The Twilight Twenty-Five

thetwilight25[dot]com

Prompt: 15

Pen Name: capitalab

Pairing/Main Character(s): Edward/Bella

Rating: M

Photo prompts can be viewed here:

thetwilight25[dot]com/round-5/prompts

I wish I could eat up your sadness.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

Oh, Edward...

The paramedics just left. You were still unresponsive. The big, burly one said I came home just in the nick of time— a few more minutes and it would have been too late. He still doesn't know if they can save you. It all depends on how many you took. Your note didn't give us much to go off of, and Alice didn't find the empty pill bottle in our bathroom trash can until after they'd already taken you away.

They wouldn't let me ride in the ambulance.

We're not family. I'm only your fiancée. They don't know about the little one I'm carrying. Neither do you. I only found out this afternoon. It explains so much; the cravings, the mood swings, and why I can't stop throwing up. I'm so sorry. I never thought... we were always so careful. I took my birth control religiously. How was I supposed to know antibiotics would knock it out of whack? I'm only twenty-two years old. I'm not a fucking doctor.

Now I know why I've been so neurotic these past couple of weeks. You were right. It is me. You weren't being too overprotective and I shouldn't have gotten all defensive when you asked me to skip my biology lecture this morning. I was wrong when I told you I could take care of myself. I didn't know.

I'm so sorry I left.

It was just a stupid fight. I said things I didn't mean. You have to know that, right? After I stormed out, I drove straight to your sister's apartment. She talked me down, helped figure things out. I swear, Alice must be psychic or something. She acted as if my... condition was the most obvious thing in the world. I didn't even want to take the test, but she insisted. I knew I had to tell you before you did something stupid.

I'm pregnant and now it's too late.

Oh Edward... How could you?

This is all my fault. Maybe if I hadn't been so clumsy, we wouldn't have so many goddamn pain killers lurking around the house.

And maybe if I hadn't gotten strep throat, my birth control would have worked. And if I hadn't gotten pregnant, I wouldn't be having these stupid fucking mood swings. We'd be okay and you'd... you'd... you'd...

"Bella, come on, we have to go!"

I used your phone to text message Alice. There's no way I can make it to the hospital on my own. I'm too emotional. Seeing you, barely breathing, pale and blue, I knew something wasn't right. And when you didn't wake up immediately, I saw the note you left on our coffee table. It took six minutes for 911 to show up. For six minutes, I stared at your almost lifeless body, praying you'd take another breath. There were times when I wasn't so sure it would happen.

You could be dead right now, and I wouldn't even know.

Alice called your parents. She knew to warn your dad. He's working the ER this afternoon, but you already knew that. Carlisle is probably with you now, helping you fight for your life. The life you don't even want, apparently. The one with me and the baby. The life I'll now have to endure alone, because you'll be dead. And even if you aren't, I'm not sure I'll ever be able to forgive you for what you've done.

I can't help but get angry.

"It was just a stupid fucking fight," I say, reaching for your hand. You remain motionless. Your skin is still so cold and clammy. The doctors say you're stable for now. It's been an hour since they finished pumping your stomach, but you still haven't come around. Carlisle thinks it could be a while— the Percocet stayed in your system too long. Too many pills absorbed into your blood stream, and it's hard to determine what the damage will be when you do finally wake up.

"Please wake up," I beg.

Your mom and dad wanted to give me a few minutes alone with you. They know everything now; I had to tell them about the fight. I called my dad, too. He isn't happy about the baby, obviously, but he knows better than to lecture me about it now. I have much bigger things to worry about. Like, will my child's father have permanent brain damage? We still haven't gotten the results from your MRI back. Carlisle mentioned something about the possibility of organ failure, too. You might still get your wish, Edward. You might die without knowing you're going to be a father.

I squeeze your hand a little tighter. "Edward, I'm pregnant."

There. Now you know. You don't respond. I don't know why I expected you to. It's not like you can hear me, anyway. You're off in another world, sleeping too deep, and I'm here, listening to the sounds of your monitors. I'm half-way convinced your heartbeat rose, but I think I'm probably going crazy. I'm mentally exhausted and I haven't had anything to eat all day. Even still, I can't even fathom leaving this chair.

I need to leave you. I can't live like this.

"Why did you do this, Edward? Why? What am I supposed to do?"

