I am thrilled with the response from the last chapter. In fact, for the first time, I had so many it was too overwhelming for me to answer everyone. So let me say now, how grateful and thankful I am for every single rev!I was a little nervous after reading them, though. I really hope you stick with me everyone. I'm surprised how many of you, (most of you), thought Bella had overreacted. I guess I did my job well, then... everyone loves the beast. We'll get to Bella's POV next chapter, but for right now, here's Beastward.

A huge thanks to HollettLA & TheOtherBella for their eagle eyes and most importantly, their incredible support; smooches, ladies.

This is the link to the painting mentioned: http:/i1176(dot)photobucket(dot)com/albums/x323/zhivago3/manonbalcony(dot)jpg

I don't own, I just play.

EPOV

There's a painting my mother sent me years ago. I never hung it up. I never truly understood it, or at least I didn't think I did. Every time I looked at it, it made me incredibly annoyed. I wanted to kick it, ruin it forever, but I never really knew why. I think the only reason I never ripped it up, was because it was the original and even I at my worst, I couldn't have destroyed it. When I walked out of the guest bedroom the morning after I got back from Santa Fe, I looked for it. I wanted to see it. It took some searching, but I finally found it in a hall closet, covered by a sheet.

Gustave Caillebotte's "The Man on the Balcony," was in my hands once again.I knew immediately why I needed it so badly, then. I was looking at myself and I finally understood. A man, standing on a balcony, looking out on a city that he hovers above but doesn't interact with. I recognized, too, why it had been so difficult for me to look at it before. I must have, subconsciously, seen the loneliness in the painting. But looking at it that morning, I saw something else so much more painful than loneliness... regret and loss.

I took the painting to my office, propped it on a chair, and stared at it for a very long time.

"You understand, don't you? You lost something precious, too, didn't you? It's you and me now, man. Two guys on a balcony."

I shook my head and laughed. Not out of joy, not out of irony, but out of insanity.

"I'm talking to a fucking painting. Shit."

I can still remember what it was like the first time my life was destroyed. I was angry. I was angry at the world, angry at my family, and angry at myself. I moved away from Boston because I had to. Because despite my gruesome new look, people still might have recognized me. The first time I set my foot into my huge, empty penthouse, I felt like I could breathe for the first time.

I had just finished my stint at a small private clinic in California. It was small enough for my family to buy out completely, yet prestigious enough to satisfy my father. Every single person in that clinic was paid-off for their silence. My parents had seen to that. After the accident I was in constant pain. There are few words to explain what it felt like to be that raw. When any little thing that touched you could send you into a fit of hysterics, where did you sit or sleep? How did you function? The answer is miserably. There was no such thing as comfort in my life for months. It took better part of a year before I was able to leave and start my life anew.

I went to New York because it's faceless. Because it's so easy to disappear in a place like New York. That I had still had some family left there was a helpful convenience. Alice came to the apartment a few days after I arrived. She had seen pictures that my parents sent her, but it was still difficult for her to look at me. She cringed. She tried not to, but I really couldn't blame her, I was hideous. I was also a fucking bastard. I was so angry and violent. I never would have physically hurt her, but I know I scared her a few times.

I was in that empty apartment with nothing but a bed, a couch, and a TV for all of two weeks before I knew I needed help. I had nightmares; the most horrific fucking nightmares of my life. I'd see rivers of blood and skin dripping off of my friends' bodies. They would scream at me and attack me with their charred hands and feet. I would wake up drenched and twisted in the sheets.

I remember the first time I heard them, too. I was in the kitchen getting a glass of water when I heard Mike's voice.

"Dude, when the fuck did Layla get so hot? Cullen, you tap that yet?"

In my shock, I actually turned around expecting to see Mike with his mop of blond hair and All-American blue eyes leering at me. Of course, I didn't see him. All I saw was the new kitchen table and chairs that Alice had ordered. When I woke up the next morning, I could have sworn I heard Eric from my bathroom.

"Edward, you going to that party later? Could be fun."

