BPOV
We're left standing in the office silently and are both more than a little stunned.
There hadn't been time to mentally process everything we'd learned as we learnt it so now that we were alone it hit us both full force.
Edward was the first to break. He tore his hand out of mine and swore under his breath as he made his way to the windows. I watched as he took off his glasses and threw them onto the floor at his feet. He placed both hands on the glass and then leant forward, letting his forehead smack against it.
I watched his shoulders raise and lower rapidly and I knew what I was witnessing because I suffered the same kind of anxiety symptoms as he was experiencing now.
I gave a quick thought as to why I wasn't mentally spinning out of control like he was but put it out of my mind as I watched Edward fall apart.
I didn't rush to him, knowing that could actually make the panic attack worse if I invaded his space abruptly, so I moved slowly and carefully until I was behind him. I put the palm of my hand to his lower back and didn't take offence when he flinched away.
"Shhh," I coo softly as I begin to rub in small circles. I keep making the same low, soothing sound as I rub. He flinches a few more times before he's comfortable with that contact and once he is I slide my hand upwards to the base of his neck and dig my fingers in a little.
He groans at first, trying to push his forehead further into the glass to avoid my touch but I know this posture, I know these responses, so I don't take that personally either.
"It's okay," I soothe as I raise my other hand and start digging both thumbs into his neck and shoulders. "Breathe more deeply," I advise gently knowing he'd hate being told how to stave off an attack just like I did when it was happening to me. "Breathe with me," I instruct and slow the movement of my thumbs so they match the rhythm of my inhales and exhales.
It doesn't take long before he's matched his breathing to mine and I start to feel the tension loosening in his shoulders. Another minute passes and then his hips loosen too and he's buckling towards the windowsill. I let him go. He won't fall. He's steady on his feet. He'd just been holding his body rigid while his brain swam with all the new information.
"Such a mess," he's mumbling to himself as I move a little closer and spread my fingers over the width of his back to knead away some of the tension he's holding there.
"Nothing that can't be fixed," I whisper as I rub harder and harder.
He pushes away from the glass and slides his hands over mine on his shoulders. I think he's settling, getting control of his anxiety but instead of him squeezing my hands softly he grips them, pulls them away from himself and then lets them go.
He turns, his face a mask of pain and nothing like the in-control man who'd just conducted an interrogation. He stares at me long and hard before he says something that makes my stomach clench. "Jared will take you home."
His voice is hard and flat. I feel like I've been dismissed. He turns his back to me again and puts his forehead to the glass once more.
I stare at him a moment, willing him to turn around so that I can see his eyes but he's not moving. He's just standing there with his head up against the cool glass. His hips tense and his knees locked again.
"If that's what you want," I whisper through a fast thickening throat.
He doesn't answer. I can't gauge anything from the tone of his voice because he's silent. I feel the tears coming so I'm quick to rush to the door. I let it shut behind me as it will and then I'm running down the stairs calling for Jared. He appears not ten seconds after I scoop up my backpack.
"Take me home," I croak as I make my way to the front door.
"I'll just tell the..." he gets out before I stop him.
"He doesn't want me here," I tell him flatly.
"Then I'll take you home," he says quietly before coming up beside me and opening the door. "Dry your eyes," he tells me firmly and I understand that he's not unsympathetic to whatever is going on for me, just reminding me that the press will photograph me crying if I go outside like I am.
"Okay," I tell him after one last sniff.
"Head up," he reminds me as we walk quickly towards the car.
I slide into the backseat and do up my seatbelt. He takes his place behind the wheel, checks on me just once in the rear view mirror and then we're off down the driveway.
The press are screaming at the car as we pass through the gate and I can only imagine what sort of spectacle Jake gave them as he was driven away by Seth.
"Fucking parasites," Jared hisses as he turns left into the street.
I say nothing. There's nothing to say. He knows I agree with his assessment but there's no fight left in me to voice it.
We go through the same routine when we pull up to my building. I dry my eyes again, lift my chin and walk with my head held high into the foyer. Stanley has replaced Ethan by now and I wait silently as Jared checks in with him. Jared pushes the button for my floor and then stands in front of me while the carriage takes us up.
He walks me to my door, asks me if I need anything and waits while I tell him no. He wishes me a good evening and reminds me that Tyler will be coming on duty if I need anything after six pm. I thank him and close the door on him.
"I guess it can't be fixed," I moan as I sink to my knees.
EPOV
I press the bell on the door and wait for my mother to let me in. I swipe at my lip with my sleeve and am grateful it's no longer bleeding.
The door opens and mom looks giddy at the prospect of a family dinner with me finally bringing a girl along. I hate that I've let her down, again.
The shock on her face as she gets a look at me is enough to tell me how much the black eye had darkened on the short drive from my home to hers.
"What's happened?" she asks as she drags me inside by the sleeve before poking her head out the door and looking around. "Where's Seth? And where's Bella?"
"I drove myself," I tell her.
"Alright," she says cautiously, eyeing me closely, knowing that I rarely went anywhere without Seth in tow anymore. "Are you alright?"
"Never better," I mumble and shove my hands in my pockets so she doesn't see them shaking.
I see the slight panic on her face but can't bring myself to tell her how badly I'd fucked up. There is nothing worse than that look of pure disappointment a mother can settle on her face and I don't want to see it now.
"Rosie's here with the children," she tells me softly and I wonder why. "But Emmett's been held up at the office."
"Yeah," I say because it was my fault he was held up. "Dad home?" I ask flatly.
"In his study," she tells me as she steps closer and lifts my hair off my face. She stares at my eye a moment and then her eyes travel downwards to my mouth. "How did this happen?" she asks.
"Because I'm stupid," I mumble as I bat her hands away. "I'll be up with dad," I tell her as I walk away.
I wait at the door to be told I could go into his study but the instant I'm through the door he's on his feet. His practised surgeons eyes scan my face and body right away, searching for other signs of damage.
"Sit," he tells me sternly and I do as I'm told. I watch him take his bag up off the floor, sit it on his desk and open it. He's got gauze and antiseptic in his fingers in seconds.
I let him dab at my lip and try not to wince as the alcohol burns.
He shines a penlight into my blackened eye and asks if I'm seeing double or if my vision is blurred. I remind him that he's taken my glasses off as an answer.
He asks to see my hands once he's satisfied my eye is just bruised and I hold them out in front of myself, unable to hide the shaking now. He doesn't comment as he dabs more antiseptic onto my split knuckles.
"Anything else?" he asks as he throws the used gauze into the bin at his feet.
"No," I mumble just loud enough to be heard.
"Drink?" he asks.
"I drove myself," I inform him by way of declining the offer.
He pours himself one and brings it from the bookshelf, where he hides it from mom, to his desk and sits. "Is the other guy alright?" he asks.
"He'll live," I tell him.
Before we can say anything else my mother knocks delicately and pokes her head in through the door. "Will I put your plates in the oven?" she asks subtly.