Still nothing. It feels like we're arguing. I talk, you listen.

I keep talking. "I kind of hate you right now."

I don't mean that.

I backtrack. "I love should be the happiest moment of our lives, Edward. We should be out looking for a bigger apartment and dreaming up ridiculously stupid baby names. You shouldn't be here."

I remember this morning, and the way I said I didn't need you.

"I didn't mean it. I'm sorry."

It was just a stupid fight.

"Please fight," I whisper. "I can't do this alone."

A few minutes later, your mother and sister join me. We're breaking the ICU's two-visitor limit, but no one says anything. Everyone knows how important family is to Doctor Cullen. They don't dare question him.

Alice and Esme do their best to make me feel better. I wonder how much of it is an act. They must blame me for what I've caused. Why wouldn't they? We make idle conversation about the baby, trying to focus on the positive. Your mother asks if I've considered moving the wedding up. I don't have the heart to tell her I might be cancelling it all together.

We wait.

For hours, we're mesmerized by the rise and fall of your chest. You don't seem so pale now. Your hands feel warmer, too. The doctors come and go. Every few minutes, your dad stops by. Mine calls fifty times. I can tell by the reluctance in his voice, he wants to talk to me about my options. Charlie's just not sure how to approach the subject. I avoid it at all costs.

It's late, and I'm alone the first time you stir. I haven't left your side since I arrived. The food Alice brought has mostly gone to waste because honestly, the idea of eating makes me feel sick to my stomach. I feel far worse than I did this morning when you begged me to stay home.

I've puked three times since we got here.

You're only conscious for a few seconds, and the nurse just so happens to be in the room. I barely have enough time to ask if you feel better.

"Phentally, not mysically," you tell me.

The nurse laughs. I suppose it answers my question well enough. She tells me you'll be in and out for a while. You drift off again, and so do I. The chair is uncomfortable, and it's hard to sleep with so much on my mind. I wake up as the nurses continually make their rounds, and your dad comes back around nine thirty with something new for me to eat. I spend forty-five minutes convincing him I'm okay to spend the night with you, and he doesn't leave until I've finished an entire slice of pizza.

"It's okay if you have to leave him," he tells me on his way out.

I'm not sure if he means for the night or for good.

The debate within me rages, and my father's words from earlier repeat in my head. It's okay to come home, kiddo.

Eventually, I lose the will to fight. I'm exhausted. The chair becomes intolerable, and I miss our bed. I stand up and turn off the lights. Hesitating by the door frame, I know I can go. No one will blame me. I have options.

I'm in tears again as I sink into the mattress. Subconsciously, your body shifts to accommodate mine. It's the most you've moved in hours. The bed isn't much better than the chair, but I already feel better by your side. The thought makes me feel guilty, but I try to push it to the back of my head. I should be absolutely repulsed by you right now. You are the cause of my problems— of all of my problems. Comfort shouldn't be so easily found in your arms. I'm supposed to be leaving you, like how you wanted to leave me.

You drift awake long enough to kiss my forehead. Then, you mention something about vampires and fall back into a lull.

My own dreams are almost as far fetched. We're walking through a forest. You pause. I listen as you tell me you're leaving. I don't understand, and the explanation you give is cryptic and vague. I try to ask questions, but get no answers. Even after you're long gone, I'm still trying to argue. Suddenly, it's night and I'm lost. After what feels like ages of wandering, I finally lie down and surrender myself to the darkness. You never gave me a say-so, and I never got the opportunity to tell you about the baby.

After a few more hours of nightmares, I give up. The clock says it's a little past 6:00 am, and I desperately have to pee.

You're awake when I crawl back into bed.

"I thought you left me," you whisper.

"How many times have you woken up?"

You don't know, but I can gather that this isn't the only time you've opened your eyes.

"I'm here. I just had to pee, that's all."

"Oh."

"I can go," I offer. I realize, you might not want me here. Your grip on my waist barely tightens and I notice you're as weak physically as you are emotionally. We're quiet for a few moments. When you finally speak again, your voice is quiet and raspy.

"Bella, I have to ask you something, but I don't want you to think I'm crazy."

I don't say it, but I think that ship already sailed.

"You're pregnant, aren't you?"

I nod. A yes is barely able to escape my lips. I don't smile.

