Disclaimer: S. Meyer owns Twilight. While I borrowed several obvious quotes from her books, no plagiarism is intended.
BPOV
I race across the hall to the bathroom, making sure to lock the door after I slam it shut. I walk straight to the counter, grab hold of it tightly, and force myself to take several deep breaths in an effort to calm down.
"Where's Bella?" Jake's muffled voice calls out.
"In there," Edward answers. His voice is clear, in comparison, as if he's standing just on the other side of the door.
"She sick?" Jake asks.
"No, I don't think so."
"Did you - "
"No. I didn't get to..."
Their voices are obscured by the sound of their footsteps and the creak of the wood floors. I can only make out broken fragments of their hushed conversation. The small parts I do overhear make no sense to me, so I tune them out and concentrate on trying to slow my racing pulse. I still feel out of control, like adrenaline is exploding out of every cell in my body.
"No, Jacob. Promise me," Edward snarls, louder than before.
I dismiss his harsh tone, too focused on the crazed feeling that is surging through my body. I lift one hand from the counter, watching my fingers as they tremble violently. I shake my hand, forcefully ball it into a fist, and try to make it stop, but that does no good. As I study my quivering hand again, my vision blurs. Bright, white spots float across my eyes and obstruct my view. Something is wrong, terribly wrong.
"Ed - Edward," I call out, panic seeping into my voice.
"Bella?" Edward's voice is clearer now, and the handle on the bathroom door shakes as he tries to open it. "Bella, what's wrong?"
"I need –" I shake my head, stopping myself from saying what I really need. "I need Carlisle."
"I'll get him," I hear Jake announce. The sound of his thunderous footsteps diminishes as he retreats down the hallway.
"Bella, what's wrong?" Edward's tone is alarmed, just as mine was a second ago. He continues to rattle the doorknob, relentlessly trying to force the door open. "Bella? Bella, open the door."
I stumble to the door, but I'm so dizzy I have to brace myself against the wall before I can flip the latch. The second the lock disengages, Edward heaves the door open. He catches my elbow right as I slump against the wall and slowly lowers me to the ground. I twist around and sit with my back against the wall, pulling my knees up and propping my elbows against them. I press my hands into my eyes, silently begging God to either let me pass out or stop the room from spinning.
"Bella, what's wrong? What's going on?" I can feel Edward's hands grip my arms, and I concentrate on the sensation of being anchored in place, on the feeling of being secure - safe.
What the hell is happening to me? One minute I'm terrified of him and the next he's my lifeline - the one I instinctively call out to when I'm about to lose it.
"Talk to me, please," he begs.
"Bella?" Carlisle calls from the hallway.
"In here." Edward releases his hold on me, and I sense him move away so Carlisle can take his place.
"Bella, what's going on, sweetheart?" he asks.
"I – I don't know. I don't feel right."
Carlisle's fingers wrap around my arm, and he presses them gently into my wrist to monitor my pulse.
"Carlisle," Edward says softly, "she's shaking."
"Bella, it's all right, sweetheart. Take a deep breath. You're OK."
I do as I'm told, but it doesn't make me feel any better. I continue to hold my head in my hands, terrified that if I move an inch the awful spinning will get worse.
A hand touches the top of my head and brushes down my hair to my shoulders. It repeats the motion, over and over, the movement slowly lulling me into a sense of composure. I take another deep breath, every soothing stroke through my hair making me feel more and more serene.
"Shh," Edward whispers in my ear. "It's OK. You're OK."
"Good," Carlisle says, his fingers still monitoring my pulse. "That's better. Just try to relax, Bella."
I nod, minutely, and take a few more deep breaths, concentrating on the slow caresses against my head.
"Good. Now, Bella, can you tell me what brought this on?"
The hand combing through my hair freezes and disappears a second later.
"I – I don't know," I admit honestly. "I was fine, but when I stood up, my heart started racing, and my hands started shaking, and then I got so dizzy -"
"Ah," Carlisle says knowingly. "Blurred vision?"
"Yes."
"And am I safe to assume you're having unwarranted feelings of anxiety? Edginess? Agitation?"
I nod, still holding my hands over my eyes.
"Carlisle, what's going on?" Edward demands.
"Her blood sugar is elevated. The PN solution can do that. I can check it if you'd like, Bella, but I'm fairly certain that is the cause of all this."
I shake my head. "No, no blood." I spent the entire day yesterday puking my guts up; I do not need to do anything that will force me to repeat that exercise.
"OK," Carlisle consents.
"But -" Edward begins to argue, but he quickly falls silent.
"Bella, do you think you can stand up?" Carlisle asks.
I lower my hands from my face, blinking a few times to clear my vision before glancing around the room. Carlisle is kneeling directly in front of me, Edward to my right and Jake on my left. Carlisle is the only one with a calm expression; the other two look completely freaked out. Carlisle follows my gaze, glancing at each of the men beside me.
"Why don't we give her some room guys? She's OK," he says.
Jake shuffles backward and then stands up, but Edward doesn't move an inch from his spot. Carlisle glances at him again, but doesn't say anything.
Instead, he asks me, "Can you walk?"
I do a quick assessment of myself. I still feel pretty jittery, and my hands are still trembling, but the dizziness seems to be over. I shift my feet under my body, and Carlisle holds out both his hands. I allow him to slowly pull me up from the floor. Edward jumps to his feet, his hands slightly extended, as if he's ready to catch me should I start to fall on my face.
"I'd like for you to walk around for a while," Carlisle instructs. "It will help bring down your blood sugar levels."
"How 'bout it, Bells?" Jake asks, wrapping one arm around my back. "You up for a little stroll?"
"OK," I agree hesitantly. I'm still not completely confident I won't pass out, but the idea of getting away from the room that has been my prison for the past twenty-four hours is appealing, and some fresh air would probably help calm my frazzled nerves. "Can we go outside?"
