28
Bella hadn't consciously made the decision to go back to that house, yet she found herself standing inside the living room. Charlie had already been moved, though the equipment Edward had brought in was still there, along with the lingering feeling of pain that always filled that house. She couldn't think of a time when that house felt like a home, where she wasn't scared all the time.
She found herself staring at the pictures that filled the wall, the ones showing her as a happy, healthy, loved little girl. The lies they told, the lies he must have told himself to make dying easier, she thought. Still, she found herself staring at each and every picture, trying desperately to pull one memory of them. Just one where she wasn't in the way, one where he held her when she cried instead of screaming at her for being a crybaby, telling her how he would give her something to really cry about, as if he hadn't already. She wanted one memory — just one where he had actually loved her, wanted her, needed her. There weren't any, though. Every picture was like a slap in the face, a constant reminder of the love she so desperately wanted, yet never got.
Wrapping her arms around herself, she turned and walked upstairs, finding herself standing in front of her bedroom door. Her hand shook as she reached out, gripped the doorknob, and pushed the door open. The room looked the same, though covered in layer of dust. Her walls were still covered posters of her favorite pieces of art, which just fueled his anger even more. He hated that she was an artist. It was messy and expensive, he said. Besides, she wasn't that good, he'd add with a smirk. Anything to tear her down even more.
"Figured you'd end up back over here."
Bella didn't bother looking behind her at the sound of Carlisle's voice as she walked around the bed, falling to her knees with a loud thud.
"This is where you found me. Laying right here. Bleeding, broken, damaged. I thought he'd killed me once and for all. He'd always said he could do it, you know? He'd say he could kill me and nobody would even care, because I wasn't worth carrying about. He wasn't wrong, either."
"I cared about you. I love you, B. Esme loves you. Mom, Jasper, Ro, they all love you, always have too."
Bella shook her head, placing her hands on the floor. "Look at it, Carlisle. The carpet is discolored from where he tried to clean my blood of it, where he tried to erase everything he did to me over those three days. Like getting the blood out of the carpet would bring her back. He could have let me go, but he refused. He said he loved me, but he locked me in the closet for three days while she died, Carlisle. Why would he do that to me? Why couldn't he love me enough to let me go?"
He placed his hands on her shoulder. "B, come on. Let's get out of here."
"Don't fucking touch me!" she screamed, turning and pushing him away as tears fell down her face. "Don't touch me. Don't ever touch me again."
"Okay, B, I'm sorry," he said, putting his hands up in front of him. His blue eyes were filled with sadness.
"He said he loved me," she cried, her hands shaking as she held them in front of her. "He said he was sorry and that he loved me. How could he kill her if he loved me, Carlisle? How?"
"I don't know, honey. I don't know." Carlisle kept his hands up in front of him as he took a step toward her, only to stop when she moved away from him. "B, you're scaring the shit out of me."
"He loved me," she whimpered, falling forward again, her hands breaking her fall. "He loved me, he fucking loved me."
"Oh, my God," he whispered, and before she could stop him, he was by her side, his arms wrapped around her.
"He loved me," she sobbed, melting into his embrace. "He loved me. He said he loved me."
"It's okay, B." Carlisle pressed his lips against the top of her head. "Everything is going to be okay."
"He loved me," she whispered, her eyes closing. "He loved me."
She heard the front door open and closed, and someone hurrying upstairs, and when she opened her eyes, she found Edward standing in the doorway, his chest was heaving, indicating that he'd been running. He was still wearing his pajama pants, but had managed to put on the T-shirt she'd slept in and had on a pair of white, fuzzy bunny slippers.
"Hey," Edward murmured, pushing away from the doorframe and walking over to her and Carlisle, kneeling in front of them. "I've been looking for you, sweetheart."
"He. . . I . . ." Bella shook her head, her eyes closing. "He loved me, Edward. He said he loved me."
"I know, sweetheart," he whispered, reaching for her.
Carlisle shifted her into his arms, and when she looked back at him, he had tears in his eyes. "I . . . I'm sorry, B. I'm sorry."
"He said he loved me, Carlisle. He said he loved me. Why would he say that? Why now? Why didn't he love me enough not to kill her?"
"I don't know," he cried, placing his hand on the side of her face. "I wish I did, but I don't know."
"Come on, sweetheart, let's get you out of here."
Bella wrapped her arms around Edward as he lifted her off the floor, his lips finding the side of her head. He followed Carlisle downstairs, across the entry room, and out onto the porch. She expected him to carry her to his truck, and take her back to the big blue house on Manhattan Road, so imagine her surprise when he followed Carlisle across the street, two houses down. When they entered the house, she found James and Victoria sitting with Charlotte, who looked like she had been sobbing. Esme hurried to Carlisle's side, slipping into his arms, but her eyes — her eyes were locked on Bella.
"He loved me, Essie," Bella whimpered, turning and pressing her face against Edward's chest. "He said he loved me, and then he died. He fucking died."
"I know, B," she whispered. "Take her upstairs to the room on the left."
"Thanks," Edward murmured before she felt him carry her upstairs to her bedroom. He laid her on the bed, but she refused to release him. "Just for a second, sweetheart."
"Don't leave me," she cried, still holding on to him.
"I'm not leaving," he whispered, again pressing his lips against the top of her head.
"Please don't leave me," she sobbed, grabbing the back of his shirt, doing whatever she could to keep him with her.
As Edward laid them on the bed, keeping her pressed fully against him, she heard him whisper, "Never, sweetheart, never."
