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Thirty

I felt kind of like an idiot as I helped Bella with the groceries. I wanted her to trust me, to be with me, and I didn't trust her back. I practically had a panic attack because she went out without telling me; she didn't have to tell me – I wasn't in charge of her. I'm the one that came home early in the first place. Did I really think so little of Bella?

Mostly, I was just thinking too much in general.

I let her decide where things would go in the kitchen and followed her lead; we didn't talk much and I could tell she was worried, but I didn't know how to bring it up. How do you tell someone you don't trust them anymore? Was my mistrust warranted?

After the food was put away, Bella leaned back on the counter and sighed; I had a feeling I wouldn't have to be the one to say something. She looked down at her feet, crossing the left over the right and then back; she pushed up the sleeves on what I now considered her sweatshirt. "Can I – I mean, I'd like to…show you something." She looked back up at me and I nodded. Without checking to see if I was following, she pushed herself off the counter and walked into the bedroom. She pulled her suitcase out from under the bed and opened it; there was a wooden box that took up a good portion of it. I watched her unlock it and saw that the box was stuffed full with papers. Some were plain white, like printer paper, some were lined with frayed edges, some were large, small, ripped in half, a few looked like colored pieces of construction paper.

She sat on the bed with the box in her lap; her fingers ran over the edges of it carefully. "I keep your letters in here," her voice sounded small. "When I left before, I wrote to you on the plane, but I didn't think it would be enough…you know? Then I wrote the next day and then the next while I was at work – those are the construction paper ones," she smiled part way. "If you don't have…plans, I'd like for you to read them, I guess you don't have to do it now, they're kind of silly…I just wanted you to know…" she trailed off and shut the lid of the box and handed it to me like she was giving away her first born.

I took it from her and scooted closer. "Thank you," I kissed her cheek and she closed her eyes and was quiet.

"I promised Alice I would check on a few things while I was here, if you don't mind, I'd rather not be here while you read," she bit her lip.

"That's ok."

I walked her out and hugged her. When I got back to the bedroom I settled onto the bed and sat the box on my lap; the letters seemed to be in no particular order so I took one off the top. It was light blue and the writing was green. It was dated October 7th.

Dear Edward, or more likely Dear Myself because I'm an idiot and Edward will never forgive me let alone read this,

It's been over three weeks and I still won't do anything – no e-mail checking (I'm afraid it would be like running into an ex at the grocery store), no letter mailing, phone calls, impromptu trips to New York. I go to work and come home and wallow in the misery I've made of everyone's lives. I don't know how I got here. Alice yelled at me and I know everything she said was right, but I couldn't (didn't?) say so. Instead, I let her leave and now we're barely talking. Rose isn't very good at the emotional conversations, so we've barely spoken and Emmett just keeps offering to beat you up. I miss Alice and Rose and Emmett and mostly, I miss you.

The next one was dated October 23nd.

Dear Edward,

I miss you and I want you back. I wanted you to know that I've been to see someone, to talk I mean; it's still too weird for me to even write the word "therapist." She's nice, not in the therapist way, but in a more genuine way. I just thought I should tell you.

November 15th –

Dear Edward,

I don't expect you to ever forgive me, but I want to apologize regardless. I never meant to hurt anyone, you especially. I thought I was leaving for your own good, that you'd be happier without me, that you'd get over me and realize what a mess I was, or am, and realize that you were better off. I am so sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry I ran away. I'm sorry I lied about how I felt about you. I'm sorry for holding back. I'm sorry for everything.

September 26th –

Dear Edward,

No one understands why I left, even I don't all the time. Please try to forget about me. I'm no good, I cause pain, the people around me get hurt, I'm not strong enough or together enough or smart enough. I'm not enough for you. You deserve so much more than I can give you.

The one dated September 19th, the day she flew back home, was a sheet of paper ripped out of the end of a book. It was page 563. I don't think it was even intended to be a letter. It read simply -

What have I done?