My dad raises his eyebrows at me and I nod. "Thank you, dear," he tells my mother. "He's fine," he nods and she closes the door again. "Aren't you?" he asks me once we're alone again.
"I don't know," I say quietly.
"Do you want to tell me what this is all about?" he asks as he sips his drink.
"I fucked up," I tell him straight up. He doesn't say anything in reply. He simply sits, nursing his drink in his hand and waits me out. I run a hand through my hair and sigh heavily while I try and sort out what I'm going to say.
I decide to start at the beginning. I tell him when I first laid eyes on Isabella Swan, how I'd seen her dancing all alone that night. I explain how horrid I'd been to her at the fun fair and how I'd begged her to dance with me there.
I tell him how she'd slapped me then forgiven me for it all after the first picture and its accompanying story hit the papers.
I tell him she's been with me ever since. How strong she's been with the press. How wonderful she is to be near. How she makes me smile and want to ditch work just to laze around on my new squishy sofa all afternoon.
I tell him how Seth and I worked out that it was Tanya behind the press problem, how it was Isabella who'd worked out that Jake had something to do with it.
I tell him about the piece in the Financial Review that morning, how none of it was true and about how I'd tried to keep it from Isabella. I tell him that she worked it out for herself, because she's so fucking smart, and I admit to him that it turns me on that she is.
I tell him how she arranged for Seth to collect Jake and then I told him all about what was said in my office at my home once he arrived.
He listens silently to everything I have to say and when I'm finished he gets up and pours himself another drink before sitting back down in his chair.
"That's quite a tale," he says, finally.
"I know," I sigh.
"And I understand everything you've told me so far, but what I still don't understand is how you've arrived in my home with a cut lip a black eye and looking like you're about to cry," he says evenly.
I swipe at my eyes with the back of my sleeve and stave off the next panic attack as best I can. I can feel the heat rising in my gut and the pounding in my ears beginning. It's as though the harder I think about suppressing it the faster it comes over me.
I lean over a little and put my head on the desk, drawing in gulps of breath like a starving man.
"You're still suffering?" he asks, referring to the crippling attacks I'd had all my life when I'm stressed beyond breaking point.
"Less so," I manage to tell him as my chest and thighs give up their constricting hold and I can breathe a little easier again.
"You'll see someone for it," he tells me, rather than advises me. "Have your medication adjusted."
I ignore the direction and I push myself forward backwards, hanging my head between my knees as far as I can manage in the office chair. I draw in slow, deep breaths and try to ignore the voice in my head that's berating me for shaking off Isabella's help during the last attack.
"Where is Bella right now?" he asks carefully.
I don't lift my head as I answer. "At her own home," I manage to croak.
"She left?" he asks and I can hear the disappointment in his voice without needing to look up and see it on his face too.
"I sent her away," I admit as I sit back up, the worst of my symptoms subsiding a little and at least allowing me to talk normally.
"I don't understand," he says simply. "You told me she's been dealing remarkably well with all of this. The press scrutiny, your high profile and all that that brings, Jake's deception and Tanya's attempts to hurt you both. So why would you send her away after she's borne all that?"
I stand then, a little wobbly on my feet still, my eyesight fuzzy around the edges. "I sent her away before she insisted she leave on her own," I admit. "I couldn't handle it if she ditched me, alright?" I shout, ashamed of my cowardice. "I didn't want to hear her say that I'm not worth the trouble I've caused. It would crush me to hear her say that she can't deal with this," I tell him as I wave a hand down the length of my body.
"Has she given you any indication that she feels that way?" he asks calmly.
"How could she not feel that way?" I bark as I begin to pace a short, unsteady line behind the chair. "Her life's been opened up to public scrutiny simply because we danced together," I snarl through partly numb lips as I fight for oxygen. "Her nice, quiet life is a fucking mess and it's all because of me. She can't go to classes without people sniggering behind their hands at her. She can't step outside her house, or mine, without the press hounding her.
"She can't go shopping without a minder. She's afraid to sleep in her own home and there isn't a fucking thing I can do about it!" I bellow, my knees buckling a little. "And to top it all off, as if all that wasn't bad enough, she'd have to deal with me like this all the time."
He's up and beside me in an instant. He holds me up with an arm around my waist and after breathing along with me slowly for a moment he helps me back into the chair. He stands beside me, his hand on my shoulder, and talks me through getting my breathing under control.
He dashes out of the room but he's back quickly, a glass of cold water in his hand. I gulp it down gratefully, relieved that it's soothed my thickened throat.
When I'm feeling more in control, and can breathe at a normal pace, he goes back to his side of the desk. He takes another sip of his drink and thankfully doesn't scold me for the raised voice I'd used. "Has she asked you to do anything about her being hounded?" he asks calmly. "Has she asked you to make a statement? Has she asked you to do anything at all about the situation you both find yourselves in?"
I think on it before answering. "The only thing she's asked of me since I met her was for me to be honest."
"Have you been honest?" he asks.
"I have."
"Have you told her about your anxiety? About these attacks and how you deal with them? Were you honest about that?" he asks.
"I can't tell her," I moan unhappily into my hands.
"Then you haven't been honest," he states simply. "This is who you are, Edward. It's who you've always been. It's not a fault, there is no blame, and if she's as smart as you say she is then she'll understand."
"She'll think I'm weak. She'll hate having to deal with me when I'm like this. She'll want me to cut down my hours or install a manager or something because of the stress. I'll hate that and she'll resent me if I don't do it."
"You don't know any of that, it's all just assumptions," he says calmly. "What did she do when the attack began this afternoon?"
"She tried to help me," I admit.
"Did she?" he asks. "Did she actually help you or did she just try?"
"She did help for a bit but I pushed her away, made her leave so she wouldn't see it full blown," I admit sadly.
"Did it play out?" he asks, his doctors hat back firmly in place.
"It didn't, not fully," I admit. "But Seth was there."
"Do you think she sees you?" he asks, switching back to the original topic, and I squint at him because I don't understand the question. "Do you think she sees the real you? Not the image the press have presented?" he clarifies.
"Yes," I say sadly. "I've tried to show her."
"Except for your anxiety issues," he scolds gently and I nod my agreement. "So she knows you're highly strung, are a perfectionist, have control issues and hate to be wrong?" he asks.
It's hard to hear my short comings put into words from my father but I tell him yes, she does.
"And she stood beside you today in your office and told her ex-fiancé that it's you that she wants?"
I flick my eyes up to his quickly at that. "She did," I admit.
"And then you asked her to leave?"
"Yeah," I groan.
"For a genius you're a bit of an idiot," he chuckles.
"I just knew I couldn't hear her say she wanted to leave, dad."
"I understand," he says simply and I'm left wondering what he understands because I'm starting to think I understand nothing at all. "You panicked about her reaction to your panic attack."
"I did," I admit.
"And it made it worse," he mumbles. "She might have stood in front of Jake and told him that it's you that she wants but Edward, son, she also stood in front of you and told you the same thing. Can you see what I'm saying?" he asks.