"I thought I might've dreamed that."

We're silent again as I let the news sink in. For a few seconds, I wonder if you've gone back to sleep. You seem better now, and I know I should tell a nurse. I decide to wait a little longer, prolonging the moment. It's been over thirteen hours since the overdose, and for the moment, it almost seems as if it never even happened.

"I got laid off today," you tell me. "It's still today, right?"

"I think you mean yesterday."

"You broke up with me."

"I didn't—" I don't finish, because I'm still not sure I can take you back.

"They said they didn't want to do it. They hate to see me go, but the—" you pause, struggling to find the word. When your mind draws a blank, and you start a new sentence instead. "They don't have enough business to keep me busy."

I'm furious again. I know I shouldn't pull away from you, but I do it anyway. To think, I almost lost you over pride. "You have enough money in savings to support us for the next fifteen years, but you decided to kill yourself because you lost your stupid fucking job?"

"On the same day my fiancee threw her engagement ring in my face and told me she could take care of herself."

Clearly, you aren't having any problems with short term memory. You look down at my ring finger and notice it isn't bare. I'm so angry, I wish I'd never put the ring back on.

The nurse comes in and comments on how much higher your blood pressure seems now. She asks how you're feeling, and through gritted teeth, you tell her you're fine. She gives me a curious look but doesn't press the matter. The doctor will be in soon, and so will breakfast. She leaves as my stomach growls. I'm starving.

"When were you going to tell me?"

"I wasn't so sure I'd get a chance."

"I changed my mind. I don't want to die."

I remember what the doctor said about the lingering possibility of liver failure. "I hope you don't."

A few seconds later, you warn me you're about to be sick. I have barely enough time to grab the plastic receptacle from your tray. My stomach is already weak, and when you puke, I make a run for the bathroom. You'd think I'd be used to throwing up by now, but it hasn't gotten any easier. I hate knowing you're doing it too, because I know it means your body is still in distress. I take a few seconds to rinse my mouth and wash my face before getting one of the nurses. She washes out the bin and gives you a cup of water and one of those mouthwash swabs to freshen up. You're quiet until she leaves us alone again. I wonder if your eyes are watering because you were sick or if you're upset.

I kiss your forehead. "I still love you."

Your lips pucker and I kiss you again, hoping the puny sponge was enough to kill all of the germs.

"Thanks," you say against my lips. "I love you, too."

I lie back down, and you fall out of consciousness again.

The next time I'm woken up, the room is illuminated by the dim glow of an overcast Washington day. You're puking again, all over yourself and barely missing me. I hit the call button, knowing at the very least, you'll need a change of clothes. I can tell you're disgusted with yourself. This isn't like you at all. It's still hard to believe we're here— that you would do something so stupid. We've poured our hearts out to each other over the year and a half. I thought I knew everything about you, but I was wrong. I never dreamed you'd be capable of trying to take your own life.

Carlisle and Esme stop by around ten. They weep when they notice you're awake. I know you're uncomfortable by the way you try to shift the attention off yourself. Your hand, the one with the IV, slips under my sweatshirt and caresses my bare stomach.

"I'm going to be a dad," you proudly announce. It's the happiest I've seen you all day, and the first time we've mentioned my condition since early this morning.

"We know, Edward. We're so happy for you two," Esme gushes. Even though her excitement for the baby is obvious, Edward seems upset she already knows.

Carlisle and another doctor tell us you're recovering better than expected, but they still want to monitor you for at least two more days. They're still worried about heart attacks and liver failure. You seem cooperative, but when they start talking about mental health facilities, everything about your attitude shifts.

"Why can't I just go home?"

"It doesn't work like that, honey," Esme explains. "We want you to get the help you need."

"I don't need help. I'm not stupid enough to try something like that again." He looks to me for help. "Bella?"

"She's right. Look, Edward. I hate putting it like this, but if we're going to be together, you're going to have to do this."

"No."

"There are places in the area, son. You won't be far, and it'll only be for a week or two. We'll be able to visit everyday, and when it's over with, you and Bella will be able to move on."

"Carlisle is right."

You look at me like I'm some sort of a traitor. I ask everyone to give us a few minutes alone. I have things to say, and I don't want to humiliate us by allowing everyone else to hear. They comply, and as soon as we're alone, you beg me to let you come home.