Jake cringes. "It's freaking cold out there. Wouldn't you rather stay in?"
"Oh. Yeah, I guess you're right," I concede. "We should stay in."
"Bella," Edward says, and I turn my attention to him. "Have you ever seen snow?"
My foggy brain takes a second or two to process why he's asking me such a random question, thinking that it must have snowed last night. Sure, I'd seen snow on TV, and in pictures and movies, but never in real life. When I shake my head, Edward's mouth turns up in a crooked smile.
"Well, I guess that settles it," Carlisle announces. "But only for a few minutes – I don't want you to get cold. In fact, I'll get you one of Esme's ski jackets."
"I can get it," Edward offers.
"Thanks, but you better let me. Your mother is taking a nap. She's not used to staying up so late." Carlisle disappears out the door.
Jake sighs. "Come on, Bells. Let's get you layered up."
Five minutes later, I'm decked out in two pairs of thick socks, leggings underneath my jeans, a sweater, a scarf, a hat, and a fur-lined ski jacket. If I didn't feel like fainting before, I do now. The added layers of clothing, combined with the heat inside the house, is stifling. But as Jake opens the front door, and the first blast of arctic air hits my face, I'm grateful for the added insulation.
I step onto the front porch and marvel at the blanket of snow covering the yard, the trees, the cars - everything. It makes me think of marshmallow crème, caking every surface it touches in brilliant white fluff. It's probably three or four inches deep, less in some spots where random patches of tall grass peak through, but the scene is still magical. I take a deep breath. The air seems crisper, lighter somehow.
Jake brushes past me, stomping down the porch stairs and walking to his car. With one hand, he sweeps the powder off the windshield, dumping it unceremoniously on the ground. He's clearly unimpressed, but I continue to stare at my surroundings as if I've just landed on an alien planet.
Slowly, I step down off the porch, my boots crunching the snow beneath my feet. I bend down and scoop up and handful, watching as it sifts through my gloved fingers and flutters to the ground. I yank off my glove and scrape my fingers through the pile of snow that has collected on the railing. It's not as icy as I would have thought, more like dust, soft and gentle, like touching a cold feather.
As I scoop up another handful, the sun breaks free from the clouds, and the entire yard transforms into thousands of glittering silver fragments.
"What do you think?" Edward asks quietly. I realize he's standing right behind me. I don't turn around, but I can feel his eyes on me, studying my reaction.
Mesmerized, I continue to stare at the flakes as they sparkle in my hand. "It's – it's like diamonds. It's beautiful."
"Bella."
I turn toward the sound of Carlisle's voice. He's standing on the front porch, his arms wrapped tightly around his body to keep warm. He holds one hand up, scissoring two fingers in a walking motion to indicate I need to keep moving.
"Come on, Bells," Jake calls. He jogs over to me and wraps one arm around my shoulders, pulling me gently away from the house – away from Edward. I take a few steps forward before glancing over my shoulder at him. He stares intently at Jake, and then looks away before I can discern the expression on his face.
"Not too far," Carlisle warns.
"Don't worry, Doc. We're just going to the end of the street and back. Not even half a block."
When we reach the end of the driveway, Jake drops his arm from my shoulder and takes my gloved hand in his. We walk in silence, aside from the crunch of the snow, for a few minutes while I continue to marvel at my surroundings.
"You tell me if you get tired, OK?"
"Jake, I think I can manage a walk to the stop sign and back."
"Bella," he says in a warning tone.
I sigh. "Yes, Jake, I'll tell you."
"You wanna talk about what happened just now?"
"What do you mean?"
"One minute you're fine, and the next thing I know you're having a full blown panic attack. What did he say to you?"
"Nothing really. I mean all he said was it was nice to hear me laughing again, and I completely lashed out at him. It was uncalled for. I kinda feel bad about it now – now that I understand what was making me feel so out of control."
"Don't feel bad about that. The guy deserves a good lashing… or two or three."
"Oh, you think so?" I ask sarcastically. "Cause it looks like you guys are pretty chummy."
Jake shrugs and releases my hand, shoving both of his into his jacket pockets. I glance over at him, and the sheepish expression on his face gives him away.
"All right, out with it."
"Huh? Oh, it's nothing."
"Jake, you're keeping something from me, and I know it."
He sighs and stops walking, raising his eyes to meet mine. He studies me for a moment, obviously vacillating between telling me what's on his mind, and keeping it to himself. Apparently the latter wins out, and Jake shakes his head. "I promised I'd let him explain it."
"Him! You promised him?" I repeat incredulously. "I'm your best friend, Jake, not him. Remember?"
"I'm sorry, Bells, but it's not my place. I promise you'd rather hear it from him anyway."
"I seriously doubt that," I huff.
"Look, I know how hard this must be for you, but just…" Jake pauses, shaking his head. "I can't believe I'm doing this," he mumbles to himself. He takes another deep breath and looks me in the eyes again. "You should hear him out; hear what he has to say."
I throw my hands in the air in frustration. "If he has something to say to me, then why didn't he just tell me yesterday, huh? He practically held me captive all day."
"He's afraid of upsetting you."
"Well, it's a little late for that," I utter contemptuously.
"Bells," Jake sighs and stares at his feet again. "The guy's not perfect. He's worried about you, we all are. It's no secret what brought all this on." Jake sneaks a cautious glance at me, and I feel the indignation fade from my attitude. Shamefully, I bite my lip. "He wants to talk to you about that, but he's afraid if he upsets you again it will make… this," he pulls one hand from his pocket and waves at my body, "worse for you."
"Jake, that's ridiculous. I'm fine."
He shakes his head. "No, Bells, you're not fine," he says softly. He stares at me, and his obvious distress breaks my heart. "You're not fine," he repeats somberly.
"Oh, Jake." I walk to him and wrap my arms around his waist. "It's OK. I'm going to be OK." He holds me tightly to his chest, stroking his hand over my head and down my hair. His hand feels odd – wrong – not the same as it did in the bathroom. With a start, I realize it wasn't Jake's hand that soothed me before.
