All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the author. No copying or reproduction of this work in any language is permitted without the express written authorization of the author. Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. Thank you. September 2010.

Many thanks to my incredible beta xrxdanixrx, who also created the banner. Check out her new fic: My Perfect Mr. Imperfect. XO hun!

Twilighted Beta – Shabbyapple. Thank you so much.

A million thanks to MizzezPattinson who provided much needed insight on hospital protocol and medical procedures. She's a wealth of knowledge and in her abundance of spare time (*snorts*) she also pre-read this chapter for me. XO BB. I don't know what I'd do without you.

Thanks to all reading and reviewing. I'm intrigued at your theories. Let's see who's right. Come, join me…

EPOV

Chapter 30

I can't fucking wrap my head around the emotion of waking up next to Bella in my bed. Last night, having her watch me, seeing me as I create for her, because of her, it's fucking overwhelming. She stayed… all night. Bella in my bed… my dick twitches as she sighs, hopefully, in contentment beside me.

I take her in while she breathes deeply, her hair splayed on the pillow, a faint blush to her cheeks, her lips slightly parted and just begging me to claim them. Her tiny body, curled towards me, her hand flat against my chest. Just a sliver of her stomach exposed in between her t-shirt and her pajama pants. Jesus Christ, I am so royally fucked. This has grown so fast. My feelings for her are out of control, bordering on obsessive, deeper than anything I've ever experienced.

I don't want to hurt her and I have no idea how to do this without hurting her – physically, emotionally. I'm a virtual train wreck… unable to think about anyone but myself until her, fucking up every single thing in my life until she changed it. What if I fuck this up, too? What if I'm not enough for her?

She shifts closer to me and I harden further. I want her so badly, but I also don't want to screw this up. Last night was so intense, for both of us, and I don't want to assume that she's ready to do it again, even though I clearly am.

So, I slip reluctantly out from under her hand, my entire body cursing at me while she moans, and I leave her. I splash water on my face in the bathroom and descend down to the kitchen to search out some breakfast… something, anything to get myself under control. I need to paint, but she'll be hungry when she gets up and will probably want coffee. I decide to make a Tim Horton's run, which should give me time to tame my out of control hard on.

I write her a note, leaving it on the pillow, kissing her forehead softly before tearing myself away. I welcome the cool morning air; Vancouver just waking up on a typical Monday morning. I decide to walk to Tim's. It's only a couple of blocks, and quiet honestly, I need to clear my head and calm my dick. I try to remember the last time I felt this way, and if I'm being honest, I don't know if I ever have. When I think back to the time I've wasted, to the random fucks that meant nothing, my life has been so incredibly pathetic. But then, it did bring me to Bella, and I guess in some fucked up way, that's the way my life had to be to bring me to her.

Of course, the line is massive at Tim's. The place is a license to print money. Caffeine-addicted. early morning coffee lovers, just craving their fix, while mine lies in my bed, peaceful and dreaming.

The line shuffles forward, and I glance up at the board, having literally no idea what she would want. How does she take her coffee? Does she even drink coffee? Maybe a tea would be better. A familiar voice breaks my contemplation of the coffee-slash-tea dilemma.

"Edward!" I turn my head to see Angela with her large double-double decaf, moving away from the register and looking extremely happy to see me.

"Hey, Angela. How are you?" I ask, while she wraps her free arm around my neck, giving me an awkward hug and squeezing me a little too tightly.

She pulls back and stares up at me. "I'm good. It's good to see you. I've been meaning to call and thank you. Jessica filled me in. I don't remember anything about that night," she admits, all flustered.

"It's okay. I'm glad you got home alright. You were pretty hammered."

"I don't even want to know what I said to you. It was probably brutal," she says, rolling her eyes.

"Don't worry about it. What are you doing down here?" I ask.

