I own nothing Twilight.

Chapter 14 - Strong Enough

I'm not exactly sure how long I've been sitting here, on this bench, watching the snow fall around me. Long enough for my fingers to become numb from the cold. Long enough for my hair to become wet from the flakes. Long enough to know I should've gone back inside an hour ago. I can't bring myself to do it, though. I've never seen the city so quiet before, so still. I wonder if it always looks this way at 3 a.m.

I wonder if I sit here long enough, if the cold will freeze me and I'll become a statue or monument. With a name like, 'Girl in Repose.' Or 'Girl Who Selfishly Made Boy Drive Hundreds of Miles in the Middle of the Night.' I wonder if I'll harden before Edward even gets here and he'll find me on this bench, a shell of a girl that once was.

I don't hear him approach, the snow on the ground extinguishing the sound of his footsteps. I don't even realize he's here until he sits down next to me, wordlessly. Neither of us say a word, instead just look off at the water in the distance. It reminds me of that night on the dock at the Lake Mansion, the night of the accident.

"That was fast," I hear myself saying.

"That's what she said," he responds.

I'm so taken aback, I burst out laughing uncontrollably.

"Sorry," he smiles. "I couldn't help myself."

I wait until my laughter dies down before speaking.

"Thank you, I needed that," I answer, feeling my mood having lightened in the short time he's been here.

"How long have you been sitting out here?" he asks, turning to look at me for the first time, taking in my arm, my legs and the wheelchair.

"A while," I respond.

"Your lips are purple," he's raises his hand to my face, gently placing one finger on my lips.

I feel myself stop breathing, having not been expecting his touch. It instantly heats my lips, a warm sensation spreading over them. We stare at each other and I wonder if he feels it too.

"We should get you inside," he says, pulling his hand away suddenly.

He stands, and begins pushing my chair through the snow that has accumulated. At first I think he's taking me back inside the rehab center, but instead he pushes me towards the parking lot. When we reach his Volvo, he opens the passenger side door and before I have a chance to protest, lifts me into the seat. I buckle my seatbelt as he gets in behind the wheel.

"I saw a little diner as I was driving in, it's not too far from here," he explains, starting the car.

I rest my head against the window, the coolness of it feels good against my heated skin that hasn't stopped radiating from his touch.

"Why did you come here?" I ask the obvious question, the one that's been on my mind since I had gotten off the phone with him just a couple short hours earlier.

He doesn't respond right away and I begin to think that maybe he didn't hear me. The car is filled with nothing but silence.

"Because it was you."

I stare at him, but he doesn't take his eyes off the road.

I don't recognize the diner he eventually pulls into, a small intimate looking building. That's probably because when I did arrive here, I was so drugged up and out of it that I could barely remember my name let alone take in my surroundings.

Before I can even unbuckle myself, he's at my side with the chair, helping me out. He's gentle in a way that I've never experienced. Like he's scared to touch me, like I might break. I wonder if he looks at me and sees his mother, sees the same emptiness that is inside. I don't want to be anyone's charity case.

"I can wheel myself," I say, causing a sudden look of hurt to cross over his eyes. He quickly replaces it with indifference, but it was too late. I had already seen it and regretted putting it there.

"Yeah, of course," he replies, letting go of the chair and walking ahead of me to get the door.

The diner is small, but cozy. The only people here aside from us are a waitress and two men, who sit together at a booth near the jukebox. They all look up when we enter, their eyes going directly to my chair-a look which I have grown more than use to over these past months.

"I can't wait to get out of this thing," I say as we take our spot at a table in the back. "It's like wearing a bright neon sign that says, 'Look at me!'"

"How much longer do you have in it?" he pulls a chair out and sets it aside so I can roll myself to the table.

"Not sure, it depends on how my physical therapy goes. Learning how to walk is a lot harder the second time around, especially when your legs refuse to cooperate," I laugh, but he just looks at me sadly.

"I shouldn't have let you go home that night," he says, and before I can respond the waitress is at our table asking what we want to drink.

I order a coffee and he does the same, avoiding my eye contact the whole time. I keep repeating his words in my head, shocked that I hadn't thought of them in deeper context previously. Thought of the overwhelming guilt he must feel, the responsibility. I've been so consumed in my own misery that I didn't even begin to imagine how he must be reacting to this all.

"Edward," I place my hand over his on the table. "This isn't your fault. I chose to go, I chose to get in the truck, to drive down that road. You didn't do anything and I won't have you racking your mind with guilt because you think you did."

He doesn't anything, just shakes his head in disagreement. The waitress drops off our coffee and I wait until she's out of earshot before I continue.

"Did you know about Jacob? Did you know what he was doing to me?" this question had been on my mind as well, if he saw what was going on when no one else did.

"Not at first," he responds. "The first time I ever saw you was in the school parking lot. You were getting out of Jacob's car and I couldn't help but stare at you. You had this smile on your face, it lit up everything."