"You promise?" he asks.
I nod against his chest. "Yes, Jake, I promise."
He squeezes me tighter and then releases me. He takes my hand again and pulls me back in the direction we had just come. We walk silently for a while, and I consider what Jake said. Edward wants to talk to me about how he ended things, but why? What else could he possibly have to say? Did he want to apologize? Then what? Did he think we could just… be friends?
Ever since he reappeared two days ago, he seems to be determined to be around. He barely left my side yesterday, and he likely would have done the same today had I not run out on him. Had I just assumed he would be out of my life forever? That I would never see him again? I guess, in order to protect the tiny shred of sanity I had left, my brain just wrote off the monumental detail that we live in the same house.
Of course, being around me would be easier for him than being around him would be for me. He isn't the one that was left behind. He has someone else. Did he think I was over him already? Will I ever be over him? Will this pain ever go away?
No. No, this pain will never go away. I don't want it to. The pain is my only reminder that it was real. That what we had together was real. I don't care what he said that night – it was real to me.
"So, are you going to school tomorrow?" Jake asks, interrupting my thoughts. He already knows the answer. This is his not-so-subtle way of distracting me from what I'm thinking. He knows me too well.
"You know I have a doctor's appointment in the morning, and Victoria said I can't go back to studio class until I gain at least three pounds."
"What about rehearsals for the Christmas performance?"
I shrug, casually. "Same deal. I have to maintain a rate of three pounds a week until I've gained it all back. If I keep up that rate I'm good, but if I lose any, I'm back on the sidelines again. So that means I have to put on six pounds before the performance or the understudy will be stuck with you. Poor girl." I pretend to shudder, but apparently Jake isn't in the mood for my lame jokes.
"Is that a lot? Three pounds a week I mean?"
"Carlisle told me that I should gain pretty fast at first because my metabolism is likely shot to hell. I should be back in rehearsals by next week. I'll make the performance. I'm not worried; we could do that routine in our sleep." I nudge his shoulder playfully, trying to lighten the mood.
"Yeah, we could," Jake agrees.
"But if you want to come over after school this week, we can work on it here."
Jake scowls at me. "Let's see what the Doc thinks first."
We turn the corner and step back onto the Cullen's driveway. Jake chuckles quietly to himself, and I look up and follow his gaze. Edward is still outside, pacing back and forth across the front porch, talking on his phone. He's awkwardly holding it to his ear with his bandaged hand.
"Jake, what did Edward do to his hand?"
He shakes his head. "No clue."
I climb the stairs, refusing to meet Edward's gaze as we pass him. Once inside, I immediately start to strip off the layers of heavy winter clothes. Carlisle approaches me, and helps me out of Esme's jacket.
"How do you feel now?" he asks.
"Better. Thank you."
The front door opens again, and Edward steps into the house, his phone call obviously over.
"The tremors?" Carlisle asks.
I tug the gloves off one at a time and hold out my hands, allowing Carlisle to examine them. They're still trembling slightly, but nowhere near as badly as they were thirty minutes ago.
"Hm, could be the cold. I would like to wait a little longer before you try to eat – ah, drink anymore."
I nod. Making my way to the couch, I sit down and begin unlacing my boots.
"Edward, I thought you'd left," Carlisle scolds. "What are you still doing here?"
"I just…"
"Go. Get out of here. You shouldn't keep her waiting."
My breath catches in my throat, and my fingers slip from the laces. Her.
It takes every ounce of my willpower to keep from looking up. Edward sighs, and then the front door opens and closes again.
"I'm going to take a shower," I announce to no one in particular.
~o0o~
Finally, for the first time in two days, I'm alone. I strip out of my clothes and step into the shower. Resting my forehead against the cold tiles, I allow the spray to batter the back of my head and run down the sides of my face, pulling my hair along in the flow. It hangs down each side of my face like a heavy curtain, shielding me from the world outside. Now, there is nothing to distract me from the thoughts racing through my brain.
I never really thought about her before. Not in the context of being a real, physical person. I begin to wonder what she looks like. Is she taller than me? Is she smart or pretty? Or maybe blonde and stupid is more his type. Maybe she dotes on him, puts him first in everything she does, rather than obsess about fulfilling some lifelong ambition.
I take in a jagged breath at the next thought to cross my mind. Maybe she makes him happy.
I sink down to my knees. The water is starting to cool but it barely registers, cascading over my face and mixing with my tears.
Does she love him as much as I do?
I cover my mouth to stifle the sob that threatens to escape.
Does he… love her?
I curl myself into a ball on the cold, tile floor of the shower, and let the desolation of my thoughts have me. When the water runs cold, I reach up and turn off the faucet, but I don't move from my spot.
I know I can't stay like this for long. Jake is probably already anxious about me being out of sight. The last thing I need is for him to break down the door and find me in the middle of this emotional breakdown.
I step out of the shower and wrap myself in a towel. As I wipe the fog from the mirror, I take a long, hard look at myself.
There's no way to deny it - I look like shit.
My eyes are red and swollen - again. There's no way I am going to be able to hide them from Jake. He'll know in an instant what is really going on behind this locked door.
I look past my eyes at my ashen face, my boney shoulders, my lanky arms. I look pale and fragile, I look… sick. I hang my head in defeat. Of course, she is prettier than me. It never made any sense, Edward wanting to be with me. He is devastatingly, inhumanly beautiful. He can have any girl he wants; why on earth would he want to be with someone like me?
"Enough!" I say out loud, shaking my head to snap myself out of this.
I grab the hair dryer and spend the next ten minutes blowing my hair dry. The warm air helps restore my body temperature from the cold shower. By the time I'm finished, my cried-out eyes have almost returned to normal.