"Oh, one of the professors is taking a bunch of us on a cruise," she explains. I nod while the line shuffles forward, an awkward silence falling between us. She clears her throat and blinks up at me. "Hey, maybe I can take you out to dinner. You know, to thank you." Oh fuck.

"You don't need to do that," I say firmly.

She licks her bottom lip. "Maybe I want to," she says suggestively, getting that look that she used to when...

"I'm seeing someone," I blurt out. An asshole move to do in the middle of Tim Horton's, but the last thing I want to do is lead her on. There is not a chance in hell that I'm even remotely interested in Angela anymore.

"Oh." Her face falls and she takes a step back. "I didn't realize… well, okay," she stammers. "I guess I'll see you around."

Before I even get a chance to respond, she's pushing her way through the crowd and out the door. I turn my attention back to the line, wishing now I had taken the car so I could use the drive through.

When I finally get to the counter, I order coffee and a tea, along with an assortment of bagels and cream cheese. I start back to the loft, savouring the caffeine as it flows through my veins, and looking forward to finding out all the little things that make Bella who she is-her favourite food, what kind of music she listens to, and things that piss her off. I want to know all of it.

I pick up my pace as I near the loft, hoping that she's still asleep. I hope we can share a little breakfast in bed and, hopefully, the rest of the morning. Last night was so fucking amazing. I have never experienced anything so intense in my life and I want more. I need to get home, now. Home, with Bella. The words fit together, inexplicably somehow, and I wonder if one day… My errant thought is obliterated as I reach the door to the loft and my eyes fall to the dark blue car parked down the street.

What the fuck? My mind flashes back to the parking lot and panic sets in. I whip the door open, my heart hammering against my chest. I fucking left the door unlocked. What the hell is wrong with me? And what the fuck is that smell? Smoke?

I drop the coffee and the bagels to the floor and take the stairs, two at a time. "You're pathetic. How have you even managed to get into his bed?" The unmistakable sound of Jane's voice drifts down to me, sounding eerily calm.

"Bella!" I scream, my feet flying past the studio and up the next flight of stairs. I just barely register the fact that smell of smoke is stronger on the second floor.

"You'll never be enough for him." I come to a stop at the doorway and see Bella, her back against the wall, her eyes locked to Jane, the cordless phone from the nightstand firmly against her ear. Jane stands motionless, her eyes wide and void of emotion as if she's in some comatose state.

"Jane." I can barely hear my own voice.

There is no response. Jane simply turns her head slowly to me and cocks it to the side. "We could have been so good together, Edward. Why can't you see that?" she asks me calmly.

"We were good together," I lie to her while my heart pounds faster. I see Bella slowly trying to hop towards the bathroom behind Jane, whispering into the phone, her eyes not full of fear, but of sadness, as if she feels genuinely sorry for her.

"We still can be, Edward," Jane says, closing the distance between us. She runs her hands up my chest. "I know you love me." Her voice is merely a whisper while she keeps her vacant eyes locked to mine. I stare back into madness, wondering how I couldn't have seen this. How I brushed her constant advances off as just Jane, being her usual aggressive and overbearing self.

"Tell me you love me," she demands, her voice monotone. My eyes flicker from hers to the bathroom where Bella is sitting on the edge of the tub, slipping on her prosthetic while she cradles the phone between her shoulder and her ear.

Jane's expression shifts instantly, her eyes narrow and she whips her head towards the bathroom. She turns back to me, her eyes dark. "She's just a distraction. I've had my own. But, its time for her to go, and then, we can be together."

My throat goes dry as the smoke starts to drift up into the bedroom. "Let's go downstairs, where we can talk," I manage, placing my hand over hers.

She stares down at my hand and then looks back up at me. "Downstairs?" Holy fuck, she's completely gone. Totally lost in whatever insane fantasy she's had brewing in her head for God only knows how long. While our eyes lock, I hear the faint sound of a siren in the distance. Jane, however, registers nothing, but me.

