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

CHAPTER 4

BPOV

Her office was an ode of modernism, all stark lines and ambiguous crystal sculptures. A painting over her desk caught my eye, as always. It was a minimalist assortment of lines and shades, subtly suggesting at the curve of the female form.

Early on, in one our therapy sessions when I felt particularly threatened, I'd asked if she was trying to hint to her patients she was a lesbian and after my ass. Dr Bitch had just smirked and pointed out a photograph of a tall, built Native American with a laughing grin and hair past his shoulders, and told me I was too skinny to be her type.

I'd shut up after that.

"So, Bella." Dr Bitch tapped her pen against the mahogany of her desk, a regular rhythm that simultaneously soothed and aggravated me. Such a perfect complement to her words that I had to bite back a semi-hysterical snort. "You said you weren't coming back. You seemed quite sure this time."

Her words were neutral, just observing a fact. Yet I could see the glimmer in her eyes, the knowledge that I made the same proclamation after every therapy session.

"Yeah, well..." I floundered, the eloquence of an English Masters failing me utterly. I worried at the hem of my skirt. "Here I am."

Dr Bitch, also known as Leah Clearwater to her friends (not that I was convinced she had any) arched a brow at me knowingly. Too knowingly. As always, I questioned why I put myself through this torture every week.

Because it helps you.

Shut up!!

First there was Dr. Roberts. A greasy, sweaty mouth-breather with an over-reliance on the most cliched of psychiatrist's tools: but how does that make you feel, Bella? When my response had been that it made me feel like punching him in the face, by mutual agreement I'd moved on to another therapist.

Then was Dr. Anderson, whose narrowed brow and cool words disguised a lack of understanding and empathy. He'd grown impatient with me and we'd parted paths when I told him he could never understand while he still lacked a uterus.

Next was Dr. Dragonavich. It had been promising at first, but she was too nice for me, too caring and compassionate to break through my sarcastic defences. Too unwilling to just tell me to shut the fuck up and cut the bullshit.

So next came Dr. Clearwater, swiftly named Dr. Bitch. And she knew what I was, what I wanted. What I needed. There was no bullshit with her. Some days I was sure she would have no compunction with slapping me full-handed if I pushed her far enough.

Strangely, it was exactly what I needed.

Her voice drew me from my reverie. "Bella?"

"Sorry," I muttered, smoothing my skirt again. I abruptly stopped, knowing it was a nervous gesture and undoubtedly being marked on Dr. Bitch's schedule of my unease. "Rose made me come back."

"She made you?" Liquid almond eyes in her coppery face challenged me.

I corrected myself. "She encouraged me."

Dr. Bitch nodded at this, as if I'd just extolled a novel update to the theory of relativity. Whatever.

"I want to talk about the cathedral, Bella."

Immediately, I froze.

"Have you been going back there?"

"No." The words sounded hollow even to me.

"You're a poor liar, Ms. Swan."

Screw you, Dr. Bitch.

I fidgeted again. "I'm going much less now."

"How less is 'less'?"

"Twice a week. Sometimes three, if it's a...bad week."

Leah nodded, marking something on the Moleskine before her. I swear she was doodling song lyrics and pretending to write to make me nervous. I wouldn't put it past her.

"And the candles?"

I didn't respond.

"Are you still lighting the candles?"

I nodded, stiffly. This was why I wanted to quit this stupid game of twenty questions.

"You still haven't told me why. You're not Catholic, you're not religious at all. You've admitted you don't believe in prayers granting the power to pass beyond Purgatory. You've admitted you don't believe in an afterlife. And yet, you light candles endlessly."

A memory flickered. Another black-out, the wiring in our building was frayed and waterlogged. "Lights are out again, Bells. Where did you put the matches?" He shook his head, ink-black hair brushing his shoulders. "I'm guessing you forgot to get more batteries for the torch?" A low chuckle in the dark...

I remained silent. Leah hissed in disappointment.

"Have you been going to the support group I suggested?"

I snorted at that before I could help myself. A collection of sad, crying widows and stale cookies was not what would help me through this. All I said was, "Sometimes."

"You're lying again, Bella. You really should practice deception if you're so keen to rely upon it."

I scowled at her, but my glare was a kitten's attempt before her tigress's laser gaze. I backed down first, as always. "It wasn't helping me."

"Because you won't help yourself."

I had nothing to say to that. It was true, and it echoed what Rose screamed at me every other weekend when her frayed patience eventually broke.

"Have you even cried yet?

This reinstated the scowl. Why were they obsessed with this? The lack of tears should surely be a good thing, a sign that I wasn't broken and depressed and clawing at the walls of my apartment.

Our apartment...

No! Don't go there....

I shut down the memory quickly and refocused on the coppery woman before me. Her voice was unusually soft as she said, "You need to cry, Bella. You need tears for them both."

We stared at each other for endless moments, blood surging beneath my skin and my heart edging up into my mouth. I honestly don't know what I would have said if I hadn't been rescued by irony. Saved by the bell.

The sharp ring of the timer on Leah's desk drew a sigh of disappointment from her, a slow gasp of relief from me. Her eyes were steely upon me as I gathered my coat and prepared to leave.

"You have to cry at some point, Bella. And if you can't tell me why candles bring you closer to him, perhaps you can confide in someone else before it tears you apart."

I had nothing more to say. I gave a shaky nod and crept from her office like a thief in the night, crawling back to Rosalie. My blonde agitator was glaring around the room, her gaze lightening when she saw me. She gripped me shoulder, wrapping my red scarf around me, and led me wordlessly from the doctor's office.

It was raining again.

A/N Should I continue? Suggestions, criticisms, laughter - all welcome. Please review!