~o0o~
Over the next two days, I progress from a single shot glass of smoothie to a tumbler size cup, then a water glass, then a full twelve-ounce cup. If I could have my way, I'd never drink this shit again.
On Wednesday, I make my first attempt at solid foods – a few crackers and dry toast. On Thursday, when we would normally gorge ourselves on pizza and Must See TV, Esme prepares a full spread of breakfast-for-dinner, "brinner" as Emmy calls it. The mass amount of food is laid out across the kitchen bar like an all-you-can-eat buffet. There are waffles and pancakes, bacon and eggs, fruit and, of course, a variety of breads, rolls, biscuits and toast – the latter obviously meant for me. Everyone piles their plates high with food and settles around the flat screen. I'm the last to join the family in the living room. When I take my seat, I notice Carlisle smiling at me. He shoots a meaningful glance at my plate which contains not only toast with butter, but a small helping of eggs and fruit.
Edward is there, of course, seated in the armchair directly across from me. He keeps his head down and his eyes focused on his plate. He's been maintaining his distance since I lashed out at him last weekend. My outburst must have given him the impression that I need some space. He does speak to me on occasion, asking how I'm doing or if I need anything, but he never progresses beyond short, polite conversation. When he does speak, he doesn't look me in the eye. I can tell he's also making a conscious effort to never touch me, even by accident. And when we are the only two people at home, he doesn't come out of his room at all. His behavior makes me feel guilty for the way I acted that day, but even now - four days later - I still haven't worked up the nerve to apologize for it.
But I can't think about that right now. Tonight, while everyone is fixated on the TV and the latest drama unfolding on Grey's Anatomy, I have a more pressing obstacle to overcome. For the last ten minutes, I've been staring at the yellow scrambled eggs on my plate, pushing them around with my fork, trying to find the strength to taste them. I feel that strange pull, like someone is watching me, and I look up to meet his dazzling green eyes.
I hold his gaze for a moment, and he doesn't look away. Even from this distance, I can see the sympathy in his eyes. He doesn't even try to hide it.
His words echo in my mind. "We're going to get through this."
I look down at my plate again and spear a small bite of eggs, bring it to my mouth and eat it. I look back at him again, and he rewards me with small smile, though it doesn't reach his eyes. He only stays for a few minutes after that. From the corner of my eye, I watch as he stands, takes his empty plate to the kitchen sink, and disappears upstairs.
By Friday, I have already gained three and a half pounds. Carlisle assures me that if I keep sucking down the high calorie smoothies along with any healthy foods I feel like eating, I will make my goal weight for the Christmas performance in no time.
Since I'm making good progress, Victoria clears me to return to school on Monday, and Dr. Weber gives me the OK to rehearse with Jake at home in the meantime. Our duet for the performance isn't as strenuous as the music video routine – it's classical ballet after all - but it still feels counterproductive to burn off the calories I'm trying so hard to keep.
Unfortunately, my first rehearsal with Jake doesn't last long, but not because of me. Sam's parents are hosting a Christmas party tonight, and Jake is anxious to go home and "primp." He invites me to come along, but I decline. I'm not really feeling up to social gatherings just yet, and Jake understands.
So here I am, alone again on a Friday night… with nothing but my dance shoes to keep me company. I continue to practice my part of the duet as best I can without Jake. My role requires flexibility above anything else. There are a lot of splits, standing leg lifts and backbends. Some are performed on my own, and some while Jake holds me above his head. So I stretch and stretch and stretch until I feel like a rubber band. I run through the choreography one last time before deciding to call it a night.
I flick off the lights in the studio, and head to the kitchen for a snack. I'm not surprised to find Emmett sitting at the bar, reading a sports magazine and eating - again.
"Hey, Emmy. Where is everybody?" I ask as I enter the kitchen.
Emmett doesn't look up from his magazine. "Carlisle and Esme are at the hospital's Christmas Gala, Edward is in his room, and Rose is babysitting her niece. She said I can't come over because last time her niece only wanted to play with me and not – hey! Look at you!"
I whirl around to stare at Emmett, startled by his outburst. I glance down at my simple black leotard. Did I spill something on myself? Nothing looks out of place.
I look up at Emmett again to see him smiling at me. "What?"
"You look like a ballerina."
I realize then what has him so animated. He's right; I look like the stereotypical ballet student in my leotard, shear dance skirt, and pink tights. I haven't bothered to remove my Pointe shoes before coming downstairs, and even my hair is slicked back into a cliché bun at the base of my head. I smile at Emmett's sweet expression, like he's seeing his kid sister all grown up for the first time.
"Emmy Bear, I am a ballerina."
"I didn't know you did that kind of ballet," he points to my feet, "like ballet, ballet."
I giggle. "It's not my preferred style of dance, but I do dance Pointe. I'm taking an advanced class at school this semester. Hence the outfit," I run my hand down my torso, "and the awesome part in the Christmas Performance."
"Do it," he demands. He jumps up and walks around the bar, his eyes never leaving my feet.
"Do what?"
He gestures to my shoes. "Stand on your toes."
"Emmy," I whine, rolling my eyes.
"Awe, come on, Bells. Do it for me, please?"
I pretend to be annoyed for a moment before I releve up on my toes and take a balance in second position. Emmett claps his hands like an excited child.
"Cool. Does it hurt?" he asks.
"Not anymore. It did when I first started learning. It feels almost natural now."
"What other tricks can you do?"
I chuckle. "Um, anything, I guess."
"Do a fancy turn."
I walk around to the open part of the living room and take a position on the floor. I spot the windows on the far wall and perform a series of fouetté turns. Before he can ask for more, I give him an attitude en pointe, a full arabesque penche, and a bourree en couru for good measure. This grants me a standing ovation.
"That's so awesome. What the heck do you need Jake for?"
"I know, right?" I tease sarcastically. "Come here, I'll show you."