She'd lost Carlisle, her daughter, and her father. She couldn't lose Edward, not when she finally found him.
—You—
Bella awoke with a start, sitting up and finding herself alone in the pitch black room. She brought her hand up to her chest as she scooted to the edge of the bed just as the door to her bedroom opened and Edward walked back in. He looked at her, smiled, and shoved his phone into the pocket of his pajama pants before closing the door behind him.
"Hey," he whispered, walking over and sitting on the bed next to her, shifting so that he had one leg on the bed, and his body was facing her. "You okay?"
"I . . ." Bella shook her head. "No, I don't think I am." She shifted and pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. "I, um, I thought I was over him, over everything he had done to me. I spent like seven years in therapy, but it feels like . . . like stepping back in time. I . . . He has all those pictures, Edward, and I'm smiling and laughing, but I don't have those memories," she cried, and when he placed his hand on his cheek, she leaned into his touch. "Why couldn't he have loved me when I was little? Why did he wait until he was dying to tell me? Why, Edward? Just why?"
"I don't know," he murmured. "That letter he left you might have the answers, though."
Bella shook her head. "I can't read that. Not yet. Maybe not ever."
"Okay," he said, scooting closer. "Are you hungry? Charlotte . . . I'm sorry. Lottie as she insisted I call her," he said, giving her a look, "made her famous green chili enchilada soup? She said it's your favorite."
Bella smiled. "It is, but I'm not really very hungry."
"Okay."
She sighed and looked around, her eyes locking on the bunny slippers on his feet. "Can I ask you about the slippers?"
Edward laughed as he turned and stretched his legs out in front of him. "Lizzie bought them for me for my birthday just . . . just before she died. She, um, was always getting me dumb T-shirts, or boxer shorts with hearts on them. But she kept threatening to get me bunny slippers, and I always teased her that she didn't have the balls to actually get them. Well, I guess I was wrong, huh? I kept them next to the bed, and when I woke this morning, and realized you'd left, I got scared, I guess, and I put them on. Kind of like security blanket. They're stupid, I know, but they kind of make me feel . . . safe."
"They're not stupid," she told him. "But . . . but why were you scared?"
Edward frowned. "Because I thought . . . I thought you left . . . I thought you left me."
"Oh, Edward, I'm . . ." She shifted closer to him. "I'm sorry. I just . . . I needed to think, process my thoughts and feelings. Cry a lot," she whimpered. "My feelings right now about him, about you, they scare me, and I don't . . . I don't always know how to process my feelings in a healthy manner."
"What would you do if you were back in L.A.?" he asked.
"I'd probably lock myself in my apartment and paint for three days," she admitted. "Eventually, Carlisle or Esme, or both, would come and force me outside. They'd take me to lunch, or the gym, or the beach, and they wouldn't let me go back home until I talked to them."
Edward nodded before standing up and offering her his hands. "Okay, let's go."
"Where?" she asked, placing her hands in his and allowing him to help her off the bed.
"I thought you needed to break shit, that it would make you feel better because breaking shit made me . . . almost feel better, but you . . . you need to paint, so let's go paint."
"I don't have any paint here."
"Then we'll go get some."
"Edward," she murmured, shaking her head.
He brought his hand up to her face. "Let me love you, sweetheart. Just . . . let me love you."
Her lips trembled. "Okay."
Edward held her hand as they stepped outside of her bedroom and headed downstairs, where they found everyone sitting around the living room. And she did mean everyone. Carlisle and Esme, of course, both of whom stood when they saw her. Jasper and Alice, Rosalie and Emmett, Garrett and Kate, James and Victoria were seated around Charlotte. The one that surprised her, though, was Sam Uley, who sat with Leah next to him, his arm wrapped snuggly around his wife. He, too, stood when Carlisle and Esme did.
"Hey, Bella, I'm . . . I'm sorry."
"Yeah, I know you'll miss him," she replied, leaning closer to Edward, who released her hand and wrapped his arm around her, his fingers curving around her hip.
"That's . . . that's not why I'm sorry," he said, stepping toward her, but she moved backward and he put his hands up. "I'm not going to hurt you."
"Okay."
Sam shifted his eyes down to Leah, who nodded toward her, before he took a deep breath and said, "I'm sorry I didn't help you. I'm sorry . . . I'm sorry I . . . I'm sorry I didn't stop him from . . . killing your daughter. I should have done more. I should have done more to . . . to help you, and I'm sorry I didn't."
Bella bit the inside of her lip as she nodded. "I wish you had, too, but you didn't, so . . ." She shifted her eyes to Carlisle and Esme before looking up at Edward. "Can we leave now?"
"Sure, sweetheart," he said, nudging her toward the door.
"B?" Carlisle called out, and she paused and looked back at him. He shifted his eyes from her to Edward, and though he tried to hide it, she saw the way his shoulder tensed. "Be . . . be safe, okay?"
She nodded. "I will."
Turning, she allowed Edward to lead her out of the house, down the front walk, and across the street, two doors down. But instead of going into her childhood nightmare, he opened the passenger door of his truck, and gestured for her to climb in. Once she was inside, he closed the door and hurried around the truck, climbing into the driver's side. He started the truck, but instead of heading to the big blue house on Manhattan Road, he pulled out onto the highway. She pulled her knees up to her chest, and looked over at him, knowing, hoping, that he wouldn't get tired of having her around. She needed him. Needed him more than she had needed anyone.
Thank you for all the AMAZING reviews! Bella is quite the basket case right now.