"She told me it's me that she wants," I mumble to myself, letting the words roll around my mouth as well as my brain. "She wants me," I say again, as though I can't believe it for myself.
"Sounds like it," he grins, even though I hadn't asked his thoughts. "But you have to tell her everything and let her make an informed decision. Personally I don't think it's going to matter."
"You don't know that for sure," I argue.
"She's put up with all of the press issues, the loss of her privacy and with you," he chuckles, pointing at me across the desk, "and she's not run away screaming yet."
"She's not a screamer," I mumble before I can check the thought. "She's a pointer."
"Are you sleeping with her?" he asks, probably mistaking my comment for a reference to something sexual.
I feel my anger rise instantly, the red flush creeping up my chest and throat as I stare at him across the desk. "That's none of your god dammed business," I hiss.
"I know it's not," he grins, "but your answer tells me you are willing to protect her, and her reputation, no matter what."
"I am," I assure him, relieved that he doesn't want to discuss my sex life floods my system.
"Did you get into a fight protecting her?" he asks and I start to see what his line of questioning is about.
"No," I tell him sadly. "I got into a fight because I sent her home."
"Seth, Jared or Tyler?" he asks.
"Seth."
"Seth?" he asks, eyebrows raised and I nod. "He disagreed with your decision to send her home then?"
"You could say that," I mutter as I wipe my lip on my shirt sleeve again. "A few days ago I made the mistake of asking him to beat me about the head to knock some sense into me if I even looked like fucking things up with her."
"He's very literal," he chuckles and I throw him a scowl. "But very unprofessional," he adds in an attempt to save himself. "Did it work?" he asks.
"Did what work?"
"Did it knock some sense into you?"
"Emmett's at the office drafting two differing versions of my statement," I shrug.
"Is that an answer?" he chuckles.
"I don't know what you want me to say?" I bark as I get to my feet again. "Did I need sense knocked into me? Probably. Should I have given her all the information and then given her a choice to stay or go and faced her decision like a man? Probably."
"Are you in love with her?" he asks, catching me totally by surprise.
"Probably," I mumble as I sit back down.
His smile is a mile wide as he regards me over the desk. "Probably," he echo's quietly. "As I see it, if you want my opinion, you have two choices here."
"I'm listening," I tell him honestly.
"Option one is to come downstairs with me now and have dinner with your family and give her the night to mull over what's happened, or two, I sleep on the sofa tonight because I defend your decision to skip out on yet another family dinner."
"I bought a new sofa," I mumble stupidly.
"Is it comfortable?" he asks, grinning.
"Only when I share it," I whisper to myself but he hears me anyway. "Did mom make lasagne?"
"And garlic bread and that tangy salad dressing you like too," he teases evilly.
"I love that stuff," I mumble as I get to my feet. I check my watch, make a quick calculation and make my choice.
BPOV
"Emmett McCarty," he answers sternly.
"Em, it's Bella," I tell him.
"Hey Bell's," he says more cheerily. "What can I do for you at this hour on a Friday night? Hey, I thought you were having dinner at the Cullen's?"
"I was," I tell him and move on quickly so I don't have to explain why I'm not. "I need to ask you a question if you have the time?"
"Sure, shoot," he tells me.
"How do I go about making a statement to the press?" I ask gingerly.
"Why would you need to do that?" he asks slowly and cautiously.
"Because Jake's making Edward out to be a criminal and he isn't," I say simply.
"I admire your conviction," he says, "but any statement you make can only be personal opinion, not fact, and that would just inflame the situation more I'm afraid."
"But Edward's not done anything wrong. You know that as well as I do. I hate that Jake can say he has but I can't say he hasn't."
"I do know that," he agrees. "And Jake will pay for making that claim publicly, but it's better that you let the courts sort all that out."
"That'll take an age," I whine. "All the damage that can be done in the meantime isn't worth the wait."
"I agree. But even so, there is no weight you can add to Edward's case by making a public statement. It's best to let the professionals deal with it."
"So Jake gets to say anything he likes and Edward just has to wear it?"
"He doesn't have to wear it," he mutters darkly, "he chooses to wear it normally. But I'm at the office now drafting his responses and I'm hoping he'll let me run one of the versions we've got so far."
"Responses? Plural?" I ask.
"Hmm mmm," he replies noncommittally.
"Is there one where he calls Jake a motherfucker and one where he calls him an esteemed colleague?" I ask hopefully.
"Um, not exactly."
"Then what exactly do they say?"
"You might want to talk to Ed about that," he sighs.
"That's not gonna happen," I whisper as the tears begin again. "Thanks Em," I manage to say before I hang up and let my frustration overwhelm me, again.
Ten minutes later, after splashing my face with water and gulping down two aspirin tablets for my headache, I pick up the phone and dial the only man a girl can truly rely on to tell her the truth.
It rings twice before he answers and when he does all my most recent attempts to gain some composure go right out the window.
"Oh daddy," I wail into the handset.
EPOV
"I'm sorry we fought," I tell Seth as he holds open the car door for me twenty minutes later.
"Don't sweat it, kid," he chirps back as he swipes at his own cut lip before he shuts my door and gets into the driver's seat. "Sorry about that, too," he tells me with a nod towards my own, matching, split lip and black eye.
"Don't sweat it," I chuckle back as best I can. "I had it coming."
"Where are we heading?" he asks as he backs the car around and heads out of my driveway.
"Isabella's," I tell him firmly.
"You going to tell her everything?" he asks as he slows to a stop well before the gate. I nod that I am and he starts forward again. "Good," is all he says as we pass by the press.
"Emmett called me," I tell him as we turn into the street.
"Oh yeah?" he asks.
"Yeah. She called him about an hour ago. Said she wanted to know how to make a public statement."
"She's come to her senses and she's publicly outing you as an asshole?" he asks.
"I wouldn't blame her if she did, but no. She wanted to defend me," I say quietly.
"Emmett's advice to her was what?" he asks, making no comment about her request.
"He told her not to. She argued though," I add.
"I bet she did," he chuckles. "She's a woman who knows what she wants."
"She is."
"Looks to me like she wants you," he says quietly.
"I hope that's still true," I mumble to myself as I stare out the window.
BPOV
"I trust your judgement," dad tells me after I've given him the rundown of what's occurred over the past week or so. "I can't say I'm too happy about anything I've read in the papers, but I know better than to believe everything I read, kiddo."
"Thanks dad," I say quietly. "He's really nothing like what they make him out to be."
"He better not be," he says and I can imagine how his moustache would be twitching as he does.
"He isn't. He's the total opposite. He's kind and sweet and he's done everything he can to shield me from all of it."
"Tell me about this article today," he asks because, like me, he's never read the Financial Review in his life.
I pull the rumpled and creased copy of the paper from my backpack and read the entire article to him in one go. He asks me to read it again and I giggle a little because I'd had to read it twice myself before I really took it all in.
"Is any of it true?" he asks when I'm done with the second reading.