Emmett hesitates, staring at me as if I just asked him to don a tutu and dance Swan Lake. "Come on, Emmy, I won't bite." He walks over to me slowly, clearly still skeptical.
"OK, put your hands on my waist here." I guide his hands to rest just above my hips. "Now, don't hold on to me, just help me balance."
He nods, but his face is twisted with worry. He stares, transfixed, at his hands on my hips.
"Emmy, up here."
"Huh?" he looks up and meets my gaze.
"Look me in the eyes, not at your hands."
"OK."
"And you're not going to break me, relax."
"OK, OK." He lets out a deep breath. "I'm ready."
I smirk at him, then releve up again, taking a balance in fifth. I raise my right leg in passé, and balance on my left. "See? Nothing to it, huh?"
"Yeah, OK. This isn't so bad," he admits.
"All right, now I'm going to shift my weight, and you keep me upright, OK?"
Emmett face is stern with concentration. "OK."
I slowly shift my weight so I fall left, then right, then back, then front. Emmett feels my movements and compensates with his hands, never letting me feel out of balance.
"That was perfect," I say sincerely.
"Yeah?"
"You're a natural. Wanna try something more advanced?"
"Yeah!"
I chuckle at his eagerness. I drop off my pointe and turn my so my back is to him, replacing his hands on my waist. "All right, I'm going to do a turn. You have to balance me so that my body can spin, but not so much that you restrict the movement. Get it?"
Emmett shifts his weight, and I glance over my shoulder just has he spreads his legs apart, taking a wide stance. I fight the urge to remind him this is ballet, not football practice. "Yeah, let's do this," he huffs.
I repeat a simple fouetté turn, more slowly than I normally would, and allow Emmett to guide my body with his hands.
"I did it!" he exclaims.
"Nothing to it. Other than that, it's a lot of hand holding and just being a support." I take his hands and proceed to developpe front, back, and side while using him for balance.
A deep voice calls out from across the room. "Should I notify Jacob that he's been replaced?"
I drop my leg and turn toward Edward's voice. He's seated halfway up the staircase, watching our little show.
"Screw you, man. This is harder than it looks."
I turn my back to Edward and face Emmett, placing my hands on his burly shoulders. "Thank you, Emmy. You were lovely." I lift up on my toes again and plant a kiss on his cheek.
Before I can lower my heels to the ground, Emmett swoops down, wraps his arms around my thighs, and throws my body up and over his shoulder. "Whatever! I was damn good," he shouts.
"Emmy! Put me down." I have full access to his backside, and I begin whacking it with my hands as hard as I can.
"Do you feel something?" he teases. "It's like a fly keeps tapping my butt." He carries me, bent over his shoulder, through the living room and to the kitchen.
"Very funny, Emmy. Put me down."
Gently, Emmett sets me down directly in front of the refrigerator. He opens the door and retrieves my Styrofoam cup of Hulk-I'm-so-sick-of-this-shit-Berry Smoothie and hands it to me with a smirk. "Shoo fly, don't bother me."
I take my cup with both hands, and Emmett returns to his perch at the bar. Walking over to the drawer, I steal a glance toward the stairwell only to find it empty; Edward likely retreated back to his room. Once I find a straw, I decide to take my snack to my room as well.
"Night, Emmy," I call as I brush past him.
"Night, Bells. Oh, hey, you know we're all coming to your show next Friday, right?"
I stop and turn to face him. "No, I didn't. You guys don't have to do that." I feel my face growing warm at the idea of the entire family being in the audience.
"Psh, don't be silly, Bells. We all want to. I've never seen you dance before. Are you gonna be doing more of that?" Emmett waves his hand toward my feet, indicating my classical ballet shoes.
"Yup. It's the Nutcracker. The Academy does it every year as their big fundraiser." I chuckle. "It's almost a requirement that every dance school performs the Nutcracker this time of year."
"Oh, I guess so. Rose made me go with her and her parents two years ago. Hey, are you the main chick?"
"If you mean Clara, no, that role is usually reserved for a younger dancer. I played Clara when I was fourteen. Jake and I are the Arabians this year."
"Yeah, that doesn't mean anything to me, sorry. Rose will probably understand."
"Rose is coming too?"
"Yeah, I said everyone was going. Me and Rose, Carlisle and Esme, and Edward."
"I'm surprised Edward's not bringing his girlfriend." The words slip out of my mouth before I can stop them.
Emmett's eyebrows knit together. "What girlfriend?"
"Oh, um…" I wave my hand casually, trying to brush it off as if I don't care. "You know, that girl he has been dating the last few weeks. She goes to school with you guys."
"Bells, what are you - " He freezes, and his eyes grow wide. "Is that what he told you?" his voice boisterous with apparent shock.
I nod, confused by his reaction. "Her name is Jessica... something."
Emmett chokes. "Jessica Stanley?"
I nod again, and Emmett explodes, practically falling from his stool in a fit of laughter. I don't understand what is so funny.
Emmett continues to laugh hysterically. "What an idiot! How in the hell did he think he'd pull that whopper off. What a chicken-shit. Jessica Stanley?" He erupts into another fit of laughter at her name.
"Who – who is she?" I ask hesitantly.
"Jessica Stanley is the co-captain of the cheerleading squad. She is the most stuck up, self-righteous bitch I have ever met in my life. Besides the fact she's practically engaged to Mike Newton and has been dating him since junior high, Edward can't stand her. I don't think he's spoken one word to her in his life. There is no way he's dating her. He seriously told you he was dating Jessica Stanley? What a prick!"
"Yeah… yes… but… he said…" My mind is racing so fast I can barely compreh end what Emmett is saying.
"Think about it, Bells. He never leaves the house except to go to school. I don't know any girl that would put up with that. It's not even a good lie."
A lie?
"But… why would he…"
It takes my brain only two seconds to put all the pieces together, and another two seconds for my body to react. I'm racing up the stairs to his bedroom in a blind rage before I even make the conscience decision to do so.
