The story deals with adult subject matter and occasional description of explicit sexual abuse. Not meant for underage readers. Read at your own peril. And oh, Twilight belongs to SM. This is just a fanfiction.

Beautiful Sorrow

End of chapter 7

If she could just explain to him her honest mistake and if he could actually read the essay, he would see that she hadn't really broken any rules and maybe he'd forgive them. Also, he graced the cover of The Economist a few months ago, if he was ok with that, maybe he could be made to see reason that her mistake wasn't so grave.

With that seed of hope in mind, Bella went to her room to spend a sleepless night, waiting for the morning to come. She would go to Carlisle Cullen and plead their case. He was kind and he was just. He would listen; she had faith.

He saved us once; I know he will save us again.

And the next day, three years after she'd seen him at the hospital, Bella went to find Carlisle Cullen.

Chapter 17

Bella, December 2009

"One hundred and five pounds! Bella, you did it!" Sylvia cope announced cheerfully as she quickly jotted down the number in her notebook.

She didn't stop at that. As soon as Bella stepped off the weighing scale she pulled her into a warm hug.

"How great is this? You have done splendidly. You stayed the course the entire way through. I'm so proud of you. We need to celebrate," she declared.

Bella tried to appear happy about the new development. She supposed she had cleared a great milestone, but she wasn't sure whether or not that translated to something worth celebrating.

"I know it's rather cold outdoors, but maybe we could take a bunch of blankets and have a picnic of sorts by the cliff. What do you say?" Sylvia asked excitedly, her tireless optimism pouring through her words.

Bella wasn't particularly keen on braving the elements and taking a trek outside, but relented rather than engaging in a conversation to explain why she didn't want to go. She had come to learn that it saved her more trouble in the long run.

Thus, thirty minutes later she found herself sitting on one of the frozen picnic benches right by the cliff, quietly shivering but unable to coax up the care to reach for an extra blanket. She warily eyed the large hot-box Sylvia Cope had carried along to this unseasonable and impromptu picnic. Quite likely it contained items of food that she'd soon be subjected to.

Celebration.

Fantastic.

She wondered if there would ever be a time again when the thought of food wouldn't be accompanied by the residual memory of bile and retching. For close to two years she resorted to the easiest solution available to her in managing her strange ailment. The sight, smell and taste of food made her nauseous, so avoiding it relieved her of the immediate malady. Then she discovered the opacity and numbness an empty stomach could bring when mixed with alcohol. She wasn't aiming for it but embraced it gladly when the perfect escape, limited as it was, presented itself. No one noticed, or even cared, until she collapsed that day in the library.

When she was first released from the hospital, it took a herculean effort for her to keep the food down. But she had to learn fairly quickly that she simply wasn't allowed to get sick, no matter how violently her stomach wanted to reject the nutrients. She made the terrible mistake of throwing up the breakfast Mrs. Cope had cooked for her right after she came to live in the house. Bella was still considerably weak from her short but fateful hospital stay and couldn't pull herself up from the bathroom floor afterwards. Out of instinctive concern, Mrs. Cope placed a call to her husband.

~CBE~

When he came home he smoothly asked Sylvia Cope to prepare the meal for Bella again.

"Please have something ready for my wife, Mrs. Cope. She will come down to have her meal shortly." He moved closer to the bed where Bella was lying after dismissing the woman with his instructions.

"Uhh… I don't think she's up for that yet, sir. Perhaps it's best to let her rest for a while. I could get her something light in the evening," Mrs. Cope interjected.

"She is up for it now. Please have her meal ready Mrs. Cope; she will be down shortly." He spoke with the polite authority that left little open to argument. The matronly woman sensed the finality in his voice and hesitantly left the room to follow through with his order.

Bella was curled up on the bed, shivering more out of fear than the cold that usually assailed her after her body went through a purging. She was too woozy in her head to stop Mrs. Cope from calling her husband earlier, but several hours had passed since her breakfast debacle and her senses had recovered sufficiently in the mean time. The situation she now found herself in didn't bode too well. And her fears were soon confirmed.

Carlisle crouched down next to the bed so he could talk to her without raising his voice.

"I made it perfectly clear that I will not tolerate any more stunts from you. You will get up, go downstairs, and eat whatever the fuck you are served. Do I need to remind you what will happen if you don't do as I say?

"I must never hear again that you are making yourself sick. Do you understand me, Isabella?" he asked in near whisper, but every word echoed through her mind with crystal clarity. She understood perfectly.