"Yeah, downstairs. We can sit and talk," I offer weakly, pulling her towards the door where the smoke is starting to thicken. I feel like I'm going to vomit. I look back at the doorway to the bathroom where Bella is standing, watching, her eyes pained, silent tears streaming down her face. She covers her mouth with her hand and waits, the phone dangling from her free hand.

The sirens get closer, the smoke licks its way slowly into the room, and Bella's eyes widen. "Talk?" Jane asks blankly.

I snap my eyes back to Jane and gently pull her out of the bedroom. "Yes. Talk. Come on," I urge, slowly guiding her down the smoke-filled stairs.

Her body goes rigid as we reach the second floor and the studio. "See, Edward? You have to stay with me, now. You have more painting to do," she says calmly, turning her head slowly to the open door.

Panic spikes as I peer in and see my desk, the paints, the chair Bella sat in last night, catch fire while smoke engulfs the room. "We need to get out, Jane. Come on," I say firmly, tightening my grip around her waist and pulling her down the stairs.

The sirens continue to wail outside, and I see a fire truck and a few police cars stopped in front of the open door. There is loud shouting and a flurry of activity as the apartment is invaded by police and fire crew, clamoring through the foyer and up the stairs.

"Edward Cullen?" one of the officers asks while Jane stands motionless beside me. I nod my head and her grip tightens around me.

"Don't let them take me, Edward," she says, her voice rising, her eyes pleading with me, and for a moment, I actually feel sorry for her. I take a step away from her while two officers approach her as if she's some wild animal they know they have to tame.

Jane lunges back to me, her hands clawing at my arms, trying desperately to hang on to me. "We just want to talk to you, Miss," one of the officers says while the other inches closer.

"Edward! Make them stop! They're trying to keep us apart!" she screams, her arms flailing, her eyes wild as the officer pulls her away from me, his words lost to her ear-piercing voice. "We're meant to be together, Edward! We're supposed to be together!" She struggles tirelessly, her legs kicking while the officer hauls her towards the door.

I move to the stairs, my only thought of Bella, and getting her out of here. I'm immediately stopped by the iron grip of another police officer holding me back. "Bella!" I scream. "She's upstairs! In the bedroom! Get the fuck off me!" I fight against the cop's hold on me while Jane continues to scream incoherently in front of the open door.

"You need to calm down, and we need to get you out of here, Mr. Cullen," the officer says firmly.

I struggle against his grasp. "Do not fucking tell me to calm down! I'm not going without her!"

"We've got her. There are three of them up there. She'll be fine." I twist against him and he tightens his grip around my arm, bringing it behind my back.

"There's no one in the bedroom," a male voice calls from up the stairs.

Fucking hell! "The studio. Check the studio!" What the fuck is she doing in the studio? Adrenaline wins the battle with the cop, and I break from his grip, bolting up the stairs to the second floor.

The smoke is thicker in the room than it was, and it immediately overwhelms me. The studio is coated in a grey and dense fog, the fire contained, it seems, to the desk as I try to squint through the cloud of smoke to find her. The smoke is overpowering, my lungs filling quickly.

Firefighters push their way past me, towards the covered canvasses and disappear into the haze. "Bella!" Jesus Christ, if something has happened to her… I can't even finish the thought. It's beyond comprehension.

My breathing starts to come in gasps, my lungs heave under the exertion of the smoke that is invading them. I start to cough, automatically bringing my arm to cover my mouth, as if that's going to help me.

My eyes sting and I try to hold my breath while I stumble in the direction of the canvasses. My vision blurs, my lungs feel like they are going to burst as I take a desperate breath in and collapse to the floor. I don't know how long I lay there, inching forward, each breath becoming increasingly laboured before I feel, rather than see, strong arms wrap around my shoulders, and drag me out of the studio. They are unrelenting as they haul my downstairs and, unwillingly, out the open front door.