"Bella! Where are you going?" Emmett calls out from behind me.
I slam into Edwards door, shoving it open so forcefully it crashes into the wall behind it. He's lying across his bed, one hand behind his head, the other propping up a book on his chest as he reads. He jumps at my abrupt entrance and sits up quickly.
"Bella, what -"
"You coward!" I scream, my open hand connecting with the side of his face in the same instant. A resounding smack echoes through the room. His eyes widen at my sudden attack, and he instinctively covers his face with his hand.
I recoil my arm, balling my hand into a fist, and as he tries to stand up I connect with his ribs, the blow carrying all the force I can muster. He topples back onto the bed, rolling onto his side and hiding his face under his hands. I practically climb on top of him, continuing to punch and hit him as hard as I can. Over and over and over again, I strike at his arm, his shoulder, his chest, his head, anywhere my fists can find purchase.
"You – you asshole!" I scream. He doesn't even try to defend himself from my assault. He doesn't try to stop my hands as they continue to batter him. "You lied to me!"
Strong hands wrap around my waist and pull me back. I struggle against Emmett's grasp, but it's useless. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! What the fuck, Bells?" He lifts me off of Edward and pulls me backwards toward the door. I continue to fight against him to no avail. He encircles one arm around my waist, pinning my body to his chest, and uses his other arm to restrain both my hands.
"Stop, stop, shh, stop," he chants in my ear. Slowly, I resign and stop fighting against his hold.
"Emmett, let her go."
I look to Edward. He's sitting up again on the edge of his bed. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and I can see the blood on his lip. My God, did I do that?
"Emmett, I said let her go," he repeats sternly.
Cautiously, Emmett releases his grip on me, and when I make no move to attack again, he takes a small step back.
I can't believe I just did that – attacked him like that. Shocked, I cover my mouth with my hand, instantly feeling the moisture on my cheeks from the tears that must have fallen in my rage. I squeeze my eyes shut, praying that when I open them again this whole scene will just be part of a horrific nightmare. Because the reality of it is too much to bear. He lied to me. He ripped everything from me. For what? For nothing?
I can hear him moving - feel his presence standing before me. I don't open my eyes, but I know he's there. I take a step back, bumping into Emmett again. I'm thankful when his burly hands encircle my forearms to hold me steady, because I'm not sure I trust my legs to support the weight crushing down on me.
"Dude," Emmett murmurs. "Are you -"
When Emmett falls silent, I drop my hand from my face and open my eyes again. Edward is standing a few inches in front of me, one arm wrapped around his torso, his hand gripping the side of his chest - the side where I delivered my furious strikes. Surely, I hadn't hurt him that badly.
"Bella," he says cautiously.
I draw in a ragged breath, my eyes still fixed on his chest. "You - you lied to me. There was never anyone else, was there?"
"No, there wasn't."
My eyes flash to his as I realize this is it – this is what he didn't want to tell me – because he didn't want to upset me, because he didn't want to set me back. He didn't leave me because he found someone better, someone smarter or prettier, someone that he loved more. He simply didn't want - me. Well, he was right to keep it from me, because now I realize I've still been clinging to hope - hope that he will come back to me, hope that somehow my Edward is still here. And it's that hope that has been keeping me going for the last four weeks. It's that hope that has been feeding me, keeping me alive. But now – now that I know the truth – the truth that there is no hope, there is no reason to go on pretending that maybe… one day… because he doesn't…
It hits me then, the realization slamming into me like a wrecking ball, that even though he doesn't want me, I will never want anything but him, no matter how long I live. The agony I thought I felt before is nothing compared to the wave of pain this knowledge brings. I would rather die than live the rest of my life feeling this way.
"If you didn't love me anymore, you should have just told me."
His mouth falls open at my accusation, but he doesn't speak.
That's all the confirmation I need. I turn, shoving Emmett out of my way, and run out of his room. When I reach my bedroom, I slam my door and lock it behind me.
EPOV
The initial shock of her words keeps me from chasing after her. Like an idiot, I stand and stare, my mouth gaping open, as she runs out of my room. Just like Jake, she jumped to the conclusion that I concocted this story simply because I didn't want to be with her - that I didn't love her.
I take a step to follow after her, but the searing pain in my side causes me to wince. I bend forward, squeezing my eyes shut and holding my chest tighter.
"Dude, are you all right?" Emmett grips my shoulder and helps me stand straight again.
I try to take a deep breath to alleviate some of the ache but end up coughing instead. "Yeah - I'm OK."
"But she was hitting your side? Like, hard. You think she - "
No doubt Emmett noticed Bella's fists connecting right where my broken ribs have just healed. "No, I don't think she broke anything again… bruised maybe."
"Should I call Dad?"
"No."
I move around him and stumble as fast as I can down the hallway to Bella's room.
"Bella!" I call out as I reach her door. I try the handle, but it's locked - of course. I resort to pounding on the door. "Bella, please, open the door."
Nothing.
I beat harder. "Bella, I'm not going to go away until you let me explain."
Still no answer.
This is exactly what I feared. Watching her face just now, that same ominously resigned expression from the week before had washed over her again. But this was so much worse. This had broken her.
This is why I wanted to wait until she was better. I started to tell her the truth last weekend, but when she nearly collapsed in the bathroom that morning, I got scared. I was terrified of pushing her over the edge, terrified of hindering the little progress she had made. So I've been keeping my distance. I wanted so badly to be there for her, but Jacob was right. I was sending her mixed signals. I needed to be more guarded around her until we could talk – really talk.
But, damn it, I'm not going to let it happen this way. I'm not going to let her go on for one more second believing I don't love her. That I never loved her.
I slam my body against the door in a feeble attempt to break the lock. The pain ricochets through my chest, but I didn't care.
"Bella," I call out again. "Don't do this." I hit the door again with my body.