He pauses, smiling at the memory. I feel my face grow red, not ever having imagined anything resembling those words come out of his mouth.

"You weren't like any girl I'd ever seen. I was so use to seeing these Chicago girls, with their designer clothes and over-the-top attitudes. They're vicious and conniving and manipulative," he looks down at our hands, mine still atop his. "And then I saw you and there was something about you, so genuine, something in you I had never seen before in other girls. It was very unnerving to me, to be bombarded with these feelings. I resented you for a while."

I think back to our earlier interactions, the snide comments he had made. The way he seemed to be disgusted by my mere presence.

"When I saw you in the bathroom that first day, you were staring at yourself in the mirror, that bruise on your face. It was like I was seeing a completely different girl than the one I had seen just moments earlier. You looked tired and worn out and. . .I don't know how to describe it, something was just very off about the drastic change in character," he pulled his hand away from mine, running it through his hair nervously. "It was like you were the same person, but completely different. I kept trying to figure you out, but every time I thought I was close, it was like you changed into someone else.

"It was that day in the parking lot, when you were with all of your friends and Jacob came to pick you up. You were faking a smile, I could tell. And he had his hand on you, so tight your skin was turning white. No one else noticed it, but I could see his grip. I could see the way your eyes looked, betraying your smile. I recognized that look," he stops himself, and I imagine he's thinking of his mother. "There was so much fear there, so much dread, but what really got to me was the look of resignation. That you had accepted everything he was doing to you, like you deserved it."

I stare down at my coffee, stirring it idly. How funny that I could fool everyone, my mother, my father, my friends. That a relative stranger would be the only person to see right through it all.

"I wasn't sure, at first, if it was physical or just emotional and verbal abuse," he continues. "Then I started seeing the bruises. Alice said you were just really clumsy, but I knew. That night at the party, by my car, I saw the way he was with you. You were different with him, as though you were monitoring everything you said and did. I didn't have to know you to know that something was going on."

I bite my lip, trying to fight back the tears that are threatening to spill over. I had spent so long trying to pretend for everyone. For Jacob, for my parents, for my friends. Everyday became more exhausting than the next.

"When did the drugs start?" he asks next.

I look out the window, at the falling snow. It was coming down faster now, I could barely see the cars in the parking lot.

"I just wanted the hurt to stop," I begin. "Everything hurt all the time. The drugs just made life bearable. I could get out of bed, I could fake my way through the day. I was so numb, but it was better to feel nothing at all than go back to the pain."

I can feel his eyes on me, waiting for me to continue.

"You don't know the things that Jacob has been through," I still can't bring myself to look at him. "Everything that he did to me, his father did to him."

"Bella," he sighs. "You don't see it, do you?"

I shake my head, confusion clear on my face, refusing to meet his gaze, "Don't see what?"

"You're incredible."

I look up at him, so completely surprised I can feel my mouth hanging open. He doesn't even know me, not really. He just sees this girl, so broken, in front of him.

"Edward, you don't know me," I reply to him. "I'm not incredible, I'm not anything. I'm selfish and uncaring and I push people away. Look at Alice. She deserved a better friend than me, fortunately I realized that before it got any farther. The last thing she needs in a small, gossipy town like Forks is to befriend the screwed-up, druggie daughter of the police chief. I'm toxic, I brought out the worst in Jacob and I'll do the same thing to you. Watch, wait. You will see."

I push my chair away from the table, signaling to him that I'm ready to leave. To be done with this conversation and let him go, to be free of any guilt that is tying him to me. He quickly steps in front of my path.

"Alice has spent her entire life buying the friendship of other people, people who took advantage of her generosity. She has never had a true friend, only ones that hung around long enough to get what they wanted from her and then leave," he puts his hand down on the handle of my chair. "You never once asked her for anything, never hinted at wanting some stupid pair of shoes or outfit. You were just her friend, plain and simple. You hung out with her, made her laugh, you have never asked her for anything."

I smile sadly at him, realizing he has mistaken my motives for doing everything.

"I never asked for anything because I never wanted to draw attention to myself. I was so busy trying to make myself as invisible as possible, blend in with the air," I explain. "Alice was safe, because she didn't know me before Jacob. She didn't know how I had changed, who I had been before. You are making me into someone I'm not, Edward."

I needed him to see that I am not this good person he's making me into. I'm manipulative in the worst way; because I'm so good at it that no one would ever realize what I was doing.

"Just stop," he says. "Stop. God, what has he done to you?"

I look at his arms, placed on both sides of my chair, holding me in place.

"This isn't you, I know this isn't you," his eyes are pleading with me.

"You don't know me, you're just trying to rescue me. I'm not worth it. When are you going to realize I'm not worth it?" I'm suddenly aware that our conversation has the drawn attention to the other three people in the diner.