That day she ate under her husband's watchful eyes, and rapidly learned the necessary tricks to defy her body's usual propensity of rejecting the food. Small portions, quick mastication, thirty seconds between bites, and no water. The few times her stomach heaved, she pressed down the napkin over her mouth to hide the telltale signs; she sealed her lips and refused to let the rising bile escape from her esophagus.

~CBE~

She had acquired significant control over that aspect of her body's reaction since then. The sight, smell and taste of food still made her sick, but she couldn't allow herself to give in to her stomach's rebellion; she couldn't permit for Mrs. Cope to have a reason to call her husband again. Instead she mechanically shoveled down whatever provisions the nutritionist put before her and swallowed the lumps of mushy remnants that tasted like dirt to her.

Mrs. Cope applauded her for making such resounding progress. She supposed she had her husband to thank for curing her of that particular symptom. If only he could erase the root cause that prompted it.

She squeezed her eyes shut and reeled her mind back from the black depth it was heading towards. She couldn't dwell on that.

Not now. Not ever.

"…want some?"

Bella caught the tail end of something Mrs. Cope had been saying. She was so lost in

reminiscing that she didn't even notice that the older woman had dished out something from the hot-box into a mug and was eating it with gusto as she spoke to Bella animatedly.

"Huh?"

"It's chicken celery soup," Sylvia Cope answered while pointing at her mug. "Would you like some?"

She was being given a choice? She couldn't frame a response right away. It had been some time since she enjoyed any kind of freedom about choosing what or when she ate. Being presented with an option surprised her, especially coming from Mrs. Cope. Maybe she was being given this treat as a reward for reaching the milestone goal of gaining back enough weight to be considered 'healthy' again. She was familiar with Mrs. Cope's positive reinforcement methods.

"Uh… no, thank you." She looked away to gaze at the icy-grey ocean.

"Suit yourself. It's pretty good though; warms you up," she said while spooning in another mouthful. "I think I should tell you why I dragged you out here in the cold. Sometimes it feels like the walls have eyes in the house. I thought being out here would make it easier for us to talk. I mean, now that you are not seeing a therapist anymore, maybe it would do you some good to be able to talk to someone. Of course I can't give you the kind of professional guidance Dr. Weber could, but I can be a friend to you.

"I'd like you to know that you can trust me, Bella."

A number of things had changed in the last few months. Bella was no longer under the care of a mental health professional. Her sessions with Dr. Weber came to an explosive end the day her husband decided to comply with the doctor's request and participate in his wife's therapy.

Bella wasn't particularly heartbroken to be relieved of sitting through those mandatory head shrinking sessions. They made her edgy and nervous; she had to guard her secrets, yet was expected to cooperate with Dr. Weber at every turn. More often than not, her two prerogatives came to be at odds with each other.

At least with Mrs. Cope things were simpler: wash down the food and bite back the nausea. But now she wanted to be Bella's friend. She claimed that she could be trusted. Could she really trust her?

"I have to tell you that I was really surprised that you stopped therapy so suddenly. I can see of course that you are doing remarkably well – physically- but maybe emotionally you could benefit from seeing someone for a bit longer." Sylvia Cope continued when Bella failed to react to her request.

"I care about you, Bella. I don't have to be a shrink to know that… that there's more… that you are hurting," she paused as she chose her words carefully, "I can tell that you are afraid – of something or someone. I really would like to help but I can't until I know what's really going on in your head."

Bella gasped in shock. Mrs. Cope had never been so brazen about her personal opinion before. She didn't know what to say or how to respond. She knew better than to trust anyone who worked for her husband. She hadn't yet forgotten how Rodney ratted her out two years ago. However, unlike Mrs. Cope, Rodney never claimed to be anything other than what he was: a hired gun whose loyalty lay with the one who wrote his paychecks, and no one else.

Mrs. Cope on the other hand had been a constant presence in her life for close to a year now. She was the only real human contact Bella had, and even though most of the time her relentless pursuit of health and well-being distressed and annoyed Bella, she had to admit that the older woman had been nothing but kind to her.

Bella pondered Mrs. Cope's offer of friendship. They spent a major part of their waking hours in each other's company. She found Sylvia Cope to be earnest, upbeat and sincere. But was that grounds enough to trust her? And even if she did, what difference would it make? Not much. Mrs. Cope was in no position to go up against the Goliath that was Carlisle Cullen. By confiding in her she would only guarantee a speedy route to her sure dismissal, should the good lady chose to act upon the confided knowledge. No, it was best to leave her out of the mess. She couldn't help her, even if she wanted to. No one could.