Emmett grabs my arm. "Whoa, stop or you will break something." He pulls me away from the door only to take my place. With one swift heave of his body, the latch shatters in the frame and door swings open. I shove past him into her room.
Clothes are strewn all over the bed, spilling out of an open suitcase. Bella emerges from her closet, her arms filled with more clothes that she haphazardly tosses on the bed. Somehow, in her frenzy, she has changed out of her dance attire into a pair of jeans and an oversized sweater.
I run to her, grab her shoulders, and force her to stop her frantic pacing. "Bella, Bella, stop. What are you doing?"
She squeezes her eyes shut as tears continue to stream down her cheeks. "I can't - I can't stay here anymore."
"No, Bella. Don't do that. Just… wait, please. Hear me out." I beg.
She twists her body to free herself from my grasp. Once her arms are loose, she forcefully pushes against my chest, shoving me backward. The pressure on my torso sends another wave of pain through me. I instinctively encircle my chest with my arms and bend forward trying, without success, to relieve some of the burning in my lungs.
"Whoa! Whoa! Hey, none of that." Emmett is by my side again, steadying me with his hand on my arm. Once again he helps me to stand straight, and then guides me to sit on the edge of Bella's bed. "I'm calling Dad. You are not all right."
"No, Emmett," I pant, "I'm OK. Just - give me a second."
"What's wrong with him?" Bella asks from behind me, concern lacing her words.
"Christ, Bella, what do you think is wrong with him!" Emmett scolds. "You punched him right where his broken ribs are."
"Emmett," I groan. "She didn't know."
"You can barely catch your breath. I'm either calling Dad or an ambulance, your choice." Emmett moves to the door, pausing to wait for my decision. I try to argue again that I'm fine, but he stubbornly shakes his head. Conceding, I instruct him to call Carlisle, and he disappears, leaving Bella and I alone in her room.
Slowly, cautiously, Bella walks around me to sit on the bed. She watches my arms, examining how I'm clutching my chest as if I'm trying to hold myself together. I try to relax my posture and arrange my expression to hide any evidence of the pain.
"I'm - I'm so sorry." She covers her mouth with her hand as fresh tears trickle down her cheeks. These are the same angry tears as before. Now her eyes are flooded with regret and alarm.
"It's OK. You didn't know." I cringe again at the ache in my chest. Bella reaches out, but quickly retracts her hands as if she doesn't know where – or if – it's safe to touch me.
"How - how did you break your ribs?" she asks cautiously, wiping her damp cheeks with the sleeve of her sweater.
"I was in a car accident a few months ago. I hit a guardrail on Interstate 5. I was unconscious for two days. I broke my right arm and two ribs." I gesture to where my hand is still clutched to my side.
Bella's wide eyes flash back to mine. "My God. Why didn't you tell me?"
I take a deep, painful breath and turn my body slightly to face her. "Because, when it happened, I was high," I confess.
Bella's mouth falls open, but she doesn't say anything. She doesn't need to. I can see it in her eyes, the shock and disappointment I had been trying so hard to avoid all those months ago. I realize I need to get this out, tell her everything while I have her attention. I don't know how much longer she is going to allow me to talk before she throws my worthless ass out of her room and goes back to packing her bags.
My words come out in a rush. "Bella, before you came here I was a complete mess. I was completely out of control. The accident was the culmination of years and years of terrible acts on my part. You can't imagine the hell I've put my family through. Carlisle managed to keep me out of jail, but I have a criminal record, and I'm still serving two years probation. I have to report every month for drug screenings. I've been clean ever since the accident, I swear."
"Carlisle… the accident," she mumbles to herself. Bella looks away, apparently processing something she remembers. "Emmett told me once that you and Carlisle haven't been on good terms since the accident. I didn't know what he was talking about, and he wouldn't tell me."
"That's true. What little was left of our relationship completely deteriorated after that night. He completely gave up on me; he wanted nothing more to do with me. It was like he was biding his time until I graduated and moved out so he wouldn't have to deal with me anymore. It was worse than any punishment he could have inflicted."
"I noticed that, when I first arrived, he would always speak so harshly to you, like – like he didn't trust you."
"He didn't. He had no grounds to trust me anymore. But since the accident, I had been trying, really trying, to stay out of trouble. I was doing everything I could to prove myself to him, to regain some of his faith in me."
Bella looks away, a fresh wave of pain sweeping over her face. There is no doubt in my mind what memory is plaguing her thoughts.
"No matter how good I was, he couldn't let it go. He was still so angry with me for everything I had done. It's true that when I met you, I thought if Carlisle saw me with someone like you then maybe he'd see me differently. It was a stupid, childish idea, I know, but I was desperate to – to win back his approval."
Bella nods, still refusing to look at me.
"But, Bella, that plan, to make myself worthy of my father simply by associating myself with you, that only lasted about five seconds."
Her head snaps up, her eyes wide with surprise.
"When I told you our entire relationship was only an act to win Carlisle over, that was completely untrue. You were right; you saw right through me that night. You knew it was all a lie, and when you said you didn't believe me I – I got angry. Leaving you was the hardest thing I've ever done, and it was like you were trying to make it harder for me, like you couldn't see how difficult it was for me. I got so angry that you wouldn't just accept it and walk away."
Bella huffs and stares at me, a mixture of contempt and disbelief in her eyes. "Wh – why?" she chokes, a frantic pitch to her voice. "Why did you do it?"
"The day you left for Florida, Carlisle saw me kiss you goodbye in the driveway. He confronted me the second I walked into the house. He thought I was using you to get back at him, another one of my rebellious antics, but I assured him it wasn't. I told him that I was in love with you, and that you loved me too. But he convinced me that I had to end it with you before I destroyed your future."
She shakes her head, her face distorted, as if my words aren't making any sense. "What? What are you saying?" Her voice is now even more frenzied than before. "He convinced you to do this?"