My mind drifts, engulfed in a cottony haze as my lungs explode into the fresh Vancouver morning air. I gasp to inhale it, my eyes burning, the wheezing out of control. The ground spins towards me and I strain my neck towards the door while they hoist me onto a gurney away from the building and pin me down.

I'm disoriented… lights flash, vibrant red and blue… echoed voices barking orders… the muffled sounds of more sirens while I drift on the edge of consciousness. A blur of uniformed bodies… a hose snaking its way into the apartment. I try to croak out her name, my throat straining as a clear plastic mask covers my nose and mouth, effectively drowning out my cries.

The oxygen flows freely, my lungs crying out for more. The sirens silence, and then, the blackness takes me.

XXXXX

I win the battle with my eyelids that I've been fighting for the last several minutes, and I finally force them open. The fluorescent light that I've heard buzzing above me is practically blinding. My throat feels like it's on fire and I hear my breathing elevate through the stupid mask that is secured over my nose.

"Edward?"

I squint towards the voice. "Carlisle?" My voice is hoarse and I start to cough while I try to focus in his direction. He finally comes into view, the worry lines on his forehead more pronounced than I remember them. He lowers his head to my hand and then lifts it back to me, his expression pained and worried.

"Edward, I'm here." He squeezes my hand tightly while I blink back at him.

"Carlisle?" What the hell is he doing here? And why does my voice sound so fucking horrible?

"Go get the doctor, Carlisle, I'll stay here." The voice is soothing and reminds me of Mom. I turn my head and focus on Esme, who is holding my other hand and watching some machine beside the bed. "Go!" she orders.

Carlisle gets up from the chair he's on and disappears from my view.

"Bella," I manage, my throat burning.

Esme holds a light blue plastic cup with a straw towards me and lifts my mask from my face. "Drink," she orders.

The water feels like acid going down my throat, but I drink it all, desperate for anything to make the ache go away.

She replaces the mask and I fumble to try to get it off. "Bella." I try to sound forceful, but my voice is raspy and hoarse. Esme squeezes my hand and sits on the bed beside me. I feel somewhat calmer as the bed creaks and she smoothes my hair back.

"Shhh. You'll hurt your throat more."

I try to shake my head at her. "Need to… have to see her," I choke. Why am I so fucking dizzy? I feel like I'm on something.

"You will. But you need to rest."

"No. Bella," I complain, trying to sit up, which is pointless. It's like my muscles have become detached from my body.

Esme eases me back down and shakes her head at me. "You're just as stubborn as your father," she scolds. "When he was in the hospital, he wouldn't listen to me at first, either." She smiles at whatever memory they have shared and then focuses back on me.

"Bella? How is she?" I manage, shutting my eyes, almost afraid to hear the answer.

Esme sighs and squeezes my hand tighter. "She's in the burn unit. She'll be alright, Edward."

The panic eases slightly and I take another laboured breath. "How are you here?" I rasp.

"We stopped by your apartment on the way back from our weekend at Whistler. We thought, maybe, we'd take you to breakfast," she explains. "The street was blocked off. Your father about had a heart attack when we walked down and saw all the fire trucks in front of your building." She shuts her eyes and lets out a heavy sigh. "He pulled the lawyer card and talked to the police. If anyone asks, he's representing you now."

"Jane?" I ask, the pain spiking in my chest while my lungs work overtime it seems to allow me to breathe.

"She's in custody. They'll be doing a psychiatric assessment. That's all I really know."

I hear the door to the room open, and then see Carlisle at the side of the bed along with a young doctor. "Welcome back, Mr. Cullen. I'm Dr. Yorkie," he says. He doesn't look old enough to be a doctor. He studies the chart in front of him and then looks at the machine beside the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Like shit," I mutter. How the fuck do you think I feel?

Carlisle chuckles and I see the light return to his eyes while he stares across the bed at Esme. The doctor smirks and nods his head. "I'd like to keep you on the oxygen mask for a bit longer and do a chest x-ray, some more blood work, and we'll go from there."