I manage to release my chair from his grip, throwing down a five dollar bill on the table and making my way out of the diner. He is close behind, hurrying to open the door for me. I admit defeat about three seconds into my journey to the car. The snow is so thick, there's so way I can push the chair on my own, my injured arm having grown sore from the effort. He wordlessly comes up behind and takes over, helping me to the Volvo.

"Why did you call me?" he asks, one we're on the road again.

Why had I called him? I don't know. Don't know why my hand had reached for the phone, why my fingers had dialed his number, all without conscious thought. So I say the first words that come to my head:

"You make me feel safe."

He laughs, bitterly.

"You call me in the middle of the night, I drive all the way over here and then you act like this?" he asks, anger lacing his voice.

Good. I am finally getting through to him. He is finally seeing the Real Bella.

"I didn't ask you to come here," I remind him, wondering how our interaction had started out so sweet and ended up here.

I feel traitorous tears on my face, and I turn so he won't see them. I don't know what is going on with me; one minute I'm mad and pushing him away, the next I'm crying and feeling so ashamed that I could be so cruel to someone who was being nothing but nice to me. My head is so full of conflicting emotions, of Jacob's face and Edward's face. The boy who wants to hurt me and the boy who wants to save me. God, I am so fucked up.

"I'm sorry," I finally say. "I just don't understand why you are being so nice to me. Why you have gone out of your way to do things for me, to help me. It doesn't make any sense, you barely know me. I'm just your sister's ex-friend."

He waits a beat before replying.

"I know you, you're Isabella Swan. You listen to Death Cab and get excited about live music. You go out of your way to help the new girl in school, even when you know what it will cost you. You smell like strawberries all of the time. You stare at me in Biology and think I don't notice. You love your crappy red truck, for some inexplicable reason.

"You spent months and months of your life getting hit and kicked because you thought that doing so was helping someone else, helping him with his fucked up daddy issues. You watch It's A Wonderful Life every Christmas Eve with your parents. You've spent your entire life trying to please everyone around you with little regard to your own happiness."

I stare at him in disbelief, shocked that he is saying all of this. Shocked that he pays enough attention to me to see all of these things. I realize suddenly that it is I who knows nothing about him, nothing substantial anyway. Aside from my recent discovery about his parents, I know absolutely nothing about the kind of person he really is. What his likes and dislikes are. What he wants to be when he grows up. I also realize how little I know about Alice, always having used the excuse of not wanting to pry. It was all just a ploy to keep myself from getting close to anyone, from letting anyone see what was happening to me.

"You remind me of my mother," he says suddenly, before I have a chance to respond to his previous comments.

I'm not sure how to proceed from here, not sure if he knows that I know. Or if he's just making conversation, telling me why he feels compelled to help me as he has.

"Alice and I have no secrets from each other," he answers my question. "She told me as soon as she dropped the letter into the mailbox. She's never been good at keeping secrets."

All of this information is flooding in, and I don't know how to react to it.

"Is that why you're here?" I ask, suddenly understanding everything. It all clicking in my head.

"What are you talking about?" he hasn't made the obvious connection yet, about why he is so drawn to me.

"Because I remind you of her, because you can save me where you couldn't save her," it's a harsh statement, but one that needs to be stated.

I see his jaw clench as he grips the steering wheel, making his way through the streets of Seattle. It's past 4 a.m. now and the roads are beginning to see the first of the morning commuters.

"At first, yes. I saw someone who reminded me so much of my mother, I saw in your eyes what I had grown up seeing in hers. Every time I looked at you, it was like looking at my mother. Coming into my room after a fight with my father, her face battered, hugging me and telling me everything would be okay," he continues keeping his eyes on the road. "My mother had me to live for, though. She got up everyday for me. After the concert in Seattle, I noticed a change in your eyes. They became vacant, like there was no one inhibiting your body anymore. You had nothing to live for, nothing to continue fighting on for."

I swallow audibly, understanding how true his words were. Having accepted my inevitable death, I had just been waiting for the day it would happen. Nothing else mattered because I wouldn't be around long enough to become too invested. It's why I had let Alice go when I did. That was the true point at which I had given up.

We pull up to a redlight, the snow has let up and the visibility is much better. I can see the rehab center down the street. The sign blaringly reading 'Seattle's House of Hope & Wellness.' I feel like a prisoner, walking to her execution. Or in my case, I guess, rolling to her execution.

"I want to go back with you," I find myself saying. "To testify."

He doesn't answer, instead taking my hand into his and giving it a reassuring squeeze. He doesn't release it, but instead begins gently rubbing the pad of his thumb in small circles on my skin.

"Do you think the nightmares will ever stop?"

Again, he doesn't answer, instead just squeezing my hand tighter. I want to ask if he still has nightmares of that night, of his father killing his mother. If no amount of time will ever erase those moments in his mind.

"Lie to me, I promise I'll believe."

"Yes," he replies softly.

A/N: Let me know what you all think.

Also, anyone interested in making a banner for the story? I suck anything relating to computers and art. PM and let me know if you are.