Authors Note:

Wow ~ you came back! ;-)

I knew the last chapter would turn some people off to the story, so I did expect some negative responses. But what I didn't expect was the overwhelming emotions in the positive reviews. I'm really blown away that readers would be so invested in my characters/story to have some of the responses that have been posted. Thank you so much. I'm quickly learning what a wonderful community the FanFic family is.

Yesterday was Thanksgiving here in the US ~ I just want to say how thankful I am for my amazing Beta's Jennrosee and blahblahblah. This story wouldn't be half as good without them!

Disclaimer:

S. Meyer owns Twilight. While I borrowed several obvious quotes from her books, no plagiarism is intended.

EPOV

Dumbass. Did u forget school started back today? ~ Jazz

Ditching. Can I crash at ur place for a few days? ~ E

Sure. Mom working double shifts this week. U OK? ~ Jazz

My fingers hover over the keypad as I deliberate how to respond.

No, I'm not OK.

I'm not anywhere close to being OK.

I'm in agony.

I'm completely and entirely destroyed.

I'm a wreck.

I'm a monster.

I rub my eyes roughly with the heel of my hand. Needless to say, I didn't sleep last night, and my worn out eyes are burning from being open for so long.

Figuring my slow response to his message probably tells him enough, I punch out a short reply.

See u after school ~ E

I set the phone next to me on the hood of my car, next to the lighter and the half-empty pack of cigarettes. The arctic air blows across the harbor, and I pull my knees in closer, careful not to scratch the paint as I try to keep warm.

Last night, after I… I got in my car and drove, mechanically, without thinking. I was desperate to put as much distance as possible between myself and the pain I inflicted. Without a thought to where I was going or how far I had gone, I kept driving until the signs along the highway announced the approaching Canadian border. Eventually, I couldn't go any further. I found a vacant parking lot overlooking Drayton Harbor, pulled in and killed the engine.

There was barely any moon last night, and the black waters of the harbor seemed to get darker and darker as the hours passed. When the sun begins to rise, I move from the front seat to the hood of the car, thinking some fresh air might help revive me before I start the two-hour trek back home.

Home. How can I go home? To our room? Our bed?

Reaching for the pack of cigarettes, I shake it until one emerges from the small hole ripped in the top and light it quickly before the wind kicks up again. After a long drag, I examine the burning stick between my fingers for a moment. I take one more pull before tossing it, the lighter, and the rest of the pack into the harbor.

I glance at my watch. If I leave now, everyone will be at school or work by the time I make it back to the house. I should have enough time to grab some clothes and get out again before anyone comes home.

Sure enough, the house is empty by the time I return. Exhausted, I head straight for… my room, trying not to think about the closed door at the top of the stairs as I pass. I crash, face first, onto the unmade bed, feeling completely depleted and numb. I have pulled plenty of all-nighters before, but the combination of the physical and emotional drain feels like some fucked up out-of-body experience. Maybe I'll wake up and discover it's all been a horrific nightmare.

The roar of the neighbor's lawnmower shocks me back into consciousness. I didn't even realize I fell asleep. In my disoriented state, I roll over and instinctively reach out for her, only to find her side of the bed empty and cold. It all comes crashing back.

I sit up, holding my head in my hands as I fight the overwhelming desolation and the fresh tears stinging my eyes. I rake my hands roughly over my face, quickly composing myself before I head to the shower.

I stand under the spray, my eyes closed, my head pressed against the cold tile, until the hot water runs out. I shut off the faucets, but make no move to exit the shower, until all the heat escapes from the room and my damp body begins to shiver. I grab the towel from the rack and dry off quickly, making sure to skillfully divert my eyes from anything of hers as I move about the room.

Blatantly ignoring the colossal mess covering the floor of my room, I throw on some clothes and pack a large duffle bag with enough stuff to last an entire week at Jazz's house before I head downstairs. I deposit my bag next to the front door on my way to the kitchen. As I rummage through the drawers, I search for a pen and scrap of paper to compose a note so Esme will know where I am. Abruptly, a loud knock reverberates through the entire house.

I roll my eyes and ignore it as I continue to hunt for the items I need. A few seconds later, the unwelcome visitor pounds against the door again, this time much harder than before. I groan and stomp to the door, ready to tell the fucking delivery guy to just leave the damn package or the evangelical missionary to sell his bullshit somewhere else.

I heave the door open, surprised to find Jacob on the other side. "Jacob? What are you doing here?"

"Where's Bella?" he asks.

I have to clear my throat before I can speak. "What do you mean? She's at school."

"No, she's not. She didn't show up today, and she's not answering her phone."

We stare at each other for a second before Jacob pushes passed me. I close the door behind him as he heads straight for the stairs, taking them two at a time. He reaches her door and knocks gently.

"Bells?"

He pauses to listen. After a few seconds, he glances at me, standing at the bottom of the stairs, and shrugs. He knocks again and cautiously pushes the door open.

"Bells? Hey, you OK?" He enters her room and closes the door behind him.

I slump down on the couch. She's been here this entire time.

I stare straight ahead, not really seeing anything as my mind wanders to what's happening upstairs. Undoubtedly, she's filling him in on everything that happened last night. I rake my hands through my hair and let out a ragged breath.