I was tempted to run to the bathroom, but I knew he wouldn't be there. It got worse, so much worse. Not only did the voices happen more often over the course of a week, but by Thursday, it was a constant replay of that night on the yacht. I could hear them, every fucking word we said, every goddamn laugh, too. Of course, I'd never know what really happened. I was totally fucked up that night, there was really no way of knowing if what I was hallucinating had actually transpired or not.

Alice caught me grabbing at my head one afternoon, yelling at no one. Make it stop! Make it stop! I yelled. The final straw, though, was when I held my sleeping pills in my hand contemplating exactly how easy it would be to swallow one too many. I didn't have my vanity anymore, I didn't have my friends anymore, I didn't have my home or my family anymore. One more pill sounded like a really good fucking idea.

I don't know how, but I put down the pills, picked up the phone, and called Alice. Ever reliable, every resourceful, Alice showed up twenty minutes later. She told me that help was on the way and four hours later, I was in a very nice car being driven to a facility outside of Philadelphia. She came with me and helped me check in. Then she left and I was shown my new room for the next four weeks.

That was worst moment of my life... or so I thought.

I had closed myself off for a reason. I calculated and planned every action and emotion. When I got back to New York, I was never more pleasant than I had to be. I was never more useful than necessary. I only said words nice enough to get the job done and nothing more. I never wanted to lose anything ever again. I had lost almost everything once and I knew I couldn't go through that again.

I always thought that if one more thing crashed and burned around me, I would die. If I didn't die, I would jump off something, or swallow something to end it. But I couldn't do that anymore; I couldn't because of Bella. Even if I never saw her again, even if she never spoke to me again, I had to stick around for her. I had to know she was always okay. I couldn't leave the world wondering if one day she'd knock on my door in tears and need me again.

It was pathetic, right? I was a slave to a woman who I would most likely never see again. It didn't fucking matter. Not at all. I'd find a way to keep tabs on her. I'd make sure that until the day I died, she was taken care of. I would make sure that she was always healthy, that she always had everything she ever wanted. And, if one day she met a man and started seeing him, even if it ripped my heart out to watch them, I would. If he so much as tickled her longer than she wanted, he'd be gone.

Seeing as how I wasn't living for myself anymore, I became a ghost. I was there, but not really. I conducted my business and made my deals. I worked out. I ate. I got dressed in the morning; I tried to sleep at night. Lather, rinse, repeat. I think I spoke all of two words to Alice or Lydia in any given day. I just simply lost my will to do anything or to be the person I was. Vanity and family was taken from me the first time around. Sunshine was taken from me the second time. So I lived like the very few life forms on this planet that doesn't need sunshine. I lived in shadows, in caves, under piles of dirt and decay... I was living the bare minimum, but then again, it was all I deserved.

###

Edward,

I'm sorry I haven't written earlier but I've had one hell of a time down here. I don't think I've ever been so furious with that man or more annoyed at Bella. I'll let you know that while Bella and Charlie are at our house, I've been living in the rental in the lap of luxury. That's right. I moved the hell out! The pair of them are as stubborn as mules and I couldn't take it anymore.

You made a mistake Edward, a real big one at that. I'm disappointed in you. Not only did you hurt Bella, but like it or not, you betrayed Charlie's and my trust, too. That's not something that can be easily fixed. That being said, I can't put myself in your shoes. I don't know what you've lived through and I will never be able to understand what life has been like for you. So I can forgive your secrets... but you really should have told Bella everything much sooner, kid.

Charlie had no right to abuse his authority and no right to steal your secrets. Bella, being just as stubborn as her damn father, won't see the situation for what it is, either. They have soft spots for each other, Edward. Bella can do no wrong in her father's eyes and Charlie will only every be her daddy, protecting her from the big bad world around her.

I know how sorry you are. I made Bella read your email. She needed to be reminded of what kind of a man you are. She pretended not to be moved, silly girl. I know her better than that, though. She was incredibly touched and I think she knew things got out of hand. Edward, she's strong, but she's not so strong that fear doesn't cripple her. You know she left for New York after her mother's death. Some might see that as brave, between you and me, I've never been so sure about that. I think she ran. I think she was terrified and ran. I also think you've made her brave. Never forget that. You gave her the confidence and grace to come back home. You made her want something different for her life. You made her open up her heart again.