Also, even if she were to confide in someone, what could she possibly say? She lived in a big house, surrounded by luxury. She had servants to cater to her every need and her very own dietitian to keep her in good health. It wasn't even as though her husband was cruel to her - anymore.

The last nine months of her life could only be categorized as a strange paradox with relief and anxiety cohabiting in her mind simultaneously. Apart from his stern warnings, her husband hadn't touched her at all the entire time. Yet, instead of being comforted by it, she felt edgy and anxious. Not knowing when the bubble might burst left her in a bizarre limbo. Every moment of respite came with the unbidden fear that this lull won't last.

While Carlisle kept his distance, his absence engulfed her just as effectively if he'd been breathing down her neck. Some nights she could feel eyes watching her. She could sense his presence in the room. On those nights she felt like a carcass being circled by hungry vultures, lying there with the ominous certainly that sooner or later the scavenging birds would swoop down and start feeding off of her. Laying in wait for the moment to come was becoming increasingly difficult. What was he waiting for? Why was he keeping her on the edge like this?

~CBE~

Her confusion deepened the night when she perceived movement in the room. As usual, she was lying as still as possible, keeping her breathing as steady as she could so as not to give away her wakeful state. Then she felt the mattress dip to give way to someone's weight. She nearly jumped out of her skin in fear and confusion. In her surprise she even forgot to keep up the charade of maintaining an even breathing pattern.

Many things transpired on this bed during her marriage to her husband; innumerable acts of cruelty and despicable violence. But never in all this time did he ever lay with her in simple companionship and comfort. Yet here he was, sitting on the same bed as she was as if it was the most normal thing in the world for them.

She squeezed her eyes shut and clutched the covers tightly in her fists as she lay on her side, wishing away the heat of his body that she could feel on her back. She knew prayers were fruitless, but in that moment she desperately prayed that he would not say anything. If he didn't call her out then she could keep pretending that he wasn't there; if he didn't speak out loud then she could have one more night of peace, it would be like it wasn't happening at all.

And thankfully he didn't. But what he did do instead scared her far more. She suddenly felt a soft caress on her forehead and her body reacted instinctively before she could reason it to stop. She yelped like a kicked puppy, even though she hadn't been struck, and scrambled away from him as far as the bed would allow.

She knew she made a terrible mistake as soon as she did this, but her reflexes and reactions appeared to have fallen out of practice in the intervening months. She crouched in one corner of the bed and trembled in fear. She wished she hadn't been given these months of reprieve from her usual hellish existence. Going back was proving to be far harder than being thrown into it the first time.

She didn't know how she'd bear to return to their pre-hospital routine; she didn't know if she'd survive it. But he hadn't spoken and he hadn't struck her yet. She was on uncharted territory and didn't know her way. Biting back the tears she waited for him to say or do something.

Which he did; without saying a single word, he left the room.

And she was left with even more confusion and fear than she started her night with.

~CBE~

Mrs. Cope observed Bella silently as she ate, allowing her the time to contemplate. When she finished she put away the mug and utensils and turned to Bella to resume their talk.

"You should have brought gloves with you; you look like you are freezing. Here-" She pulled out a blanket from the basket and tucked it around Bella.

"Th-thanks." Bella's teeth were chattering due to the cold. It was full blown winter now. Normally, Mrs. Cope would be the first to fuss and insist they go inside to warm up, but she had observed over the months how resigned and weary Bella seemed within the four walls of the mansion. Not to mention the eerie feeling she herself experienced of always being watched.

She'd considered taking Bella out to a café or on a shopping spree but Rodney, Bella's designated bodyguard, was never to let Bella be out of his sight when they left the boundaries of the property; not the most conducive atmosphere for an emotionally scarred girl to open up in. So, an outdoors picnic in the middle of the winter it had to be. She knew they couldn't stay out by the cliff for too long. She had very limited time to convince Bella that she could and should trust her and accept her as a friend.

"There, that's better. Now, would you mind telling me why exactly you stopped therapy all of a sudden?"

Bella fidgeted a little under such a point blank question from Mrs. Cope. She wanted to say that it was none of her business, but didn't want to seem so harsh and ungrateful. She wanted to tell her the truth, but didn't have the courage to form the words. Instead she chose to stutter something innocuous and plausible.

"Uh… it wasn't working out that well. So… so, thought it would be for the best to take a break."