Two hours later, the door upstairs creeks, and I look up to see Jacob emerge. He closes the door behind him, gingerly, as if he doesn't want to make a sound, and I wonder if Bella is sleeping. I stand up and take a step toward the stairs as he descends.

"Jacob, is she - "

Jacob's fist connects with my temple and I stumble backwards, landing awkwardly across the couch. Instinctively, I cover my wounded face with my hand. I feel the blood coat my fingers as I press against the gash that has opened above my left eye.

Jacob leans over me, his arms supporting his weight against the armrest and the back of the couch. His posture pins me in place. I tense, waiting for the assault to continue, but it doesn't. He leans down to growl directly in my face, his whole body shaking with rage.

"If you ever go near her again, I'll do more than just mess up your pretty little face! Do you understand me you worthless piece of shit? I swear to God I want to beat the crap out of you so bad right now, but she made me promise not to." He shakes his head, disbelieving, and shoves his body upright again as he takes a step back.

I sit up, still cradling my injured head in my hand. "Is she alri-"

"No!" Jacob spits between clinched teeth. "You don't get to ask how she is! You don't get to talk about her! You don't get to talk to her. You don't exist, got it!"

I nod, ashamed, my eyes trained on the floor at my feet.

Jacob takes a deep breath. "I'm leaving. I'll be back later tonight. I highly suggest you disappear before I get back."

As soon as the front door slams behind him, I head to the kitchen to tend to my wound. I wad up a dish towel and press it against my head, trying to control the bleeding. Catching site of my reflection in the glass door of the microwave, I examine the dark crescent forming under my left eye which is now swollen shut. I sink down on a bar stool, propping my elbow on the counter to hold the bloodied rag in place.

A few minutes later, the front door opens again, and I twist my head slightly to see Carlisle enter, still dressed in his white lab coat from the hospital. Shit.This is the last thing I need. It's the middle of the afternoon and I'm supposed to be in school. But instead, I'm sitting at the kitchen counter, bloodied and bruised.

Carlisle closes the door behind him and turns toward me, visibly surprised to see someone else at home. It takes him two seconds to evaluate my appearance before he explodes.

"God damn it, Edward! What did you do now? Was it Mike Newton again? His family is not going to let it go this time. They are going to press charges. Do you know what this means for your probation? They're going to haul you off to –"

"I didn't get in a fight," I mumble.

"What?" Carlisle moves to stand next to me.

"I didn't get in a fight," I repeat.

Carlisle looks at me, unbelieving. Obviously my appearance isn't helping my argument. I take a deep breath. "I broke up with Bella," the words sting my throat, "and Jacob punched me for… making her cry."

"Did you - "

"I didn't lay a finger on him."

After a moment, Carlisle visibly calms down. He pulls out the stool next to me and sits. "Here, let me see. You might need stitches."

I remove the towel and allow Carlisle to examine my head. He pokes at the sensitive skin around my eye, causing me to wince several times. He takes the towel from my hand, drenches it under the faucet, and then cleans my wound to get a better look.

"I think it looks OK," he says after several minutes. "I don't think you need stitches. It's not so deep. Keep pressure on it until the bleeding stops and let's ice that eye until the swelling goes down."

He stands up and walks to the freezer, pulling out one of the ice packs Emmett typically uses for his frequent football injuries.

"Thanks," I say as I take it from him, my tone far from grateful.

"I have some bandages and antibiotic ointment in my bathroom. I'll just -"

"It's fine."

Carlisle sighs and returns to sit on the stool, turning sideways to face me. "Edward, I do realize you're supposed to be in school right now. I'm going to let it go for today, but let's not make a habit of this again."

I don't respond, keeping my eyes fixed on the countertop in front of me.

"Are you all right, son?"

Abruptly, I jump to my feet and walk toward the front door. I can feel Carlisle's eyes on me as I heft the large duffle bag onto my shoulder.

"Where are you going?" he asks, concern lacing his words.

I pause as I open the door, but I don't turn around. "I'm going to stay with Jazz for a few days."

"Edward, I don't think - "

My shoulders slump as I bow my head. "Please," I beg, my voice breaking as I speak. "I can't – I can't be here right now."

I'm not sure if it's the desolation in my voice or the significance of me asking his permission for the first time in years that sways him, but when Carlisle sighs softly behind me, I know he will let me go. "Just a few days," he consents.

I close the door behind me without looking back.

Ten minutes later, I'm sitting on the front porch of Jazz's house, my duffle bag at my feet and the ice pack, still wrapped in the same bloody kitchen towel, pressed against my forehead. Jazz's jeep pulls up behind my car and he hops out, tossing his book sack over one shoulder as he walks toward me. He plops down next to me and goes to work loosening his uniform tie and un-tucking his shirt. Without a word, he turns toward me and gently pulls the bloody towel away from my head, inspecting the cut. After a moment, he nudges my hand upward, signaling his examination is finished and I should return the compress.

"The bleeding stopped," he says as he rummages through the front pocket of his book sack. He pulls out his cigarettes and lighter, holding the open pack toward me. I just shake my head.

Jazz lights up then tosses the pack back into his bag. He takes a drag, then holds the cigarette in his outstretched hand, his arms resting on his knees, and studies it for a moment before speaking. "He kick you out?"

"No."

From the corner of my eye, I can see Jazz nod slightly. "You broke up with her."