You listen to me, Edward. Don't you dare let them fool you! Charlie is embarrassed and upset at himself for ruining what you two had and Bella is insecure and scared. And personally, I'm really friggin' tired of it!

My grandmother was Ponca, a strong native woman of the Dakotas. Her mother heard this straight from Chief White Eagle's mouth. I'm giving you the words so you can take them inside of you, too. Let them take root in your gut and then become part of your skin, Edward.

When you are in doubt, be still and wait.

When doubt no longer exists for you, then go forward with courage.

So long as mists envelop you, be still.

Be still until the sunlight pours through and dispels the mists...

as it surely will.

Then act with courage.

I'm not ready to say goodbye to you, kid. You stay courageous.

Love, Sue

###

Sue wanted me to have courage, to keep the faith. I had no glittering illusions that Bella would run back to me open armed. I understood what she was going through. I understood feeling betrayed by the people you loved. I'd lived through it first hand, after all. The anger and disappointment I felt was so visceral, I hadn't spoken to my family in almost ten years.

I was in too much pain after the fire to think straight. My days and nights were filled with drugs, skin grafts, and the struggle to make it through the day with some semblance of sanity. But when the fog finally cleared, when I could think of something other than the pain, the truth and reality of my situation sank in.

My parents decided my fate for me. They really left me no choice in the matter. It took years for me to understand why they did it and by then I was too much of a cold bastard to forgive them. Instead of revealing that I was alive, instead of letting me be the sole survivor of a tragedy, they hid me. They took me away and acted as if I was gone and dead. In a way, I was.

To hear it from them, they were afraid what my life would be like. They were afraid I would forever be blamed for the accident. They were afraid I would never be left alone. They didn't want their son to be plastered all over the papers and tabloids. What would people say? What names would they come up with? Quasimodo? The thing? Burn-ward? They wanted to ensure that I could live a quiet life. A life without ridicule and judgment. In my head, all I heard at the time was, "We're ashamed of you now, son. Our beautiful son with the world at his fingertips is no longer beautiful and no longer has options... let's hide him from the world. Let's cast him aside."

Their truth, I suspect, was probably someplace in between. Yes, they wanted me safe and far away from the ridicule, names, and possibly even harassment. Yes, they wanted some kind of peace for me. I think there was also a part of them that didn't want to see me everyday. Whether it was because it was too painful or simply too gruesome for them, they sent me away.

On top of the physical pain, on top of the guilt of the accident, on top of the self loathing and disgust in the way I felt and looked, I had to deal with the fact that, knowingly or not, my family didn't want me around anymore. It was no wonder I deteriorated the way I did. Sue wanted me to be courageous? Sue wanted me to hold on to hope? There were times I wasn't sure I should still be alive, that the Universe had made some grand mistake, but Sue wanted me to stay still in the mist and wait for the sun. For Bella, I thought. Bella was the only reason I continued to play out the charade that was life.

I read that email every day. There was always one line that stuck with me "let them take root in your gut and become part of your skin, Edward." Part of my skin... part of my skin...

Three weeks. I only knew it was three weeks because of Alice. Otherwise it could have been three months or three years for all I knew or cared. But three weeks after I had received Sue's email, I made a call.

"Garrett?"

"Edward, how goes it?"

"Slowly."

"I see. What can I do for you?"

"Do you still have the sketch you did for Bella's tattoo?"

"I keep a file on all my clients."

"That's good, that's really good to hear. How small could you make it?"

"It was a full back piece, but if I cut some of the detail... maybe eight to ten inches without it looking stupid."

"Could you add some words on the bottom, too?"

"I can do anything, you know that."

"Can I come tonight?"

"I always make time for you."

"See you at ten, then."

"Later."

I once told Bella that I needed some small part of myself to be with her always. I bought her that tattoo thinking that if I never saw her again, at least I would always know she wore something on her skin that I had a hand in. Her pain was my pain. When she hurt, I hurt. I didn't know if I'd ever see her again, but I needed something of hers always... just in case. I couldn't think of anything I wanted more than a part of her on my skin forever.