I grab your hand for support. Honestly, I have no idea if I'll be able to finish my next sentence. "I need some time to figure out what I want."

"You... what? Are you breaking up with me?"

I nod. My voice is shaky. "I love you. You're the father of my child, and no matter what happens, I'll always want you to be a part of my life. But for now, I need some time to focus on what's best for the baby, and I'm praying you'll do the same."

"Please don't do this."

"This isn't the end, Edward. Or, at least, it doesn't have to be. I'll still wear my ring. I'll visit you every day, and when you're finished with treatment, we can take things from there. I won't give up on you as long as you don't give up on yourself."

I kiss you, my lips lingering for far longer than necessary. Desperately, I'm hoping this isn't our last kiss. With great reluctance, you agree to check into a mental health facility in Tacoma.

"Thanks," you say, pulling the brand new checkered Vans from the sack. When we checked you in yesterday, the orderly threw a shit fit about your shoe laces. Apparently, they're dangerous. People try to suffocate themselves with shoe laces. I think it's ridiculous, but then I remember where you are and why you're here.

We're sitting by ourselves in the far corner of the recreation room. Visiting hours are from five to six everyday, and it takes almost an hour for me to get here. You look better than you did yesterday, but you're still working to get your strength back. You don't look sick anymore— just sad. I grab your hand.

"How'd you sleep?" I ask.

"I didn't."

"Why?"

"Too uncomfortable. I fucking hate this place."

"It's just thirteen more days," I remind you.

"Did you sleep at the apartment last night?"

"No," I say sadly. I don't want to lie, but I was hoping you wouldn't ask. Honestly, I think I'd be happy if I never stepped foot in it again.

"Alice's?"

I shake my head. I'm prepared for the worst. You're going to be furious. "Jake's."

You repeat his name as if he's some sort of diseased animal and pull your hand away from mine. You hate my best friend. I know that. He's had a crush on me since before we met, but I've never been interested in him like that. Our only date, back in high school, ended in a total disaster. "I stayed at Jake's because I needed to get away from the situation."

"Where'd you sleep?"

"He took the couch."

"I'll bet he's happy you broke up with me."

"Edward," I admonish. It's time to change the subject. "My first appointment is tomorrow morning."

"Great. Maybe you can take Jake."

I know you're hurt, and maybe in some sick part of my subconscious, I did decide to spend the night at his house to piss you off. I probably won't stay with him again, though. The night didn't end well. He doesn't think I should take you back. Jake offered to take me to get an abortion, and we ended up giving each other the cold shoulder for most of the night.

"Nothing happened," I tell you.

"It's not like we're together anyway," you remind me for what seems like the fiftieth time.

I try to change the subject again. "So, what have you been doing?"

"Reading. Thinking. Group therapy. Ceramics."

I laugh. "Ceramics?"

"It's supposed to be relaxing."

"Is it?"

"I guess so. Will you stay at our apartment tonight?"

"Probably not," I answer honestly. "I told Alice I'd be over around eight."

This seems to make you feel better. You reach for my hand again. "How are you feeling?"

"Today hasn't been so bad. Your mom gave me some advice on how to combat the morning sickness. My emotions are still all over the place, but I guess that's to be expected."

You tell me you're sorry again, and for a while, we focus on the baby. It's kind of exciting to make plans, and everything feels normal until I realize where we are. After a few minutes, you pull me closer and try to kiss me. I move away.

"Edward," I warn. We've gotten too caught up in the moment.

"Sorry," you apologize begrudgingly. I feel guilty and kiss your cheek. Our hour is almost over and I have to leave.

"I love you," I say, promising I'll be back tomorrow. You tell me you love me and ask if I'll allow just one more kiss. I agree, as long as it's only on the cheek. While I'm retrieving my belongings from the front desk, I watch as one of the other patients takes my spot next to you and strikes up a conversation.

My phone has four missed calls and six text messages from Jake. He's begging for forgiveness, but I'm so sick of hearing "I'm sorry." I wish I'd never gone to him with my problems. Venting to Jake was definitely a mistake, but there's not much I can do about it now. I should have known he'd try to turn me against you. I'm disgusted at myself, and even more repulsed by the thought of the strawberry blonde I saw talking to my boyfriend.

Then I remember you're not my boyfriend.