November 22nd –

Dear Edward,

I know I've said this at least once already, but it bears repeating – I don't expect you to ever forgive me. But I do owe you an explanation; I feel like I owe you so much more than that, really. You were so wonderful to me and I threw it all away out of something as stupid as fear. Of what, exactly? I don't know, I've lived with that anxiety for so long now. I don't know what I'm afraid of. That I would hurt you? But then I hurt you anyway in the worst possible way I knew how. I threw everything back at you; I denied the both of us every ounce of love I felt for you. You trusted me and I didn't deserve it. I don't know if you'll ever trust me again, or if you'll even ever speak to me again, but I have to try. I owe it to us to try.

I just wanted you to know that the things I said were a lie. I did want to stay with you, I did feel the same way about you as you felt about me, I did love you. I still do. I may for the rest of my life.

I read through the rest of the letters carefully. Some were crushing, soul wide open pleas for understanding; some were only a line long – just wanted to let you know I was thinking of you. Some were just lists of what she did that day – it's Saturday, cleaned the bathroom, went to the bookstore (didn't find what I was looking for), re-organized some files on my computer, nobody called, sitting on the beach now.

The common threads were obvious, pain and almost unbearable loneliness. I wasn't even sure if she realized it or if it was something she'd lived with for so long that it was just another part of her life.

There was a letter for every day Bella had been gone.

When she got back, I immediately turned her around and we left. I wasn't sure where we were going until we got there, but when I saw the tall gate and the people sitting on benches with newspapers or walking inside, it seemed like the right place. I produced the key out of my pocket and let us into the park. She didn't say much and I didn't either, we both knew what I wanted to talk about. I had a - this is your last chance, now or never - wave of nerves, but I wasn't one to prolong the inevitable.

I led her to a smaller path and we sat at one of the benches; she leaned forward, heavily resting her elbows on her knees like she was about to have an anxiety attack. She breathed deeply, but didn't say anything.

"Bella, your letters…they were -,"

She shook her head, "we don't have to talk about them, I just wanted to…shed some light…"

I mirrored her position. "Well…thank you for letting me in."

She nodded, still looking at the ground. "I'm sorry for what I did to you."

I wanted to tell her to stop apologizing, but I don't know, maybe she needed to. "You're already forgiven." I watched the corner of her mouth turn up for an instant. We sat like that for a minute while I gathered the courage to get to the point. "Bella -,"

"Mm-hm?"

"I still want you to stay."

Her gaze remained fixed on something I couldn't see.

"I just…I don't want to lose you again. I can do whatever you need me to do, if you don't think you're ready -,"

She looked at me. "Edward," she sat up and I followed; she stared at something on the bench. "I'm not…I want you to know…I'm not very good at this. I'm working on things, but it…may take a long time." She looked at me again. "Ok, you should know – sometimes I'm just sad and I don't always want to talk about it and I'm healing, but it's slow and you can't push me too hard. I mean…well, maybe a little, but not really and I would need to find a new therapist -,"

I leaned toward her. "Are you saying yes?"

She heard me, but kept talking anyway. "but I think I could get a good referral from my doctor in California. Oh, also, I talk in my sleep…a lot -,"

"I know that already," I grinned at her nervous ramble.

"And I'm kind of disorganized and your apartment is so nice. And sometimes I break things, like glasses and stuff. And I'm really clumsy, like ridiculously so and I'd usually rather stay in than go out and -,"

"Bella, you don't -,"

"I'm just trying to prepare you. I want you to know what you're getting yourself into."

I moved a little closer and took her face in my hands. "You're not going to scare me off."

"…and I hate leaving dishes in the sink…"

I kissed her forehead.

"…and I lose things and…"

I moved closer to her mouth.

"…and I don't really like coffee…"

I grinned against her lips, "well now… that's just unforgivable." I kissed her and it was slow and perfect and there was nothing else that needed to be said.