"Some of it," I admit, just as Edward had done when I'd asked the same question. "The good bits are true."
"Good bits?" he asks and I giggle again.
"Let me explain it all and you'll see the good bits, I promise," I tell him.
I go slowly, like Edward did with me, and after I've explained it all my dad thinks just like I do.
"He's a good guy, Bell's," he says softly. "He tried to do a good thing and Jake is trying to ruin it."
"I know," I say sadly. "But Edward's smart, dad. So, so smart. He can prove that he hasn't done anything wrong on this deal. And he's always three steps ahead on things like this."
"Will he be able to clear his name then?" dad asks. "Will all this publicity hurt his business do you think?"
"If there's a way to stop it Edward will find it," I say emphatically. "He's going to sue Jake for libel and he's going to win and then Jake will have to keep his big, fat mouth shut."
"Why does he hate him so bad?" dad asks.
"Oh dad," I wail, "it's so awful," I tell him and then I explain how Jake knows Tanya, how he used me way back when and how he's helping Tanya get at both Edward and I because he was in love with him.
"Jeez," dad whistles eloquently when I'm done. "I didn't see that coming."
"Me either," I sigh. "But Edward picked it. He called him on it and made Jake admit it."
"Forgive your old man for asking, kiddo, but if Edward's so smart and good and kind why are you crying?"
"Because he's perfect, and he doesn't want me," I sob.
EPOV
"You sure you want to do this without contacts in and with your lip busted?" Seth asks as we pull into Isabella's street.
"I don't give a fuck what anyone says anymore," I seethe.
He chuckles but says nothing about my answer. He pulls up, reminds me to keep my head down to hide my lip and eye this time, and then he opens and holds the back door for me.
We rush past the press, who are getting more and more aggressive as the days go by, and go into the sanctuary of Isabella's lobby.
"Call me if you need collecting," Seth tells me as I rush to the lift.
I wave to show him that I've heard him and as soon as the carriage arrives I'm in it, with the floor number pressed, and sweating bullets as I watch the numbers light up overhead.
I stand outside her door and take stock of myself before I knock.
I pull my suit jacket sleeves down a little, hoping to cover the smears of blood from my lip, and then I push my glasses back up my nose.
I square my shoulders as I knock and try to mentally prepare myself for what I'm about to do.
"Who is it?" she asks hesitantly, and rightly so.
"It's Edward," I say as clearly as my voice box will let me.
"What do you want?" she asks.
"I want to apologise," I tell her honestly.
I hear the deadbolt slide back and then the chain jiggle as it's released from its moorings. She opens the door just a little, her head down and her hands shaking at her sides.
"You don't have to apologise," she whispers so softly I have to lean down to make out the words. "I've been dumped before, I know the drill."
My stomach clenches at the sadness in her words and I kick myself mentally for making her think I didn't want her.
"Can I come in?" I ask instead of answering, not keen to explain myself whilst standing in the hall.
"Don't make it worse," she stammers, one of the few times I'd seen her being anything other than confident in herself. "I get it. You don't have to hammer it home. You asked me to leave and I left. You had every right to ask me to leave so let's just let the horse actually die without prodding it," she says a little more firmly as she raises her face.
I can see the redness in her eyes, the unshed tears lying along her lashes ready to spill over. Her lips are red and puffy and I want to kiss all her pain away.
I'm about to tell her that she's got it all wrong when she gasps and covers her mouth with her hand. "What happened to you?" she cries, those tears now cascading down her cheeks unchecked.
I was so hell bent on getting her to just talk to me that I'd forgotten what a sight I must be myself.
I reach for her but she backs away, back into her apartment. I raise my hands to show her that I won't touch her if she doesn't want me to and then I beg her to let me come inside, to explain myself and to apologise.
She eyes me warily but steps aside a little for me to enter. I go right past her and into her living room. She closes the door behind me and slides the bolt home once again.
"What happened?" she whispers as she joins me in the centre of the room.
"It doesn't matter," I tell her firmly. "Can we sit?" I ask, nodding towards her sofa. She nods and I sit on the very edge of it while she takes an armchair. "I seem to start and end every single day since I met you with I'm sorry," I tell her as I run a hand through my hair, "and today's no exception. I'm so sorry I asked you to leave."
"What happened to your eye and your lip?" she asks with cast down eyes, completely ignoring my apology.
"It doesn't matter," I tell her again gently.
"Who did that to you?" she asks a little more loudly and with more conviction.
But still she wouldn't raise her eyes to meet mine.
"I got in a fight," I tell her by way of an answer.
"At least you didn't tell me you walked into a door," she mumbles. "Was it with the press? Will there be pictures of it in the paper tomorrow?"
"God no!" I almost shout. "No. It was Seth," I tell her. "I got into a fight with Seth."
She raises her eyes to mine, probably to gauge whether or not I was telling the truth, and then lowers them again. "Are you alright?" she asks softly.
"Dad patched me up," I tell her.
"Good," she says. "I'll call your mom in the morning and tell her personally that I'm sorry I couldn't go to dinner."
"Don't worry about that," I tell her. "Will you accept my apology?" I ask cautiously.
"Okay," she whispers and I watch as more tears fall from her cheeks and land on her clasped hands as they rest in her lap. "And I'm sorry I invited your enemy into your home."
"I don't care about that," I tell her as softly as I can.
"You won't accept?" she asks sadly.
"I accept your apology, of course I do, but what I meant was you don't need to apologise because I'm glad you sent Seth to get Jake."
"You are?" she asks, her eyes wide when she lifts her head for just a second.
"Of course I am. You were right to do it and you were right about us needing to get some answers from him in a secure place where nothing that was said could be used later on," I tell her truthfully. "You're so smart," I say with as much of a smile as I can muster.
"I'm glad you got your answers," she mumbles and hangs her head again.
"Why won't you look at me?" I ask gently as I slip off the sofa and get onto my knees. I crawl across the floor and when I'm directly in front of her I look under the veil of her hair and put a finger to her chin. "Look at me, darling," I implore her as I raise her face. "Please don't cry," I beg. "I can't stand to see you upset."
I watch, feeling helpless, as more tears run in rivers down her cheeks. I reach for her, wanting to wash them away with my thumbs but she pulls back, denying me the chance.
"Don't make this worse," she whispers hoarsely. "I've accepted your apology. You can go now. I won't make a fuss and I won't say anything to the press, I promise," she tells me sadly.
"I know," I whisper as my stomach drops.
She's really crying then. Great, big fat tears slide down her cheeks onto her hands while she sobs. I want to hold her so badly but she's balked at me touching her twice and I don't want to frighten her by insisting, so I sit back on my haunches and give her some space.
She starts sniffing and I recognise it as her trying to control her tears and emotions. I get up and go into the kitchen. I bring back the box of tissues I'd seen on the counter. I take two out of the box and hand them to her. She mumbles thank you as mops up her tears and wipes her nose. I sit back on the edge of the sofa feeling like utter shit.