It isn't a question, but my lack of response is all the confirmation he needs.

Jazz takes another drag. "She do that to your head?"

"No. That was Jacob."

He nods again. "I called my mom, told her you were coming to stay. She's cool with it. She's working double shifts anyways, trying to rack up enough vacation time for when my dad has shore leave over Christmas. She said you can stay as long as you need."

"Thanks."

Jazz reaches into his bag again and pulls out another cigarette, lighting it from the smoldering tip of his first, a clear signal that our conversation isn't over. He flicks the butt of his finished cigarette into the grass before resuming his posture from before.

"So what did her in?" he asks. "She couldn't handle all the sleeping around? Or was it the drugs? Alice had a harder time with the drugs, surprisingly. I thought my man-whoring days would be a deal breaker."

During our night of reckless drinking, I explained how my reputation could destroy Bella's career, so naturally Jazz assumes I told her the truth. I shake my head slowly, still holding the ice pack to my face. "No. I didn't get around to telling her about that."

I can feel Jazz's eyes on me now, and I didn't have to look at him to see the confusion on his face. "Then what the hell did you tell her?"

Lowering my hand from my face, I study the blood stained towel as I explain. "I told her some fucked up story that our whole relationship was just a charade to piss of Carlisle."

Jazz doesn't respond for a second, likely trying to process what I said. "Why the fuck would you do that!" he scolds, his tone incredulous.

"You have to understand, Bella is selfless to a fault." I smile as I think of her, but it quickly fades. "If I had told her the truth, she still would have put us first, regardless of what being with me would do to her future. So I had to convince her she didn't want to be with me. It was the best way I could think of."

"Yeah, but did you have to go and invent a story like that?" he asks, still skeptical.

"I didn't. The story I told her wasn't that far from the truth."

I look at Jazz then, his eyes wide from my confession. With a sigh, I recount the first two weeks of Bella's time in Seattle for him, explaining how I tried to win Carlisle's approval by being close to Bella. I smile as I remember the easy conversation we shared the night we had dinner with my parents. It feels like that night was a hundred years ago.

"All I did was twist the story around a bit."

"Dude, you did more than just twist the story. You made her believe your whole relationship was bullshit. That's fucking harsh."

Jazz notices as I cringe. "I'm sorry, man, but did you really have to go that far?"

"That wasn't the worst part," I confess, shame lacing my tone. "She didn't believe me. She knew I was lying - "

"Good," Jazz mumbles under his breath. I scowl at him. "Sorry."

"She said she knew I was lying," I continue, my words coming out faster now, "and I was already a wreck by that point, so when she confronted me…"

I grit my teeth as I recall the anger I felt when she contested me. Jumping to my feet, I toss the ice pack on top of my duffle bag as I begin to pace. "God, it made me so fucking mad that she wouldn't just accept that it was over and walk away. She just had to push me and push me until I snapped."

"What happened?"

"I was so mad I wasn't thinking straight. I blurted out the first thing that popped into my head. I told her I spent the week she was gone fucking someone else."

"Jesus!" he hisses.

"What the fuck is wrong with me!" I yell. "It's like I have multiple personalities or some bullshit. I'm a walking Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde." Habitually, I reach up to run my hands through my hair but receive a jolt of pain when my palm connects with the gash above my eye. "Fuck!"

I pace, infuriated, across the walkway for a moment before Jazz stands up, moving to block my path. He holds out an unlit cigarette to me.

"Nah, man, I quit," I grumble as I try to move around him.

"This is your last one. I won't offer again, I swear. You just need to calm down."

I stare at him for a moment, and he prods the cigarette toward me again. With a resigned sigh, I take it and allow him to light the tip. After two deep drags, I do feel more composed.

"Better?" Jazz asks.

I nod and raise the cigarette to my lips for another pull, but Jazz snatches it from my hand and snuffs it out under his shoe.

"Thanks," I mumble.

Jazz returns to his seat on the porch step and I follow.

"Look, man, I'm not gonna sugar coat it for ya; you royally fucked it up with Bella. But I get it. You were backed into a corner and you panicked. That doesn't mean there's something wrong with you." He leans forward and picks up the ice pack, handing it back to me.

"What did Alice say?" I ask. "I mean, when you told her about how we used to be."

Jazz sighs. "At first, she was pretty disappointed. I dunno, maybe disgusted is a better word. It was a rough couple of days."

"Days?" I blurt out, shocked.

"Yeah. She said she needed time to think about what I told her. I didn't see her for two days. It sucked. Then she just showed up here one night, asked me a few more questions, and made me swear that part of my life was over. I did, of course, and that was it." He shrugs.

"Huh," I respond, surprised at how easy he makes it all sound.

"But my situation with Alice is different than yours," he continues. "Yeah, she could have kicked my ass to the curb, and it would have sucked." Jazz shakes his head, and I could easily relate to the pain he was probably imaging. "Really sucked," he amends, glancing at me quickly. "But, I mean, if my being with Alice was going to hurt her then I guess… I would have done the same thing."

I nod and stare at the ground, grateful to have some small reassurance that I did the right thing.

"Of course, I wouldn't have overreacted and turned it into the cluster-fuck you did," he says teasingly.

"Asshole," I grumble.

"Sorry," he says softly.