"Carlisle told me that, after my accident, Esme had some trouble getting her book published, because of me. He had to ensure her publishers never learned of my offenses. He said they wouldn't have allowed her book to be published if they knew her son had the capacity to cause some type of scandal. He thought if you were with me, it would be even worse for you. Please, don't be angry with him; he really thought he was acting in your best interest."
"By tearing us apart!" she yells.
"Bella, he's right. You are better off without me."
"Oh, yes. Just look at me," she motions toward her fragile body with her hand, "clearly I'm much better off."
"I'm serious. You deserve so much better than me. All I have done is deceive you, even before I knew what my reputation could do to your future. I should have told you the truth a long time ago, but I was afraid. I didn't tell you about the accident or my probation at first because - because I knew I wasn't good enough for you. After all I had done, I didn't deserve someone like you. Carlisle was right to tell me to stay away."
Several minutes pass without another word being spoken. I'd give anything to know what she's thinking, but fight against the urge to ask her. I want to give her time to think, to process what I've told her, and – honestly – time to calm down. When she finally looks at me again, I get the sense her frantic mind-set has subsided.
"So that whole week I was gone… you knew you were going to break up with me?" she asks hesitantly.
I let out a deep breath, the pain in my chest slightly diminished from what it was before, and nod slowly. "I was a complete wreck the entire time you were gone. Jasper found me sulking in my bedroom after a few days." I smirk at the memory. "He took one look at me and thought I had started using again. That was the night when he took me out, and I got drunk and called you."
I feel my face fall, and I lift my eyes to study Bella's expression. "I told you Jazz took me out because I was upset about the fight with Carlisle, but that wasn't true. I was upset because I knew I was going to lose you."
Bella's eyes flood with tears, and I raise my hand to her face. I brush her hair back over her shoulder, exposing her neck. The shimmer of the silver chain tucked under her sweater catches my eye. Trailing my finger under the necklace, I gently unearth the tiny starfish pendant from its hiding place. I toy with the silver charm for a moment, smiling as I remember the morning I placed it around her neck. After everything we've been through, after everything I've done to her, she's never taken it off. I swallow hard around the lump in my throat.
"You have no idea how hard I tried to come up with a way for us to be together, but in every scenario you got hurt. The option Carlisle presented me with, that I remove myself from your life, appeared to be the only answer. It killed me to think that my being with you was going to hurt you. I was not going to ruin your life because of my mistakes. So I – I came up with the idea to push you away. I twisted the truth and told you our whole relationship was meaningless. But when you didn't believe me, I panicked and blurted out the first thing that popped into my head. It was never my intention to do that - to lie and tell you I had found someone else - but when I saw the look on your face, I knew you believed it. I thought it would be easier for you if you hated me, because – because I couldn't even imagine trying to convince you that I didn't want to be with you anymore - that I didn't love you anymore - I couldn't do it. Maybe that was selfish of me, and I'm sorry, but it would have destroyed me to say those words to you because - because it's not true."
"It's not?" she repeats softly.
"Of course it's not true." Taking her hand in both of mine, I place her open palm on my chest, holding it firmly over my heart. I'd held her hand like this every night she slept curled into my side, whenever I tried to show her how much I cared for her, whenever I wanted her to believe the sincerity of my words. Every time I held her to me like this, I was telling her I loved her, even when I couldn't say the words out loud. I don't know if Bella ever fully understood the gesture, but I prayed that she did, now more than ever.
"Bella, you are the only one who has ever touched my heart. It will always be yours. I was thinking of you, seeing your face in my mind, every second we were apart. When I told you I couldn't live in a world where you don't exist, it was the truth. Without you, it was like my heart was gone — like I was hollow—like I'd left everything that was inside me with you. I was nothing without you."
I press her hand more firmly into my chest, fighting against the tightness in my throat and the tears pricking my eyes. "I love you," I say definitely. "I have always loved you, and I will always love you."
Bella closes her eyes and her tears spill over, running down her cheeks. I lean down and gently press my lips against hers once. "I love you, Isabella," I whisper and kiss her again. As my lips move on hers, she gathers my shirt tightly in her hand and pulls me to her, finally kissing me back - but only once.
Then the hand that had just pulled me closer pushes me away.
"No," she whispers through her tears. She lets go of my shirt and turns away, covering her eyes with her hand as she cries.
I stare at her, completely stunned. "Bella, I - "
"Edward!" Esme's panicked voice rings out from downstairs. "Edward?"
Carlisle is next to call out. "Edward? Where are you, Son?"
"He's upstairs, in Bella's room," Emmett directs. I hear the thunderstorm of footsteps ascending the stairs. Whatever Emmett told them must have painted a frightful picture to incite such alarm in my parents.
I never take my eyes off Bella as my entire family descends upon us. Carlisle enters first, dressed in his sleek, black tuxedo. Esme is right on his heels, the train of her blue evening gown sweeping across the floor. They all speak at once, one voice on top of the other. I can't decipher who is talking or even process what they are saying.
"Edward, are you all right?"
"What happened?"
"He could barely stand up straight."
"Can you raise your arms?"
"Does it hurt to breath, Son?"
None of them seem to notice the beautiful girl going to pieces next to me. Bella stands and moves out of the way so Carlisle can examine me. I can't tear my eyes from her as she continues to walk backwards toward the door. I try to call out to her, but my words are drowned out by the riotous voices in the room.
"Should I get some ice?"
"Lay down on your back."
"Bella, wait. Please."
"Should I get some pain medication?"
"Take off your shirt."
She reaches the door and leans over, quietly lifting her car keys from the desk. She glances back at me one last time.
"Does it hurt when I do this?"
"Do you think he needs an x-ray?"
"I'm sorry. I – I can't."
"Can you take a deep breath?"
I blink, and she's gone.
Author's note:
Happy Holidays!
I'm going to be out of town next week, so the next chapter won't be posted until the following week. In the meantime, leave me some love on my review board! ;-)
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