She won't let me apologise for being a coward and not accepting her help and it makes me feel sick. Physically sick.
I'd blown it. She'd changed her mind. She watched me fall apart at home and now she didn't want me.
I watch her out of the corner of my eye as she blots her eyes only for fresh tears to begin falling as soon as she's dried them.
After a few minutes of silence, the awkward kind, I get the not so subtle hint that I'd burnt my bridges to the ground and got to my feet.
"I really am sorry," I whisper to her as I go by the armchair. I kiss her softly on her hair, just once more I tell myself, as I make my way to the door.
I twist the deadbolt free, undo the chain and pull the door shut behind me as I go. I want to remind her to lock up but I figure that with me out of her life she may well not need the extra locks anyway.
I go down in the lift and walk across the foyer like a dead man walking.
The doorman, I don't know which one he is because I can't see very well with one eye half swollen shut, but really I just don't care which one he is, asks me if I'm alright. Probably because I look like shit. I ignore him and call for Seth to collect me. He says he's close by and won't be long but I just don't care about that either.
"Come and sit down," the guy says and I nod.
I flop down into one of the chairs that line the walls and put my head into my hands.
"Head down," the guy says as he pushes on my skull.
I was so out of it I hadn't even noticed that I was gasping for breath until he touched me.
My eyes are swimming. There's heat in my back and neck and I know, I just know I've gone too far to stave the attack off this time. The precursor to it in my home office earlier hadn't fully subsided and now I was going to have to go through the whole shebang. I have pills. Pairs of them that are kept in the cars and in my offices at home and at work, but not in my pockets.
My head is pounding, my heart racing and the buzzing in my ears is getting louder and louder as I try in vain to calm myself. I can feel the pins and needles in my hands and feet as it starts to spread and I know I'm going to lose it. Truly lose it this time.
I hear Seth then and it could be minutes or hours later but he's there, sitting on his knees in front of me, shouting at me to concentrate. Yelling into my face to open my mouth and swallow the pill he's trying to put there.
But I can't unclench my jaw. My teeth are tingling, my gums zapping, giving me little jolts as I try and part my lips. My tongue feels swollen, as though it will totally close over my throat.
I hear talking but the buzzing in my ears doesn't allow me to fully comprehend what's being said until I see the waste paper bin between my knees.
Seth knows. He knows what comes next. He's there and he knows.
And I'm vomiting. Without knowing that I am I see and smell the mess in the bin and know that it's me making it.
I hear talking again, it's softer and is further away but who it is I don't comprehend. I don't understand the words exchanged.
There are fingers in my hair then. Hands on my shoulders as I'm sat up, pushed backwards.
Then there are fingers in my mouth, hooking my lips and pulling them back. I taste the acrid, sour flavour of a pill and I swallow reflexively, desperate to have it and the oblivion I know it will bring me.
And then I'm moving. Being held up on both sides. I'm on my feet but they hurt. They ache and I try and make myself understood but the buzzing in my ears and the tightness in my chest takes all my attention.
I'm being dragged and I don't understand.
I'm being laid down and it makes the spasms in my neck hurt worse but I can't make myself understood.
And suddenly I'm cold, shivering as though I'm standing in snow and for all I know I am.
And then the beautiful relief of the dark swamps me.
BPOV
"His breathing is steady but shallow," I hear Seth say into his phone quietly and I check that he's right by laying my ear on Edward's chest.
He's breathing quickly, his heart racing, but Seth's right, it is steady and shallow. Not increasing, not decreasing, and I worry that I don't know which is better.
"He vomited before I gave him the tablet," Seth says calmly. "He has pain in his joints, feet and hands and his ribs too," he says into the phone and I wonder how he knows that. "I'll text you the address," he says next and I know that someone is coming to help us.
I hear him whisper to Stanley as they stand off to one side of the equipment room and I want to know what they're saying. I want to know what happened. I want to know what to do.
"Bella," I hear my name called softly some time later and I look up to see Carlisle Cullen kneeling down beside me. "Bella, can you come away for a minute, to let me treat him?" he asks me softly and I nod.
I realise that I'm still leaning over him, my ear still to his chest and his hand still in mine. I let it go and get up onto my knees so I can slide away but I don't go far. I don't want to leave him even though I understand that Carlisle needs to check him over. I don't want to be on my own, sitting there at his side wondering what the hell I just saw happen and not be able to feel his skin to know that he was alive.
I waited for Carlisle to feel his pulse at his wrist and then I scoot forward again just a little and take Edward's hand into mine. I hold it tightly, taking note that he's still warm and his pulse is still hammering at his wrist.
His father shines a penlight into his eyes one at time and I find myself warning him to be careful of the bruised one.
"I'll be careful," he assures me but I watch him all the same.
He slips a stethoscope into his ears and then listens to Edward's chest before pulling away and asking Seth how long before his attack this afternoon the last attack was.
"Saturday morning, before the fun fair," Seth says sadly and I look up at him with wide eyes. "It wasn't like this," he tells me, rather than Carlisle. "It was very mild and it was over quickly, I promise."
"Did he need the medication then?" Carlisle asks as he rolls Edward onto his side and checks inside his mouth with his fingers.
"No," Seth says firmly. "We walked it off. Talked through it."
"Is he still smoking?" Carlisle asks.
"More lately," I reply, earning raised eyebrows. "He's been a little stressed."
"He didn't lose consciousness either Saturday or this afternoon?" Carlisle asks.
"No, nothing like that. A little sweating, a racing heart and the heat he usually feels up his back and neck, but he didn't pass out."
"Has he had any alcohol today?" Carlisle asks next.
"He drank water at lunch," Seth says, "but since then I don't know. Bella?" he says, looking to me.
"One beer and one glass of scotch at the house," I whimper as I think back. "Oh god, I practically challenged him to drink it," I sob.
"It's okay," Carlisle says calmly as he pats my forearm. "Can you tell me how long ago that was?"
"Um, around three, four maybe? What time did I arrive at the house?" I ask Seth.
"Three twenty," he says emphatically.
"Around four hours, that's fine," Carlisle says and I let out the breath I'd been holding. "Do you know if he took any pain killers for the cut lip or his eye?" he asks.
"I don't know," I mumble.
"I don't either," Seth says sadly.
"Okay," Carlisle sighs as he feels for Edward's pulse again at his wrist. "It's coming down," he says with a firm nod. "He'll be fine," he assures me as he checks inside his mouth again with his fingers. "He has medication to stave the attacks off but I'm assuming he didn't actually have any on him when this started. Am I right?" he told me but asked Seth.
"We keep them in the cars, at the house and at the office. He was worried that if he goes down and it gets out that he's got medication in his pockets the press will call him a junkie," Seth hisses. "He thinks Jake will spin it, make it look like he's incapable of running such a huge company if he's like this. I told him not to be so stupid, to keep them in his wallet or at least in his briefcase, but he wouldn't hear it."
"I'll convince him," I hear myself saying.