After a moment, when I don't respond, Jazz nudges my shoulder, and I twist my head to look at him. "I'm really sorry, man. Sorry we did all that stupid shit."

"Yeah, me too."

"I know how much you love her. I'm sorry it had to come to this."

I have to look away as the lump returns to my throat. Jazz squeezes my shoulder a few times, then pushes off me to stand up. He picks up my duffle bag and throws the strap over his shoulder.

"Come on. Alice is bringing over dinner later, and you need to get cleaned up. Your face looks like a bad slasher movie." He holds out his hand and pulls me to my feet.

~o0o~

The few days I planned to spend with Jazz easily turns into a week. Then one week becomes two. I don't go home at all, and I barely communicate with my parents. Well, I communicate with Esme. The one message Carlisle sent still remains unanswered.

Please call. ~C

Even though we are only corresponding through texts, Esme's messages seem to be restrained, like she's cautious about what she really wants to say to me. No doubt she knows what happened, but I wonder whose account she heard, Carlisle's or Bella's. I decide it really doesn't matter; it's bad enough either way.

For the most part, Esme's messages repeatedly remind me not to overstay my welcome, but Jazz's mom assures me she doesn't mind. She's barely home anyway.

Nevertheless, I make a point to help out around the house where I can. The guest bedroom – my room – is spotless. I help with the dishes and the yard work, do my own laundry, and even repair a broken cabinet door in the kitchen. Jazz grumbles that I'm making him look bad, but I don't care. I just want to make sure I'm not a burden on another family. When Mrs. Whitlock mentions how she's been meaning to repaint the living room for months, I eagerly jump at the opportunity and drag a disgruntled Jazz to the hardware store.

Honestly, I'm grateful for the distraction. I'm grateful for anything that might take my mind off Bella. I think about her constantly, wondering what she's doing, imagining her watching TV with Emmett, or dancing in her studio at home. The nights are the hardest, of course, lying alone in a strange bed with nothing to do but remember how we used to spend our evenings together - talking, laughing, making love, falling asleep curled around each other – just… happy.

Of course, the unbearable memories also seep in. I can't get that last image of her out of my head: her forceful sobs, the way she wrapped her arms around her body so tightly, as if she was holding herself together, the overwhelming pain in her eyes. I relive that night a thousand times, and each time the knife in my chest twists a bit more.

"You told me you loved me."

By the end of the third week of my self-imposed banishment, I'm so desperate for her that I drive past her school with the hope I might catch a glimpse of her. It's a bad idea, and I pay for it dearly. The rest of the day I'm assaulted by the memory of her birthday, how I surprised her at school, and our afternoon visit to the sculpture park. On the way to seventh period English Lit, just as my cruel mind begins reliving the moment Bella crawled into my lap, eagerly thanking me for her birthday present, Emmett grips my arm and pulls me against the wall of lockers.

"You need to come home," he says harshly.

I roll my eyes. "Tell Mom I will in a few days. I'm helping Jazz paint his - "

"No. You have to come today," his voice is almost frantic. "Like, now. I'm ditching last period. Come on."

He reaches for my arm again, but I yank it out of his grasp. "No. I can't go home. I'm…" My words trail off as I take in his alarmed expression. "Emmett, what's going on? What happened?"

"I can't explain it all right now. I don't even have all the details yet. But we gotta go now, before the second bell."

"I'm not going anywhere with you until you tell me what's going -"

"Bella passed out. Jake's got her now, and he's taking her home."

The breath is instantly knocked from my lungs as if he had punched me in the chest. Surely, I misunderstood him. I shake my head and tried to compose myself enough to speak. "I'm – I'm sure Carlisle can - "

"No, he tried. He said he's been trying to work with her for weeks, but she won't listen to him."

"Weeks?"

"Look, we gotta go. Come on."

This time, when Emmett reaches for my arm, I allow him to pull me to the door. He doesn't release me until we're standing next to my car. Emmett whirls around to face me, and something in my expression causes him to flinch. "Look, I didn't mean to freak you out. I'm sure she's OK. Can you drive?"

All I can do is nod.

"Come on. I'll meet you at the house."

Emmett turns and jogs over to his car, and I watch him slip inside. The fifteen minute drive from the school to the house is the longest of my life. I can feel my heart pounding in my ears, and my knuckles turn white against the steering wheel. When I finally pull into the driveway, I honestly can't remember how I got here.

Emmett beats me home and is already walking up the porch steps as I pull up. I rush after him, catching the front door before it has a chance to close as I charge my way inside. Jacob is slowly descending the stairs toward where Emmett is waiting at the bottom. His head snaps up as I enter, and a livid expression covers his face when he sees me. He darts quickly down the remaining stairs, blocking my path to the second floor.

"Is she all right?" Emmett asks.

"What's he doing here?" Jacob seethes, his eyes never leaving mine.

"I thought he could - "

"Is she all right!" I hiss, cutting my brother off.

Jacob scowls at me then turns to address Emmett. "She's asleep," he says calmly before looking at me again. "So keep your voice down," he growls.

"What happened?" Emmett asks.

"Did you get a hold of your dad?" Jacob asks, once again avoiding the important question. I'm about to lose my shit if he doesn't start talking.

"He's in surgery. I left a message with his nurse. She said Victoria already called and she delivered that message to him in the O.R., so he must be aware of what's going on."