I'm upset again by the time I get to Alice's. The scenarios in my head are endless. I never even asked about your roommate. Was it that woman? Should I be the one worried about being left for good? Alice tries to convince me, no mental health facility would house two mentally unstable patients of the opposite sex in the same room. She tells me how much you love me and how you'd never even fathom hurting me like that— especially not now. I don't believe her.

Alice comes with me to my appointment, and it goes wonderfully. I'm actually ten weeks pregnant and due right before my birthday. The doctor soothed my fears about taking birth control, and assured me the baby should be fine now that I've stopped. I can't wait to tell you. It all seems real now, and my first ultrasound is in a couple of weeks.

I'm ecstatic as I head in to visit you, but everything changes when I see you laughing with the crazy blond girl. I know she likes you. I wonder what she's in for— it would be so easy to bond over being thrown into such a shit hole. An unwanted scenario flashes before my eyes of us in the future. I'm dropping my daughter off at your house, but she answers the door instead.

"Hey," you say, pulling me back from the horror. She makes no move to leave your side, but you stand up and pull me into your arms. "Are you okay? Is the baby okay?"

Blond chick gives me the stink eye. You pull away, probably assuming I'll be mad if you don't.

"Baby's great," I tell you. "I'm due September tenth. My first ultrasound is in a couple of weeks."

Your eyes light up. "Can I go?"

"Of course."

You lead us over to a more private area, away from the blond girl. Our hands remain intertwined, but I can't hold in my jealousy.

"Who is she?" I ask, nodding my head in the direction of your new friend.

"Her name is Tanya. She checked in a few days before me."

"Wonderful."

"Bella," you scold. "Don't be like that."

"So, what's she in for?"

You're uncomfortable now. "She has problems with addiction."

"Even better," I say.

"She told me the cops found her in an alley. She was... doing things... for drugs."

"Well, she certainly seems to be honing in on you, doesn't she?"

"I don't belong here," you say. I couldn't agree more. "But I have to admit, I kind of like seeing you jealous."

I scoff. "Stop being an asshole."

"So, how's Jacob?" you say smugly.

"I don't know. I haven't said much to him since he offered to help me with the abortion."

"You're fucking kidding me, right? You're not considering—"

I don't let you finish. "No, I'm not. He said you were trying to scare me into staying with you with the whole suicide thing. Jake thinks I should get away from you while I still can."

"That's bullshit."

"I know."

Because people who use suicide as a way to get attention usually talk about it first. They don't take a fistful of pills without telling anyone. You didn't want me to find you until it was too late. You never expected to wake up.

"I just wish I could go back and change that stupid fucking day."

I agree, but I'm sick of talking about it. I just want to be happy, if it's even possible anymore. "So, we're definitely going to need a bigger apartment before September, don't you think?"

"Definitely," he smiles widely. "Maybe even a house."

I sigh. "And I guess I'll have to get rid of my truck."

"Well, it's about fucking time, sweetheart."

We smile at each other, and for the first time since Monday, I see the light at the end of the tunnel.

The next twelve days are very much the same. Mostly, we're positive, but we have our moments. Much to your relief and mine, Tanya checks herself out after your fifth day. You were getting tired of her constant harassment, and I was getting tired of the stink eye. She begs for your number, but you don't give it out. Coke addicts just aren't your type, you tell me. You prefer English majors with sore nipples— not that you've seen or felt my nipples lately anyway. I complain about them everyday, though, and you just stare at me like a lost puppy dog.

We're still on a break, but it's getting easier. On the night before you're released, I surprise you with a real kiss.

While you're out-processing, the psychologist sets you up with a few out-patient sessions. He also writes you a prescription for Lexapro, which you've been taking since you arrived. I know you're not super excited about continuing the medication, but the next words out of my mouth help push the negativity out of your mind.

"Can you give us a good recommendation for pre-martial counselling?"

We hold hands as I drive home— back to the apartment I dread so much. I've managed to mostly avoid it for the past two weeks, but it doesn't seem so bad when you're with me. We'll be moving soon enough, I decide. I cut off the engine to the truck, and neither of us make a move to exit.

"Can I take you out tonight?" you ask.

I nod and smile. You sigh in relief, and I can't believe the thought of asking me out actually made you nervous. "Great. Um, I'll pick you up from Alice's at six?"