Carlisle smiles at me warmly and I wonder why. Its brief and I don't understand a thing that's going on around me.
"He'll sleep this off and be good as new, I promise," he's telling me gently with a pat to the back of my hand.
"Can we move him?" Seth asks. "I can't be sure what the press has already seen of him in the lobby."
"I don't see why not," Carlisle agrees as he gets to his feet. "But getting him out of here without them getting pictures will be tricky."
"He's not going outside," I say sternly as I too get to my feet. "He comes with me."
Carlisle looks to Seth who looks to me and then they're both nodding.
"You go up," Seth tells me. "Get the door unlocked and a bed ready for him. We'll bring him."
I don't want to let go of him. I'm afraid that he'll stop breathing and I'll never get a chance to tell him I understand or that I love him.
"Bella," Carlisle whispers at my side and I turn my eyes to him slowly. "He's not in any danger. The medication puts him out. It's supposed to. It gives him relief from the attack and lets him sleep off the worst of it. That's all."
"You swear it?" I demand defiantly.
"I do," Carlisle says matter of factly. "Go up and do what Seth has asked, we'll bring him to you and you can care for him, I promise."
I look to Seth who's nodding his agreement and then back to Carlisle who's pleading with me with his eyes. "Alright," I say quietly. I kiss Edward's hand then let it go.
I run out of the tiny equipment room and slap the button for the lift. I step from foot to foot impatiently while I wait for the carriage to come and rush into it when it does.
I throw open my front door, run down the hall to my bedroom and pull back the covers on my bed as quickly as I could. He'd been shivering despite the evening being a mild one, so I ran to the hall closet and pulled down my spare blankets and pillows.
When the bed's ready I go back to the closet and pull down fresh towels and face cloths. I stack them in the bathroom and then run back to the kitchen. I fill a glass of water and take it to the bedroom.
I look around; trying to think of anything I've forgotten. I understood panic attacks but what Edward was experiencing was so much worse than anything I'd had to deal with myself. As awful as mine made me feel his were a hundred times worse if what I'd just seen was the norm.
I put my hand to my mouth and stifle the sob I know is sitting right there, desperate to escape my lips. My beautiful Edward, my smart, sweet and kind Edward was suffering crippling anxiety attacks and I hadn't known.
I'd thought his twitches and ticks, the fidgeting and the hair rubbing were the extent of his 'tells' but I'd been wrong.
And he hadn't told me.
I put that out of mind when I hear the telltale 'ding' of the lift arriving.
I turn the lights down a little and then go to the door to wait.
Seth's got him slung over his shoulder, in a fireman's lift. "Which way?" he asks.
"Follow me," I tell him as I run ahead.
I watch as he lowers Edward onto my bed. I pull off his shoes and then I cover him with the blankets. I pat down his hair softly; telling him that I was there and that everything will be okay.
"Bella," Carlisle says quietly and I plant a soft kiss to the coppery mop and leave the room with the two men.
"How long will he sleep?" I ask as soon as we're in the living room.
"A few hours, at the very least," Carlisle tells me. "But he may be groggy and disoriented when he does wake up."
"What will he need?" I ask.
"Water and aspirin, do you have some?" Carlisle asks as he digs into his bag of tricks. He doesn't wait for my answer, instead he hands me a box of the little tablets with a shaking hand. "Keep him drinking so he doesn't dehydrate from the vomiting and if he's nauseous he can have two of these every four hours," he says, handing me a little bottle of pills.
"He'll be cranky and embarrassed," Seth warns me. "And he'll crave sugar. I'll run out and get something. I won't be long," he tells me as he pulls his keys from his pocket. "Lock this door when he leaves, Bella," he tells me with a nod towards Edward's dad.
"He shouldn't be embarrassed," I mumble once he's gone.
"No, he shouldn't," Carlisle says quietly. "But he will be. He always has been."
"He's had them for a while then?" I ask.
"All his life," he admits sadly. "I thought this was happening less and less often lately but he told me tonight that in the last week he's had several quite bad episodes."
"Because of me," I whisper.
"No, sweetheart, not because of you. Because of the media scrutiny and his worry over whether or not you can handle it."
"I am handling it," I tell him sternly. "I haven't whined or bitched about it. I've accepted it as a part of being with him. He knows that. I've told him that."
"He said as much," he sighs but I don't understand the sadness in his voice. "Talk with him when he's up to it. He won't be pleased you were there to see this side of him, but talk to him if he'll let you. I'll come by in the morning and check in on you both."
"Thank you, for everything," I tell him as he gathers his things. "I'll take good care of him, I promise."
"I know you will," he smiles kindly. "Call me if you need anything. Even if you just need to ask my advice. My numbers in the phone Edward gave you."
"I will," I agree as we move to the door.
"Talk to him," he says pointedly as he leaves.
I slide the locks across and lean my forehead against the door while I gather myself.
I didn't understand a lot of what I'd been told and I was smart enough to know that the two men who had just been in my apartment knew more than I did. Edward held the answers I needed but he would sleep for a while.
I wanted to sleep too. I needed to. But Seth was coming back with sweets so I knew I couldn't just yet.
I set the tablets onto the kitchen counter and wrote out Carlisle's instructions onto a sticky note that I stuck to the counter too. I ran back to the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed, taking his hand into mine. I rubbed it softly while I watched him sleep.
He looked so peaceful, his breathing more regular and not so shallow now. His brow was crease free and his lips were slack in sleep.
"I can handle anything thrown at me as long as I'm with you," I whisper though I know he can't hear me. "I just wish you'd let me show you."
EPOV
I'm hot.
That's my first thought as I wake. I'm hot and I have no clue where I am.
I crack one eye open and wince at the pain. Wrong eye I think to myself as I reach up and feel that it's now swollen shut.
"Easy," I hear whispered beside me as a soft and warm hand takes mine and brings it down from my face. I try and I turn a little, cringing at the pound of a headache behind my temples as I do. "Move slowly. You're safe here," the voice says.
I roll very slowly onto my side and open my other eye. The room's dark, just the soft glow of a lamp far away to illuminate it, but I can see that I'm in a bedroom. It's not mine though.
"Where am I?" I croak.
"At my apartment," comes the reply and I look up a little and see Isabella sitting on the edge of the bed.
"Water," I groan as I try and shift a little so that I can swallow.
Within seconds she's holding a glass, telling me to lie back, that she'll help me.
She holds the back of my head and I do my best to open my mouth and sip at it without spilling it.
"More?" she asks as she takes the glass down, giving me time to catch my breath. I open my mouth as a reply and she tilts the glass again, waiting patiently while I take tiny pulls of the cool water. "Better?" she asks when I slump back onto the pillows.
"Thank you," I manage to grunt before closing my eyes again.
"Sleep," she whispers near my ear.
I feel her hand in mine, rubbing my fingers gently, and I moan at how good it feels.
"Sleep," she whispers again and I think that's a very good idea.
I've been sick in my sleep is my first thought when I wake next.
I can smell it, though it's faint.