When I got home early the following morning, sometime before the sun even rose after a marathon session in Garrett's chair, I felt. That's it... I felt. I felt something for the first time in three weeks that wasn't regret or disappointment in myself. I couldn't tell immediately what I felt because I didn't really know. I knew what hate, anger, regret, pride, vanity, loss, and love felt like. When it occurred to me what I was feeling, all I could do was chastise myself. I spent so much time making sure that I would never lose something again, that when I did, I didn't even know what I was feeling.

I missed.

I missed Bella. I missed parts of myself that I had lost. I missed laughing and smiling. I missed looking forward to waking up and falling asleep. I missed my new friends, whose calls I was ignoring in my hazy mist-filled stupor. And most surprisingly, I missed my family. I truly did. I missed my father's advice and I missed my mother's love. For the first time in years, my fingers dialed a number that I found amazing I remembered. When a soft, sleepy, slightly sad, feminine voice answered, I choked up.

"Hello?"

I couldn't say anything. A million memories flooded back when I heard her voice. Band-Aids on scraped knees, hugs for good grades, being punished for ruining her new Persian rug in the bedroom, pride at my high school graduation.

"Hello? Is anyone there...?

"Mom?"

She gasped.

"Edward? Darling, is that really you?" She was suddenly very much awake.

"Yes, Mom."

"What's wrong, darling?" I could hear the concern in her voice.

"Nothing."

"Don't lie to me, please. Tell me what's wrong," she pleaded, softly.

"I lost her, Mom." And to my ever lasting surprise, I cried. I didn't cry when I was in pain at the various hospitals. I didn't cry when I was in Pennsylvania. I didn't cry when I realized my parents might not want me in their life. But fucking hell, I cried when I told my mother that I had lost Bella. "I lost her and I don't know how to live without her, anymore."

"I'll be there in five hours, Edward."

I had fallen asleep and was woken up by an insistent ringing. I stood up from my desk and groaned as I stretched. I checked the desk clock, it was ten A.M. When I realized it was my door bell ringing, I walked to the front hall, curious as to who it could be. Everyone had a key... even Bella. I knew it wouldn't be her, though.

I had slept so little in the past week that sleeping so well, even if only for a few hours, had left me completely muddled. I had forgotten my phone conversation entirely until my hands were on the door, unlocking it. Behind that bit of wood was my mother. A woman I hadn't seen or spoken to in almost nine years. What would she say? How would we behave after all this time?

I put my hand on the knob, turned, then pulled. There she was. Still elegant, still beautiful after all those years. Besides a bright streak of white hair framing the right hand side of her face, her caramel locks lay in soft layers on her shoulders. Her ever-present pearl earrings were in her ears, her wool and fur coat wrapped tightly around her. Her eyes were watering as she took me in. I was frozen; I was way past my comfort zone. I didn't know what to do. But when she wrapped her arms around me and sniffled into my chest, my arms remembered and I hugged her back.

When we pulled apart, I led her into the hall and took her coat. After hanging it in the front hall closet, I turned to see her smiling.

"Edward, you look so different."

"I know."

"You're not the young man I remember. You're... you're huge!"

And despite the pain and loss in my heart, despite my insecurity of the situation and what was to come, I couldn't help but laugh. It felt so fucking good to laugh.

"It's good to see you too, Mom."

She threaded her arm into mine as if it were completely natural and it hadn't been years of isolation and silence between us. I marveled at her ease, was shocked by it, actually. But I softened into her touch and let her hold on to me.

"Now," she said, determined, "make your Mother a cup of tea and tell me everything, Edward. We'll work it out, darling."

I didn't know if we could work it out, but there was a small shaft of sunlight coming though the mist and my feet acted accordingly for the first time in weeks.

A/N

So, Esme showed up, huh? Some more secrets revealed, huh?

Just think what little gems will be revealed next chappie...

Reviews are like ever-present pearl earrings.