"What about your mom?"

"She's in New York."

My eyes snap to Emmett, but he keeps his focus on Jacob. "She left this morning," he explains. "She's got meetings with her publishers all week. I left her a message. I'm sure she'll call when she lands."

Emmett glances at me; I'm sure the surprise is evident in my expression. "A lot has happened since you left. They've been fighting," he admits softly.

"Fighting?" I repeat. "Who? Carlisle and Esme?" I'd never heard Carlisle and Esme argue in my life.

"Yeah, I mean, not like yelling at each other or anything. But they've been having a lot of… heated discussions, I guess. I'm pretty sure it's about you."

I shake my head to refocus. My parents' issues with me are not important right now. "What happened with Bella?" I growl, turning my attention to Jacob again.

He glares at me for a second and then looks at Emmett, childishly refusing to speak to me. "She collapsed in studio class. When she came to, I helped her to Victoria's office, but they made me wait outside. I did overhear some of their conversation. From the way they talked, it sounded like it wasn't the first time Victoria has confronted Bella about this either."

Clearly, Jacob is attempting to keep me in the dark, and I've had enough. "Fuck this," I grumble and turn toward the stairs determined to get the information he's withholding directly from the source.

This time Emmett steps forward to block my path. "Wait," he pleads.

I pause to stare at him. He glances cautiously to Jacob, then back at me. "I'll tell you what we know, or what we think we know, but it isn't a whole lot."

Emmett turns and walks slowly to the couch, slumping down into the deep cushions with a huff. Jacob doesn't move from his protective position near the stairs, watching me suspiciously, like he's ready to pounce should I make another move toward Bella's room.

"We should probably let her sleep anyway," Emmett says.

Slowly, I resign and sit in the armchair next to the couch.

"Bella was obviously upset after you broke up," he begins.

My eyes snap to Emmett's and I stare at him for a moment. "You knew?"

He rolls his eyes. "Of course I knew. But I could tell you two were trying to hide it from mom and dad, so I played along. Don't know what you did to fuck it up, but when I saw how upset she was… let's just say if Jake hadn't decked you, I would have."

I steal a cautious glance at Jacob.

"And for the record," Emmett continues, anger beginning to seep into his voice, "you obviously don't deserve her. I don't care what you did, but if you ever - "

"Emmett, please," I interrupt, holding up my hands to stop him. "You are free and clear to kick my worthless ass later, but please, tell me what happened."

Emmett takes a deep breath, composing himself before speaking. "Bella's been keeping to herself since you left. At first, we all left her alone, to give her space or whatever. That's when mom and dad were really getting into it. I think mom was pissed that you left, and she wanted you to come home, but I think dad told her to leave you alone."

I shake my head. "I don't care about that. I want to know about Bella."

"That's what I'm saying, mom and dad were so focused on whatever they were arguing about they didn't really notice it. I didn't either," he admits sheepishly. "Jake did though."

We both look to Jacob then. Reluctantly, he continues the story. "She was tired, lethargic, and I thought she was just depressed. Then on Monday, when we were paired up in studio class, I went to lift her up."

Jacob holds his hands up, demonstrating the movement as he describes it. "I put my hands around her waist, and ran them up her torso to lift her from under her arms, and I swear I could feel ever one of her ribs, even through that stupid sweatshirt." He drops his hands into his lap.

"And she was so light; lighter than I remembered from the last time we did that lift. I thought I had imagined it a first," he rambles, staring at his fingers, "but I started watching her closer after that. It only took me a few days to figure out what was going on." Jacob sighs, the sound regretful. "It was so obvious once I opened my eyes. I mean, any idiot can look at her and tell. It should never have gotten this far."

I look from Jacob to Emmett and back again, waiting for one of them to fill in the gaps my mind was unable to process.

Jacob takes in my confused expression. "I suspected she wasn't eating enough," he clarifies. "Like seriously not enough. I told Emmett, and we went to talk to your dad yesterday."

"We told dad what we thought was going on," Emmett adds, "but he already knew. He won't tell us anything though 'cus of that whole doctor-patient secrecy thing, but he kinda let it slip that he's been working with her for weeks, like even before you left."

"Yeah, but obviously whatever he's doing isn't working," Jacob blurts out.

Emmett nods his head in my direction. "That's why I brought him."

"Him!" Jacob hisses. "Are you crazy?"

"What if she'll talk to him? What if she'll listen to him?" Emmett challenges.

"No! I'm not letting him anywhere near her!" Jacob argues.

"He doesn't need your permission, Jake."

"She is not going to talk to him! She doesn't want anything to do with him! This is his fault!"

I cringe, then interrupt before Jacob can stab me with his words again. "Emmett, Jacob is right. Things did not - end well."

"That's putting it mildly," Jacob mumbles under his breath. I let it slide.

"I'm probably the last person she wants to see."

Just then, Emmett's cell phone buzzes in his pocket. He retrieves it quickly, glancing at the caller ID. "It's Dad," he announces, accepting the call. "Hey, Dad… yeah, Jake brought her home…"

As Emmett begins to fill Carlisle in on the few details he knows, I stand and slowly walk toward the stairs. Jacob jumps from his seat and plants one hand firmly against my chest.

"Hey! Where are you going?" he seethes.