Mrs. Cope listened to her explanation and pondered on it a moment. She then asked, "Was it your decision to take a break? Or… were there other 'factors' that made the decision for you?"

Sylvia would have preferred to ease into this conversation slowly, with a lot of diversions and frills, but she was working under a time constraint and didn't have the luxury to beat around the bush.

Bella looked apprehensive and pulled the blanket closer around her, as if the fluffy fleece could shield her from the unwanted inquiries.

"I… I... it's too cold, I want to go inside." She stood up suddenly, choosing an invasive maneuver to escape the inquisition.

"Bella, wait."

Mrs. Cope wasn't surprised by Bella's instant inclination to flee, but she was hoping she'd be able to get a little further into their conversation before it happened. She reached out and touched Bella's arm, motioning for her to retake her seat on the picnic bench.

"I don't mean to be nosey. If you don't want to talk about therapy right now, that's fine. I'd be happy to listen to anything you are comfortable to share."

Bella restlessly shifted her weight from one foot to the other, and then sat down on the bench uncertainly. She hadn't truly spoken to anyone in a very long time. Her conversations with her parents and Dr. Weber were all about keeping their suspicions at bay. She missed Alice - her quirky, social misfit best friend. She didn't even know where Alice was or what she did for a living these day. Did she finish college on time? Was she an accountant now? Did she have new friends?

For some inexplicable reason, Alice didn't like Carlisle; she was opposed to the idea of Bella getting involved with him back when they were both freshmen at university. The two decade age gap between the couple was only a part of her reservations. Of course, Bella didn't listen.

If only…

"Would you care to tell me about your friends, Bella?" Mrs. Cope interrupted Bella's thoughts, as if she could hear her thoughts. "I've been here for quite a few months now, but I haven't seen you go out or have your friends over."

"They don't live nearby anymore," Bella explained simply. "They moved away from Forks to go to college."

"Do they call you?"

No.

"Sometimes," Bella lied.

"When I was your age, my sister and I were inseparable. Cynthia and I were less than a year apart and we always stuck together. Boys, dating, relationship advice; we always had each other's back, no matter what the case was. She was my best friend; still is.

"What about you? Is there a friend you have that you trust and can call about anything and everything?" Mrs. Cope asked casually, though she hoped the answer would help her fathom the layers and layers of mental sandbags that Bella had leveed her mind with.

The visible distress on Bella's face gave away that she was treading close with her questions. Before she could press the issue any further, Bella stood up and rapidly began her trek back to the house. "It's getting too cold… I have to go."

Mrs. Cope didn't try to stop her this time. She sighed and quickly gathered the hot-box and the blankets into the basket and followed Bella's trail. It was a good ten minute walk back to the house, and they fell into a steady pace next to each other. Neither spoke until they reached the warmth of the residence. Bella withdrew into her room with a cursory nod to her companion. Mrs. Cope smiled at her reassuringly and as she gazed at Bella's retreating form, she wondered what it would take for her to earn the girl's trust, and if she would be able to do it before it was too late.

AN1: Wintermaerchen is translating Beautiful Sorrow to German, and from the look of it, doing a kick-ass job. She only posted 1 chapter and got 16 reviews. I wasn't so lucky with the original! I am incredibly honored. You will find the link in my profile page. I'd also like to thank papillione for her kind feedback and help. I'm most grateful to you both.

AN2: The Tomato Soup Award ended prematurely due to some in-house dissent. From the depth of my heart, I thank those who voted for me. Your support did make a big difference; Beautiful Sorrow won a few awards.

AN3: Thank you for reading and giving me a chance. You can find me on twitter: ToTheDreaming.

Thank you lulabelle98, for making all this readable. I couldn't do it without her. Please read her story The Long Walk Home.

Thank you Detochkina for pre-reading and pointing out holes the size of Chicago! She is awesome. Don't miss out on her story Sinnerman. It's amazingly unique.

Thank you WutheringBites for validating my story at Twilighted. I am most grateful.

Thanks toidealskeptic, DariaChenowith, KlrTwiLuver,Dooba, Shattered1025, Twinerdforlife, musicflare87, opheliasmuse, yesmrcullen, LadyTazz7, BookishQua, LadyGwynedd, mamabean30, jenndur, KristenLynn1121, ShinyVolvoLove, Ninnie_89, DrtyMonkey, MrsRachaelM and lulabelle98 for WCs. You ladies rock! They are all esteemed authors. Please check out their stories.

I am thankful to all those who've read, reviewed, alerted and fav-d my story. Kindly review and let me know what you think. It helps...