"Bella. I want to see her," I choke.

He nods his head. "Miss Swan? Yes. She's being treated in the burn unit. Her mother is with her," he says coldly while he studies whatever is on the clipboard in front of him. Stupid fucking doctors.

"I need to see her," I complain, my breathing hitching.

"Not right now, Mr. Cullen. She's resting, and that's what you need to do, too. You're both extremely lucky. This could have been a lot worse."

"I need to see her," I repeat, my heart hammering that this fucking kid is keeping me from the only thing that really matters to me.

He shakes his head at me. "Mr. Cullen, for the next day or so, you're going to have shortness of breath and headaches. Your throat will probably feel like it's on fire for quite a while. Your lungs may be scarred and your trachea could be damaged from the smoke inhalation. Those are both things that can take up to twenty-four hours to develop. You are in no condition to get up and go see anyone, especially Miss Swan," he says firmly. My heart plummets. It must be bad. She's worse off than I am.

"Please," I beg. "I have to see her."

The doctor looks between Carlisle and Esme and then back to me. "Let me do the x-ray first and see what we're dealing with. If that's clear, you can see her. But you'll be doing it in a wheelchair and only for a few minutes, understood?" he asks. Figures I would get stuck with fucking Doogie Howser with an attitude for a doctor.

XXXXXX

God knows how many fucking hours later; I've endured the X-ray technician from hell and am wheeled back to my room where Carlisle and Esme are eagerly waiting. I fucking hate hospitals, I've decided. This is testing my fucking patience. The wait is agonizing; the fucking ticking on the stupid clock on the generic beige wall is driving me right to the edge. Stupid fucking beige. I'll never use that Goddamn colour again.

"I need to see her," I say to them, breaking the silence and trying desperately to make my voice sound normal.

"You have to wait, Edward," Carlisle says sympathetically. "The doctor said –"

"I don't give a flying fuck…" My voice trails and the coughing begins. Esme is right there, trying to calm me while I feel the tears well up uncontrollably. "Please, Dad," I whisper, staring up at him.

He nods his head, overcome with emotion at my desperation, and disappears out of the room. "You love her," Esme whispers, her eyes brimming with tears.

I squeeze her hand back. "And you love him." She nods her head at me, and we wait.

XXXXXX

Doogie has decided that the oxygen mask can come off. Thank fuck for that. My lungs are also clear, whatever the fuck that means. I don't even care. All I care about is Bella and the precious "few minutes" I've been allotted to see her.

Renee practically launches herself down the hall while Carlisle wheels me down it in the wheelchair Dr. Wonderkid has insisted I take. She looks pale, her brown curly hair is a complete disaster, but her smile lights up the dreary hallway.

Carlisle brings the chair to a stop and she squats down in front of me, hugging me tightly. She then pulls some mystery vile out of the pocket on her skirt, and douses me with whatever substance is in it. Esme shoots Carlisle a questioning look while Renee runs her hands from my head to my feet, takes a deep cleansing breath, and then stands.

"Ah, Renee, Phil, this is my father, Carlisle, and his girlfriend, Esme," I say, amazed at how exhausted speaking just one sentence makes me.

Renee sizes up Carlisle, narrowing her eyes. She takes his hand and turns it over, palm up, running her fingers over it. "Hmm. There's a lot of you in your son, Carlisle. You're a good man. I'm glad to see you've found peace with the universe," she says, nodding her head.

Carlisle looks at Renee like she's on crack. She doesn't skip a beat, turning to Esme and studying her palm closely. Renee smiles and then, hugs Esme tightly. "You're a wonderful match for him," she says softly while Esme tries to digest what she's saying. Renee rubs her hands together quickly and then looks back down at me. "Where is your room, Edward? I need to perform some cleansing rituals."

"Cleansing rituals?" Esme questions warily. "I'm pretty sure that's against hospital policy."