I hold my hands up in surrender. "I'm just going to my room to get more clothes, then I'm going back to Jazz's house. I think you're right; it's not a good idea for me to be here. I don't want to hurt her anymore than I already have."

Jacob studies my expression for a moment, and I can see his anxiety slowly dissipate. He lowers his hand and moves aside, allowing me to step around him.

"Jacob," I say softly, keeping my back to him, "thank you for taking care of her when I – I couldn't." Without giving him a chance to respond, I bound up the stairs and to my room.

I vaguely remember the disarray I left my room in all those weeks ago: the piles of dirty clothes and books scattering the floor, the garbage can overflowing with crumpled sheets of music, the desk chair lying on its side.

Slowly, I twist the knob until I feel the latch click in my hand. Expecting resistance from the mountain of destruction on the other side, I gradually push the door open. To my surprise, it moves easily, and I step inside and quietly close the door behind me.

I don't need to turn on the light. The sun, just beginning to set, casts a warm, orange glow as I survey my now spotless room, completely astounded by the sight. The piles of clothes are gone, the books have been returned to their rightful place on the shelf, and even my desk is neatly organized. On top, a pile of wrinkled papers catches my attention, and I reach out and lift the top sheet. It's the composition I threw away; every page flattened as much as possible and stacked neatly.

Returning the page to the top of the pile, I continue to inspect the room, barely noticing how the unmade bed stands out in the otherwise orderly space. With a start, I realize the bed isn't just unmade - it's occupied.

I stay perfectly still, keeping my back pinned against the door, staring at the small figure hidden under the blankets. I know I should leave. I should get out of here before she wakes up and sees me, but I can't make my feet move from this spot.

I just need to see her once, see that she's all right. And then I can let her go, I lie to myself. Surely this is my best chance, the only chance, I will have.

Slowly, quietly, I walk to the foot of the bed, listening for any indication that she's aware of my presence. Bella is lying on her side, her body turned toward the far windows. The blankets are pulled up to the center of her chest, her arm folded gently on top of the covers. Even with more than half of her body covered by the sheets, the change in her appearance is still alarming.

As if in a trance, I move closer and carefully kneel next to the bed. My eyes trail up her frail arm, nothing but skin and bone, to her face, once bright with happiness, now pale and drawn. The dark circles under her eyes are troubling, and I wonder if her nightmares have returned.

I brush her hair back to expose her neck and shoulder; the small strap of the tank top she's wearing only emphasizes her emaciated frame. The silver chain around her neck sparkles, catching my eye, and the starfish pendant dangles from her protruding collar bones.

My eyes fill with tears as I examine her. She looks disturbingly frail, weak - sick. Instinctively, I lean forward and lightly brush my lips against her forehead.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper.

Bella shifts in her sleep. "Mmm," she purrs, "my Edward." Her voice is warm and contented, and a small smile plays on her lips.

For the first time, the tears spill over and run down my cheeks. I take a deep, ragged breath and wipe them away quickly with the back of my hand.

Bella stirs again, unconsciously clutching at the blankets around her. She sighs and stretches slightly as her eyes leisurely flutter open - meeting mine. She blinks a few times, seemingly to process if I'm really here or if she's dreaming.

"Edward?" she mumbles, her voice horse with sleep. "Edward, what are you - what are you doing here?"

She moves quickly to sit up, pulling at the sheets to cover herself as she scoots as far away from me as possible. The change in position grants me another view of her sunken, malnourished body, and I fight to keep the alarm from my expression.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

She stares are me for a moment, and the fear in her eyes feels like a knife twisting in my chest. "I - I wanted to make sure you were all right," I explain quickly. "Jacob told me what happened at school today."

She narrows her eyes at me. "You - you talked to Jake?"

"Well, no. I mean, yes I did talk to Jacob." I take a deep breath to clear my thoughts. Slowly, I pull myself up from my knees to sit on the edge of the bed. As I move closer, Bella pulls her knees up to her chest, and I recognize her posture as the same protective stance from the night I found her on the balcony.

She's afraid of me.

I scoot back a little and try to keep my voice calm. "Emmett found me at school. He's worried about you. Jacob would kick my ass if he knew I was talking to you."

Bella's eyes focus on the red scar above my left eye. "He told me he punched you." She raises her hand slightly, as if she's going to reach out and touch the mark, but quickly retracts it.

Self-conscious, I rub the area with my fingers. "He was just trying to protect you. He's a good friend."

Bella looks away, and we are both silent for a long moment. Suddenly, her head snaps up, her eyes wide with alarm. "Oh, God! I shouldn't be in here. This is your room. I'm – I –"

She scrambles to untangle herself from under the blankets as fast as she can. Without thinking, I reach out and grab her arm, my thumb and fingers overlap as they encircle her minuscule wrist. Even with my sudden move, I'm careful not to hold too tightly. Everything about her screams breakable.

"No, Bella. It's fine. Stay. Please," I beg, desperate to keep her from running away.

Bella yanks her arm out of my grasp as if my touch has burned her. The mixture of shock and anger on her face tells me that I clearly crossed a line. I sit back quickly, keeping my hands slightly raised where she can see them. "Sorry," I submit. The ache in my chest amplifies at the realization that she won't even let me touch her.

