A/N Twilight is owned by Stephenie Meyer

CHAPTER 2

BPOV

The night was cold and smelt of cinders.

Fireworks had been flying across the sky, their explosion greeted with a manufactured gasp of awe from the cacophony of women clinging to their menfolk in the darkness. All proclaiming, See me, I react to light and fire and I can be seen.

I had no one. I wanted no one.

The cathedral was the only luxury I allowed myself. The click on stone, the faint scent of incense...the greasy feeling of the desperate and the damned.

I was almost home. I could feel eyes upon me, watching my every step. As always I disregarded it - I hadn't even confessed to my therapist that I thought someone was watching me. I worried what her eyes would show when she looked at me.

The hallway was a welcome blast of warmth, the scent of roses and lillies breaking over me. The doorman, Felix, gave me his usual smile of greeting. I ignored him as always, heading to the elevator and pressing the blue-rimmed button to reach my sanctuary.

I was accosted before I'd even stepped from the lift. Rose, her steely eyes intent and her long limbs dancing, grasped me and yanked me from the elevator as if I'd melt into the ethos without her handle on my arm.

"Bella, where the fuck have you been? Jesus, Dr. Bitch's secretary told me you left her office two hours ago. I thought you'd been..."

And her voice trailed off, because even in jest she was too careful to mention anything that might trigger a breakdown within me. I appreciated her concern, but hated it in equal measures.

"I'm fine." My voice was robotic, even to me. "I went to the cathedral again."

Rose sighed, her eyes understanding but her grasp unforgiving. "Fuck, Bella. You can't drown yourself in Catholic guilt and pain forever."

"I'm not Catholic." Like that was even the point. Avoidance had always been my refuge.

Rosalie's hand twitched, and I knew she restrained herself from smacking me. Strangely, it made me feel comforted, made me feel that my current casting as the eternal victim was beginning to shatter.

Surprisingly, her voice was soft. Rose was a coil of damaging energy, devouring and feasting upon those around her, yet to me she shared some of her warmth, her compassion. I wondered how much of it stemmed for our shared horror.

"Bella, please just call me next time." She reached to the top shelf and pulled down the bottle of Jose. "I was worried."

I shrugged. What else was there to say. She poured the Cuervo with the care of a priest preparing the Holy Sacrament, slicing lime and situating rock salt on the counter. We downed the shots, licking the salt and sucking on the sharpness of the lime like it was the last handle in the inferno.

"You can't quit therapy."

My response was predictable and automatic. "Fuck that. And fuck you, Rose. You dodged therapy for five years."

"Shut up, Swan. this isn't a goddamn competition. And it's a completely different situation. You're fading. Every day you slip a little more into that dark place. It's fucking selfish and indulgent - sort your act out before you join the other junkies worshiping Grey Goose every night."

I laughed, avoiding as always. "So if I stick with the Cuervo I'm fine then? And Grey Goose is too expensive for the hobos, they tend to go for Imperial."

Rage flashed in her eyes and Rose threw the shot glass against the opposite wall, the glass shattering and spilling over the tiles. "Cut the shit. I won't stand around and watch you kill yourself."

"No one asked you to stay."

Then she grabbed me, her tight fingers gripping my upper arms and shaking me. I was more shocked by the contact than by the reaction it elicited - Rose rarely touched anyone, even me. Her armour was too thick.

"Swan, you can't push me away with your bullshit. I'm here to stay. So shut the fuck up, finish your Cuervo and I'm going back with you tomorrow to see Dr. Bitch. Okay?"

Was it okay? No. But the idea of someone fighting for me, fighting to keep me from fading...that was good. I always valued Rose in my corner.

So I said the only thing I could, even though there was so much more to say. "Okay, Rose. It's at eleven in the morning. The Bitch hates it when I'm late."

A/N Twilight series and all recognisable characters are owned by Stephenie Meyer.