"I won't tell anyone, if you won't." Renee winks at Esme and then hooks her arm around Esme's waist.

Enough with the fucking new age cleansing crap. I strain my neck to see into the room and try to wheel myself towards it. "Bella's going to be fine, Edward. She's got a strong will, that girl. Just like her father; stubborn and determined. Just be gentle with her," Renee advises. "She'll heal, but it will take time." She knocks on the window and Doogie raises his head, motioning for us to come in.

Carlisle wheels me in, the blood pumping faster through my veins already as I take her in. Her tiny frame tucked under the crisp, white sheet, some tube sticking out of her mouth, the beeping sound almost deafening in the sterile room.

I practically launch myself from the wheelchair and onto to the bed, bracing my arms on the side before I fall on the floor. I sit down gingerly, completely and totally out of breath. "What the fuck is all this?" I manage to rasp. There are so many tubes and wires. Why the fuck is she hooked up to all this? I feel my heart race while I lace my fingers through hers. They're limp and lifeless. The panic rises.

"Well, we gave her an endotracheal intubation," the doctor explains in his practiced clinical voice. "And she's on a healthy does of albuterol."

"In fucking English!" I grind out while I grip her tiny hand for dear life... my lifeline.

"It's all to keep her airway open, to help her breathe easier," he explains calmly, as if this is all fucking normal.

"Why can't you just fucking say that, then?" I bark at him.

"Edward!" Phil's voice booms in the room while he glares at me.

"Phil, it's alright," Renee says gently. "He's under just as much stress as you are." She turns her attention back to Esme. "Let's you and I share a little girl talk." Esme looks slightly terrified, but really, she has no choice. Renee pulls her and Phil out of the room and down the hall.

"You've got five minutes," Doogie says firmly.

"I'll be right outside, Edward," Carlisle says, cupping my shoulder and then leaving me alone with her.

The door shuts and I bring her hand to my lips. "I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry."

My voice cracks and she stirs, the machine beeping faster beside her. "Bella? Please, baby. Wake up. They're not going to let me stay here long." I stare down at her, my heart breaking as I take in her faintly singed eyebrows, the dryness around her lips, the fucking tube that's been shoved down her throat. I swallow loudly and the tears blur my vision. "Bella…" I rub circles on her hand over and over, kissing her palm, wishing I could turn back the fucking clock.

Five minutes is over way to fucking fast. It takes Doogie, Carlisle and Phil to drag me away from her.

XXXXXX

"Dude?" Emmett's voice and his rough hand on my shoulder jostle me, waking me quickly. "You awake?"

"I am now." I take a deep breath in… It feels like there's a twenty pound weight on my chest, but doesn't hurt as much as it did earlier. "How's Bella?" I ask. My throat is dry, and I could use a drink. Preferably a Jack and Coke. The thought alone burns my throat… okay, maybe water, followed by a Jack and Coke, or three.

He pulls the chair beside the bed and sits down, leaning back and looking stressed out. "They took the tube thing out an hour ago. She's got some oxygen mask on. Rose is with her," he says. "She's not awake yet, but she will be, soon, so that kid doctor says, anyway." He shakes his head at me. "You look like shit."

I run my hand through my crazed hair and over the stubble on my face while I glance out the window and into the pitch black night. What the fuck? "What time is it?" How the fuck long have I been asleep?

"It's two in the morning, man."

Two in the morning? I've been asleep for fucking hours. "I want to see her," I say, pushing myself up in the bed.

"What the fuck happened, Edward? Your dad has been talking to us, checking on Bella, but he doesn't even really know who this Jane psycho case is," he says.

"He wouldn't know. He's been out of my life until a few weeks ago. Jane is my… well, she was my art dealer."

"And so, what? She's obsessed with you or something? That's fucked up, Edward."

"You don't fucking think I know that, Emmett?"

"Bella could have been killed. You could have been killed. And your paintings…" His voice trails while he stares at me.