Bella stares at me for a moment, the confusion over my reaction to her leaving evident in her eyes. She shakes her head briskly. "No. I can't – I can't do this." She pushes the remaining covers away and crawls out of the far side of the bed. As she stands up, I get a full view of the damage she's done to herself.

The thin tank top and underwear cling to her withered body, concealing nothing. Her bare legs, once accentuated with long, lean muscles, are now scrawny, bony sticks. The waistline of her underwear barely covers her protruding hip bones. She walks quickly to the end of the bed and bends over to scoop up the sweatpants and sweatshirt I didn't notice before. The movement causes her shirt to rises up, revealing her clearly visible ribs. I have to look away; the gaunt, skeletal image too much to bear.

I turn back just as Bella tugs the sweatshirt over her head. With the oversized clothing covering her body, I can see how she was able to conceal the changes in her appearance from the people close to her. As she walks quickly toward the balcony doors, I jump up and block her path.

"How much have you lost, Bella?" I ask sternly.

"Get out of my way."

She tries to move around me, but I dart into her path. "How much?"

"Edward, move." She shifts again, trying to get past me, but I quickly step in front of her.

"How much?"

She groans and turns toward the bedroom door. Childishly, I reach out and snatch the sweatpants from her hand. She whirls around again to face me. "Do you really think that's going to stop me?"

"You don't want to go that way, with or without pants. Jacob and Emmett are ready to ambush you the second you walk out that door, maybe even Carlisle too, especially after what happened today. And especially if you walk out that door." I widen my eyes and nod toward my bedroom door.

Bella folds her arms stubbornly over her chest. "If I were you, I'd be more worried about myself if they saw me walk out that door."

She's absolutely right. Jacob would love any excuse to tear me apart, but I ignore her threat. "How much?" I repeat.

"It's none of your business."

"How much?" I say a little more firmly.

"I'm sure Jessica wouldn't appreciate this – a half-naked girl in your room, in your bed."

Jessica?Who the hell is Jessica? A split-second later, realization hits; she still believes the lie.

I shake it off, refusing to be deterred. "How much?"

"Why the hell would I tell you!? I can't trust you. You've done nothing but lie to me."

"You've lied to me too."

"I did not."

"Oh, yeah?" The accusations begin flying out of my mouth, each one louder than the next. "This didn't just happen overnight. How long has this been going on, Bella? How long have you been hiding this from me?"

Bella squeezes her eyes shut; her hands fly up to cover her ears as I continue my unrelenting barrage of questions. "Your doctors in Phoenix, the ones who told you to cut your exercise and eat more, you told me they said you were OK. That was complete crap wasn't it? Clearly, you are not OK! Is that why you didn't want to go back to Phoenix? You thought it would be easier to hide this here?"

Her eyes snap open, and she drops her hands, my assertion evidently hitting a nerve. "That's it, isn't it? You're trying to hide this from your parents. They would never let you continue dancing if they saw what you're doing to yourself."

I study the change in Bella's expression for confirmation I'm on the right track. "Or is it because the school in Phoenix would have never allowed you to dance like this? But here…" I huff as the pieces come together in my mind, "my God, that Victoria is a stupid, ignorant, oblivious, bit-"

"I got suspended!" she explodes. "All right? Are you happy! No, Victoria is not letting me dance! I got suspended!"

I freeze, halting my assault. Bella lowers her eyes to the floor, seemingly ashamed by her outburst. Her hands begin fiddling with the hem of her sweatshirt.

"I got suspended," she repeats, softer this time. "I can attend my academic classes, but I'm suspended from studio class and all rehearsals. And my parents are aware of what's going on; they have been for awhile, maybe longer than I have." My eyebrows knit together, confused by her statement.

"And you know my reasons for not wanting to go back to Phoenix," she confesses softly, glancing up at me. Quickly, she lowers her eyes again.

"How long have you been doing this to yourself?" I ask, my voice once again calm.

She huffs. "I'm not doing it on purpose," she defends, almost sarcastically. "I didn't do this because I think I'm fat."

"Then why?"

"I don't know why!"

My questions are obviously irritating her, and the last thing I want is for her to shut down completely. I decide to go about this in another way.

"What did you mean before, when you said your parents knew about this longer than you did?"

"My mom has been nagging me about my eating habits for years. She told my doctors once that my," Bella raises her hands to draw quotes in the air, "healthy relationship with food ended when she left my dad. I've always thought she was just being overly protective, you know, like trying to over-parent because she wasn't around, but now…"

Bella doesn't need to finish that thought. The evidence is clear. Bella stares at the windows behind me as she continues to ramble. "We argued about it Thanksgiving day in fact. Phil tried to defend me, but my mom had it right all along. She had been watching me all week, said I ate like a bird," Bella chuckles, humorlessly. "It's kinda poetic when you think about it, that being my last meal and all."

Her eyes snap to mine suddenly, as if she just remembered I'm in the room. Obviously, she didn't mean for me to hear that. Her eyes plead with me to ignore it, but there's no way I can.

"So the last time you ate a real meal was the week of Thanksgiving?" I attempt to clarify.

She looks away, as if she isn't going to answer. After a few seconds, she shakes her head no.

I consider that for a minute and then amend my question, praying that she will deny it once again. "The last time you ate anything was the week of Thanksgiving?"

Again, she is still for a moment before she responds, this time with an affirming nod.