I try to open an eye but the pain in my head is crippling.
"Shhh," comes her voice from beside me but I don't remember making any sound myself. "You're alright," she coos as she pushes my hair off my forehead.
"I'm sorry," I manage to slur.
"Don't be," she whispers. "I'm here, I've got you," she says as she runs a cool cloth over my forehead.
Its bliss. A relief from the fiery sweat.
"Sleep," she says softly and I relax knowing she's there and let it take me over.
The next time I wake I know where I am. I'm in Isabella's home, in her bed. What I don't know is why.
That's insignificant though because whilst I still have the headache I have a much more pressing issue.
I roll onto my side and open my good eye so I can find her. The rooms still dark and she's not in my line of sight and I worry just a little that I'm alone.
"Bathroom," I grunt, making the dull ache in my head throb, hoping someone hears me.
"I'll help," comes her voice though I can't tell from which direction it comes.
And then she's there. At the side of the bed and I can see her grey sleep pants though the image is fuzzy still. She kneels down and then I can see her face. I try and smile but can only manage a grimace.
"Swing your legs over first," she says and I take a deep breath before I do. "Good, now I'll take your hips, you push up with your hands on the mattress," she advises.
I do as she says and I manage to stand, though I'm unsteady. I have to keep my eyes closed against the little bit of light there is so I'm disoriented and I clutch outwards with my hands hoping she'll get the hint and guide me without me having to try and speak again.
She's there then, slinging my arm over her shoulder, wrapping one arm around my waist to help hold me up. "Slowly," she whispers beside me and we begin to walk. Each step is echoed in my head as a thump and I do my best not to grunt as I put one foot in front of the other. "A little left," she whispers and I put my next step to my left.
I hear the turning of a door handle and then the cold of tiles greets my feet.
"Stop here," she says softly and I do, grateful for the time to rest as she undoes first my belt and then the button and zipper on my suit pants.
I feel them loosen and huff at how degrading it is to need help to empty my bladder.
"Do you want to sit?" she asks and I nod because it's all I'm capable of right then. Her fingers take mine and then they're met with the hard, smooth surface of a countertop. "That's the sink," she tells me before letting my hand go. "You're right in front of the toilet, all you need to do is sit. I'll be right outside the door, just bash on the wall to your right when you're done and I'll come back."
I wait until I hear the door close and then I slide my pants and boxers to my knees before using the sink as a steadier as I sit.
I sigh at the relief as I pee and say a silent thank you to the girl who shouldn't have to help me to do it.
I stand when I'm done and do my best to drag my clothing back up. The button and zipper are beyond my abilities so I just let my pants hang on my hips. Washing my hands is impossible too but flushing the toilet is a must.
I reach one hand behind myself and trace the outline of the cistern until I find the button then I use that same hand to tap on the wall.
The door opens and she's there again, right in front me, tugging my pants closed and doing up the button.
"Hands," I grunt.
"I've got sanitiser in the bedroom," she tells me and I'm grateful. She ducks back under my shoulder again and puts her arm around my waist. "Slowly," she tells me again and we shuffle back into the bedroom and the haven that is her bed.
We repeat in reverse the same process as before and I sit first, swing my legs into the bed and then gratefully lower my head back to the pillow.
I feel the side of the mattress depress as she sits at my side and then my hands are being rubbed with the cold jelly of hand sanitiser. She rubs them vigorously and then wipes them over with a towel.
"There you go," she murmurs softly.
"Thank you," I whisper.
"Sleep," she whispers at my ear and I swear I feel her kiss me gently on the top of my head before sleep claims me again.
The next time I wake its light in the room and my eyes adjust faster to my surroundings.
The headache is still there though it's no longer concentrated in my temples; it's a gentler thud as I sit up a little.
Every muscle and joint aches but its tolerable. Just.
The swelling in my eye has gone down overnight too and though my vision is still blurry it's because I have neither my glasses nor my contacts in.
I lie there and take stock of my body. My feet and fingers are no longer tingling and the heat in my back and neck is gone. My chest feels lighter and the constriction there has dissipated with sleep. My tongue feels its normal size and the rhythmic clenching and unclenching of my jaw the night before hasn't left my mouth feeling too bad.
I'm the right temperature which is a relief in itself.
My gut is rumbling but I don't feel as though I need to be sick as I sit up fully against the pillows.
"How do you feel?" a soft voice asks from across the room.
This time I have no problem turning my head to find her. I can't see her perfectly without glasses on but I can see that she's sitting at a small table, a pen in her hand and papers on the tables surface.
She's wrapped in a robe and her hair is piled up on top of her head. She's beautiful, even from that distance.
"Okay," I mumble, remembering to answer her question after a fairly lengthy silence.
"Do you think you could stomach some juice?" she asks as she rises from the table.
"Juice would be good," I rasp from my hoarse throat.
She leaves the room and I'm left lying there wondering how she knew I'd need something sweet. She comes back with a tray and sets it on the bedside cabinet and then she's offering me a long glass of icy cold orange juice.
My mouth waters instantly and I suck it down fast. I hand her the empty glass and she refills it from a jug before offering it to me a second time.
I'm slower this time but I drain it all the same. My body craves sugar in any form after a full blown attack and she knows it. How she knows it remains to be seen but I have my suspicions.
I hand the glass back and watch as she refills it a third time. She offers it to me but I decline as politely as I can.
She sets the still full glass on the cabinet and takes the tray away, probably back to the kitchen. When she returns she's got a bowl of fruit and a plastic bag.
"Fruit or jubes?" she asks as she holds the bowl and the bag out in front of herself.
"Jubes," I almost whimper pathetically. "How did you know?" I ask as she sets the bowl with the glass and tears open the bag.
"Your dad and Seth told me what you'd need," she whispers as she passes me the bag.
I dive into it right away, choosing an orange flavoured jelly sweet. I chew it carefully, savouring the sugary coating before all I'm left with is the gelatinous centre.
"It's good," I say around the mushy treat before swallowing.
"Natural sugar," she tells me as she goes back to the little table.
I chew a few more of the sweets, take another long pull from the glass of juice and wiggle down until I'm lying flat again.
"Wake me in an hour and I'll get out of your hair," I mumble as I close my eyes again.
BPOV
I watch him sleep, my homework forgotten on the table in front of me.
I'd spent hours online on my laptop reading about the symptoms, signs and treatment for severe anxiety disorders and had made list after list of things to remember for next time. And I knew there would be a next time.
Carlisle had told me that his son had suffered with these attacks almost his whole life so I knew that at some point in the future this would happen again and I was determined to be informed and prepared.
All I had to hope was that he'd want me around when it did.
He's peaceful this time. Not thrashing or moaning in pain. His breathing has steadied and slowed as the night's gone on. He stopped vomiting around three in the morning and hadn't coughed or even sounded like he was gagging since then, thankfully.
I'd mopped up after him, patted his hair when he cried out and wiped his face and hands over and over through the night to try and make him comfortable. I had no idea if any of it had achieved that goal but I knew that I'd had to try.