"I don't give a shit about my paintings. I can paint more." I move my legs to the side of the bed. "I want to see her. Can you help me?"

He looks at me cautiously. "I don't think I'm supposed to—"

"I'm going with or without your help. Come on, you like to live on the edge. When was the last time you broke some rules?" I ask, knowing I need the help.

He smirks and lifts his eyebrows to me, looking between the door and me. He gets up and inches open the door, peering out into the hallway. I'm sure he's got the Mission Impossible theme playing in his head. He closes the door and moves back to the bed. "The nurse's station is way down the hall. I think I can sneak you out. Can you walk?" he whispers.

"Yeah, but it'll be faster in the chair," I nod my head to the wheelchair beside the door.

His smile widens and he quickly wheels it over to the bed. "I can lift you," he suggests.

"I'm sure I'll be alright," I say, slipping off the bed and down into the chair, my breathing deeper already.

He backs the chair out of the room, and then, we are practically flying down the hall, away from the vacant nurse's station, and towards the elevators. He laughs and presses the up arrow repeatedly, until the elevator arrives and opens. He pushes me in quickly, presses number eight, and the doors close behind us.

He bursts out laughing and holds up his hand for a high-five. "Thanks, man," I say, my laughter turning quickly into a mini coughing fit.

The elevator stops and opens, Emmett peering into the hallway before he wheels me out and down the hall. He stops in front of her door while my heart hammers against my chest. The anticipation of seeing her overpowers everything else as I launch myself from the chair and push open the door forcefully.

Rose's head snaps up and she glares at me. "Nice of you drop by, Cullen," she says dryly. "You look like shit."

"That's what I told him, babe," Emmett says, joining her at the bed.

"Is he even supposed to be up?" Rose hisses, but I don't care. All I can see, all I want to be is next to her. I take a shaky step to the bed and sit on the edge, taking her hand in mine, my eyes sliding shut with the feel of her skin next to mine again.

"She hasn't woken up?" I ask.

"Not yet," Rose says softly. "She's strong, Edward." I feel Rose's hand on my shoulder and I slump forward, emotion quickly overtaking me.

"We'll keep watch outside, dude," Emmett says quietly. I nod my head and wait for the door to shut before I lose it completely. I can't stop the tears… How close I came to almost losing her comes crashing down as I squeeze her hand and soak her in. There are wayward strands of hair lightly drifting over her cheeks, her breath against the plastic mask, her chest rising and falling deeply while her lungs try to heal.

"Bella," I whisper, brushing her hair back from her face.

I feel her fingers twitch against mine and my heart explodes. "You can hear me. I know it's hard, baby. It hurts like a fucking bitch to open your eyes."

"Mmm… Ewar…"

I shift closer, kissing her hand. "I'm here, Bella."

She squints and winces, her breathing loud and laboured. "Edwa…"

"Don't talk, okay? Just open your eyes."

Her eyes clench and flutter, and then, they open, wide and red-rimmed. "Edward," she chokes, squeezing my hand tighter.

"I'm here, baby. I'm so sorry, Bella." I kiss her forehead, my fingers running over the tender skin on her cheeks.

"Don't be sorry," she whispers. "Not your fault…"

"This is entirely my fucking fault, Bella."

She shakes her head at me in annoyance. "Jane?" she asks, her voice straining.

"They're giving her some psych assessment. She's not going to hurt you again, I promise."

She takes a shaky breath in, tightening her eyes at the pain. "Your paintings? The studio?" she manages.

"What were you doing in there, Bella? What were you thinking?"

She gasps for air and then fumbles at the mask. I gently move her fingers and lift it from her face. "I was trying… trying to save them. They're everything to you. They're your life," she rasps.

I feel more tears prick my eyes and roll down my face. I cup her cheek and stare back at her, at the only thing that really matters. "You are my life."

Chapter End Notes:

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