I close my eyes, reeling from her confirmation. Thanksgiving was over three weeks ago. How is that even possible?

Walking back to the bed, I sit on the edge of the mattress. Bella doesn't move from her spot, and I hope she won't try to escape out the balcony door now that her path is clear.

"You've eaten nothing? Nothing at all?"

"Water," she admits. "But even that's starting to be difficult. I don't feel thirsty anymore," she adds softly, glancing at the full bottle of water on the nightstand.

Propping my elbow on my knees, I lean forward and hold my head in my hands as I stare at the floor. "How much have you lost?"

Once again, Bella hesitates before she answers. "Twenty-two," she says reluctantly.

I do the math quickly in my head. Twenty-two pounds, three weeks, seven pounds a week. Searching my memory, I try to recall the statistics for a healthy rate of weight loss from sophomore health class, but the number eludes me. I'm sure it isn't anywhere close to an average of seven pounds in a week.

"What do you weigh now?"

"Eighty-nine pounds."

I can't contain the stressful huff that leaves my lungs.

My God, what have I done? She was supposed to be better off without me, but this isn't better. This is horribly, horribly worse.

The sound of Bella's footsteps seep into my thoughts, but the weight of my guilt prevents me from trying to stop her from leaving this time. To my surprise, I feel the mattress dip slightly as Bella sits down at the far end of the bed.

"Edward, are you all right?" she asks softly.

"Are you serious!" I snap, sitting up to glower at her. "You're sitting there, practically starving yourself to death – no! Not practically, you are starving yourself to death, and you want to know if I'm all right!"

I shake my head as I look away. It takes me a moment to reign in my irrational anger. "No, no I'm not all right," I admit.

A solid minute passes without another word being said. I can feel Bella's eyes on me; no doubt she's studying my tense posture.

"Emmett said Carlisle's been trying to help you for awhile, but you won't let him," my tone is more accusing than I intend.

Bella doesn't answer right away, and when she speaks, she sounds ashamed. "Yes. He's been trying, and I've been, well, stubborn. But I really didn't think I had a problem. I thought they were all being ridiculous. I'm afraid I haven't been that nice to him actually."

Good, I think reflexively.

"Do you remember - " Bella stops, and I twist my head to look at her. She toys with her fingers in her lap, and I imagine she's trying to decide if she really wants to relive whatever memory is on her mind.

"Do you remember," she starts again, still watching her hands, "the night I asked you to come to Florida with me?"

She glances at me and then looks away when I nod.

"I called my mom that night; I was upset and needed someone to talk to. I told her about us, and she was worried about us being… safe." Bella shifts, uncomfortably in her seat. "I really didn't want to have that talk, so I told her that hadn't had my… anyway, that was enough of a red flag for her to call and discuss it with my dad. I didn't know it at the time, but during the music video disaster, he used the suspicion that I wasn't taking care of myself as part of his reasoning when he asked Victoria to send me home. When your dad called me to his office, the discussion was less about my misbehavior and more about my health."

"You never told me what made your dad change his mind," I say.

"It was Carlisle. He convinced my dad that now that he was aware of the situation, he would monitor me more closely."

"Well, he's obviously doing a cracker-jack job," I say sarcastically.

"It's not his fault. I've been avoiding him and Esme – especially Esme – since you… since I came back from Florida. I have talked to him once or twice, but the only thing I've told him is that I'm having trouble sleeping."

I consider asking if that's why she's been sleeping in our bed but think better of it. "More nightmares?" I ask instead.

"Yes."

"You told Carlisle that?"

She shakes her head. "No. Not exactly. He did give me some prescription to help me sleep though."

"Let me guess, Remeron?"

"Yeah, how did you - "

"He prescribed it for me awhile back. Works pretty good."

"I never took them."

I groan as I stand up and walk to my nightstand. It takes me a second to rummage through the messy drawer before I locate my bottle of pills. Opening the child proof cap, I shake the container until a single, white tablet falls into my palm. I start to hand it to Bella, but after glancing at her fragile face, I retract my hand and snap the pill in half.

"Here." Bella makes no move to accept the medication, ignoring my outstretched hand to study my face instead. I nudge my hand toward her again. "Here, take it. Hours of oblivion, guaranteed."

She lifts her hand slightly, and I drop the pill into her palm before handing her the water bottle. She hesitates again, and I frown at her.

"Take it," I repeat. Bella finally swallows the pill with a small sip of water. I take the water bottle from her and return it to the night stand.

I turn back to look at her again, my beautiful Bella. I miss her so much. My arms ache to hold her, to comfort her, to make it all go away. I want so badly for it all to go back to the way it was.

She blinks, and a single tear trickles down her cheek.

"Bella - "

"Just go away... please," her voice is barely a whisper.

Reluctantly, I nod as I look down at the floor. Slowly, I walk to the door, pausing before I open it to look back at her again. Bella has covered her face with her hands and is crying into them, silent sobs rocking her fragile body.

It takes all the strength I can muster to leave the room, closing the door softly behind me. Leaning against the wall, I slide down and sit against it with my knees curled into my chest. I wrap my arms around them and bury my face in the space they created. I remain there, outside the door, listening until she cries herself to sleep.

Authors Note:

Tweet me ~ www[dot]twitter[dot]com/Viridian6