"Oh," I say sadly. I didn't realize you didn't want to spend the day with me.

"Relax, baby. I just have a few things to take care of first, and it kind of ruins the element of surprise if you're with me, you know?"

I nod. You lean over and kiss me before getting out of the car, and I try not to focus on the fact that I've just left my possibly suicidal boyfriend alone in our apartment. Again. At least I flushed all of the pain pills when I stopped by to get clothes last week.

On the way to your sister's, Jake calls to see if you're out of the loony bin yet. I tell him to fuck off.

Alice acts weird all afternoon. She makes a big production of our date, demanding we shop for a new outfit and giving me a pregnancy friendly make-over. I feel like a human Barbie Doll by the time six o'clock rolls around, but Alice insists Mattel would never market a knocked up Barbie.

"It's not like we weren't getting married anyway," I remind her just as you come to the door.

You've gotten a hair cut since this morning, and from the looks of it, a new shirt too. I wonder if it's some sort of weird Cullen thing to buy new clothes for dates. Your sister steals you away from me for a hug. It's obvious how much she's missed you. I ask if maybe she and Jasper would like to join us this evening, but she politely turns my offer down. You ask if I'm ready to leave.

In the Volvo, I ask what you've done all day. You've been busy, you say. We eat dinner first because I'm absolutely starving, and afterwards you tell me there's a surprise. My stomach is in knots as you drive back towards our apartment, but you turn into a newer complex a few streets down. We walk hand in hand to the door of Apartment 106B. I conclude, it must be their display unit.

"So hear me out," you say, putting a key into the door. I wait for you to continue, but you lead me inside without another word.

I take in my surroundings. The apartment has wood floors, and a spacious living room opens into the kitchen area. The counter tops are granite, and the appliances look brand new. Everything in the apartment does, actually. The furniture even has the tags attached, and I wonder if the complex cheats by returning demo furniture before the ninety day mark.

"I want a fresh start."

"Me too," I agree. "I like it. Where are the bedrooms?"

We walk down the hallway. The first bedroom appears to be a master. The bed has rose petals draped across the gold comforter, and fake candles light up the nightstand.

"Fire hazard," you explain.

I laugh. "They really take their demo units seriously around here, don't they?"

We pause in the door frame of the second bedroom. The room is empty, with the exception of a pastel yellow rocking chair. A stuffed frog rests in the chair. Suddenly, I'm not so sure of where we are.

"I didn't think you'd want to go back to the old apartment. It was going to be too small anyway."

"This is our apartment?"

You nod. "It's only temporary. When I get settled in at a new job, we'll buy a house."

"But where's all of our furniture?"

"I told you, I want a fresh start. I figured the only thing you'd really want to help decorate would be the baby's room."

I continue familiarizing myself with our new home— the bathrooms, closets and kitchen. This apartment must be at least three times the size of our last, and it looks like you've already covered most of the basics. We even have eggs. I smile, knowing you really were listening when I mentioned my cravings the other day.

You're standing in the living room with your hands in your pockets looking nervous, like you think I'm going to run for the front door at any second— as if I would rather be anywhere other than this perfect apartment, with my not-so-perfect soulmate. I drop my bag on the floor and crash into your arms at what feels like lightning speed.

I've missed your kisses over the past few weeks; the ones you give when you're not holding anything back. I can't help myself. I begin to work my hands down the buttons of your shirt, and you carry me towards our brand new bedroom. When our shirts come completely off, I revel in the feeling of warmth. You're not cold anymore; not dying. Quite the opposite— you feel very much alive. Our movements become more and more rushed. Two weeks has been too long without you, and we quickly slip between the brand new sheets.

You enter me, and I'm suddenly very aware of the intensity radiating around us. This is the first time we've been together since we found out about our little one. We have a lot to celebrate.

We also have a lot to make up for.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, but I'm so tired of hearing that. I don't want you to be sorry anymore. It was just a stupid fight. It wasn't worth ending anything over— not our relationship, definitely not your life.

Not when it's only just begun.

The next morning, we stare in awe at the image of our baby on the ultrasound screen. The technician tell us the heartbeat is strong, and I can't even begin to grasp the idea that we were able to create life. On the way home, you tell me you can't believe you almost destroyed your own.