was beginning to get desperate. I had already relapsed a few times, and I was more ashamed afterwards when Edward told me that it was never a true 'rehab' as he called it, until you relapsed. Whatever that meant. But he wasn't mad at me. I was furious with myself, and for him to just take it so calmly disconcerted me. I was prepared for yelling and screaming, for the throwing of objects. And yet that didn't come. What did was a gentle bandaging and a nap. I didn't even sleep.
I just cried.
Three more months had gone by and I was getting a little better. I could tell that the urge was mostly gone some of the time. I wasn't craving a blade like I was before.
Edward was even letting me cut up vegetables and fruits now. He trusted me that much, at least.
I cried a lot these days.
It seemed to me that the less I cut, the more that I cried at night. And now I was even crying during the day. School was the worst. People made fun of me all the time and I wasn't sure what I could handle anymore. My self esteem was hanging in the balance and I knew that my life could be at stake.
I wasn't sure I wanted to live anymore.
Another three months had passed and I knew that my life wasn't at stake-unless you considered the living dead to be a threat to life. Then my life would be at stake. But I consider it to be an honor. Edward trusted me enough to survive and I trusted him to not kill me. So he told me that he would change me if I so chose.
I didn't.
I didn't want to spend lifetimes watching the world slowly come to an end and to watch society slowly crumble into a thousand little pieces before my very eyes. It wasn't something I wanted to witness because I had seen so much of it in my lifetime already. I was afraid of watching it for this lifetime, let alone another and another and another and another...
It wasn't exactly my cup of tea.
So I declined his offer. He seemed a little upset over it, and I felt bad but I knew that I couldn't deal with watching all of that pass by and not being able to escape it all.
So far as I could tell, he respected my choice to remain human. Although, exactly what he thought of me after that I guess I'll never know. He left a few days later and his family wouldn't say anything as to where he went or why. I think it's because they didn't even know themselves. But they took me in his place as a permanent resident there to continue to help me and to protect me if the need be.
I protested when that came up. They said that drug lords and cartels would be more likely to carry me away in a body bag if I were to go back to them. I knew the exact opposite, so we compromised a bit. They would follow me and stay a fair amount of distance away so if they were needed they could intervene if they wanted and I could continue doing the one thing that kept my senses just as sharp as I wanted them-if not more.
We continued like this for the next several years, until I was almost twenty-eight. At that point, I respectfully retired and stayed within the Cullens' property. I had no desire to see the outside world anymore.
When I was almost thirty-five, and the Cullens were out hunting, I was sitting outside reading a novel. I'm not sure who it was by, but all of the blood and gore kept my mind from wandering down paths I didn't want it to wander. Of course, I couldn't say the same for the vampires in the world.
I heard a stick crack and I looked up into the blood red eyes of someone I didn't recognize. The last thought I ever had was that irony sucked.