Helping him in the bathroom had frightened me. The sheer 'ick' factor of having to help a man to relieve himself had bothered me at first but once I had him on his feet and saw and felt just how helpless he was, and blind too because of the headache, I put all of that out of my mind and did my best by him.
I look over at his shoes on the floor at the foot of my bed and smile. His wallet, keys and glasses were on the bedside cabinet and his belt was in a coil on the end of the bed. I wanted his things to be there. I wanted to be near him and his things because it made me happy.
His mumbled words as he'd fallen asleep the last time had made my chest ache and my belly lurch. I had so many conversations floating around in my head, and so many questions about those conversations, that I didn't really understand how we'd gotten to where we were.
I'd assumed that Edward had asked me to leave his home because he no longer wanted me, that he was angry because I'd sent for Jake or that he'd simply worked out how much trouble it was going to be, for both of us, to be together.
But now I wasn't so sure.
If I had it wrong I needed it to be Edward who told me so.
If he had the impression that I didn't want him I had to clear that up and tell him that he was wrong.
If he thought that I wouldn't want him because he suffered anxiety attacks he had rocks in his head and I'd be quite happy to tell him that too.
But right then he was sleeping peacefully and it would all have to wait.
It was Saturday morning and I had nowhere to be so once I was sure he was deeply asleep I went out into the kitchen and set the kettle to boil.
I called Jasper and told him that I wasn't at Edward's house, that he was at mine. We talked for a little while, about this and that, but mainly about whether I thought being with 'this guy' was worth it.
It was easy to tell my brother that it was, that Edward was important to me, and I ended the call after accepting his luck and best wishes.
I talked to my dad who asked all the same questions as my brother had. He wasn't quite so forthcoming with the good wishes at the end. But I figured if I had a daughter who'd called me the night before in tears because a boy didn't want her, only to call the next morning with a story like I had to tell, I wouldn't be too receptive either.
I checked in with Seth who told me that there was nothing in the press about the incident the night before and nothing about Edward having a black eye and cut lip. None of the press had moved on from either of our homes, but so far they had no clue that anything out of the ordinary had occurred during the night. As far as they were concerned the two of us were shacked up at my house for a change, rather than at his.
Seth told me that Emmett was still sitting on the two versions of Edward's statement and that there was no hurry for him to make up his mind which one to go with, if he still wanted to in the cold light of day.
With business over Seth then asked if I was okay and if I needed anything personally. I told him I was fine, needed nothing at all and thanked him for all he'd done already. He asked if Edward needed anything and all I could think of was some clean clothes. He promised he'd bring some within the hour.
I called Edward's parents and assured them that he was okay, had slept a lot and that he'd seemed much better the last time he'd woken.
Carlisle reminded me that he'd be stopping by on his way to work and Esme begged me to stop apologising for not going to dinner the night before. She made me promise to come to the next one, the following Friday, and I told her honestly that I wasn't sure that's what Edward wanted yet.
She scoffed. I politely argued. She told me to fight for him. I promised I'd try. She told me she'd 'box his ears' if he was horrid to me and we hung up giggling.
With a fresh mug of coffee for me and a pot of tea all ready for boiling water when he woke up next I went back to the table in my bedroom and my homework.
EPOV
My first thought on waking was to look over at the little table and see if she was still there.
She was. Though she'd changed out of her robe and was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. Her hair was loose and flowing down her back. The sunlight coming in the window made it look as though she had a halo. She was stunning.
"You're so beautiful," I whisper as I sit up, noting that it was, at last, much easier to do so. It was also almost pain free.
"And you're awake," she whispers back as she comes to the side of the bed. "Juice?" she asks and I nod.
I drain the glass again but decline any more. She offers me more jubes, the bowl of fruit and some water but I'm good and tell her so.
"I know you can't have coffee but I've got tea?" she whispers instead.
"Later," I tell her softly and reach for her hand. She lets me take it into mine. I pull it to my lips and kiss her knuckles. "Thank you for taking care of me," I tell her sincerely. "I'm sorry I was sick, and I'm sorry I've sweated all through your bed and I'm sorry you had to witness me lose my shit like that."
"Are you ashamed of it?" she asks out of the blue.
I'm a little stunned by the bluntness of the question, but not that surprised she'd asked. "I've learned to be," I tell her honestly.
"Why?" is her simple reply.
"Because it'll be reported as a weakness. They'll say I'm not fit to control my own company. Jake will use it against me; make it sound like I'm not competent, not of sound mind."
"Then you'll sue for libel again, and win, and he'll shut up, again," she says defiantly.
"It's not that simple," I sigh as I sit up further and pull on her so she's sitting on the side of the bed.
"If you had diabetes and you had to take insulin everyday do you think the press would care? Do you think Jake could turn that around and use it against you?" she asked.
"No," I say matter of factly. "But that's a disease. This is me not being able to cope with the stresses of running a company that thousands of employees count on me being able to run every day."
"How many attacks that were this bad have you had in the last year?" she asks and I cringe.
"Three," I mumble.
"When was the first one?" she asks.
"July third."
"What happened on July second?" she asks, astutely.
"The League managed to successfully block me from getting a permit to open a smelter that would've opened up a whole new avenue for export," I mutter. "The press swarmed. There was talk that I'd lost my edge, that my processes were so environmentally damaging that all my permits should be revoked. Nothing ever came of that. I fought that and won in the end."
"And the next attack was when?"
"The first week of September."
"What happened prior?"
"Rosie nearly died giving birth to my nephew."
"And the third?"
"Last night," I say quietly.
"What happened prior?" she asks though she knows damn well what happened, she just wants me to say it.
"I had a confrontation with Jake, had a minor attack, made my beautiful girlfriend think I didn't want her and that caused a full blown attack."
"I'm ignoring the last bit of that," she says matter of factly, "but if you think about the three major attacks you've had this year two of them were caused by pressure and stress from your work and the other by a personal trauma.
"The only shameful part about any of that is that it's direct pressure from the press, and Jake, that caused you to have two of those attacks. They are the ones who should be ashamed, not you."
"That's nice, in theory," I agree. "And they should be ashamed, but that doesn't change anything. I don't want anyone to know about this. Regardless of what their opinion is of it, if it gets out I'm ruined."
"Then we won't tell anyone," she says simply. "Your dad's coming by soon to check on you. Seth will drop off some clean clothes and things soon too so do you think you're up to a shower and something to eat?" she asks as she gets up from the side of the bed, our discussion obviously over.
"A shower definitely," I tell her, "food is a little ways off yet. In a few hours maybe."
"Then let's get you into the shower," she says brightly.
"I don't suppose you have a rainwater thingy, do you?" I tease as I gingerly swing my legs over the side of the bed.
"No, but I do have a hosepipe that hangs out of the wall like Seth," she giggles as she helps me to my feet.
"I suppose it'll have to do," I joke as I begin to walk to the bathroom.
A/N: Thank you for reading.
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