Hey guys! Here you go. I'm sorry for the delay. I've written a new one-shot called 'Through His Eyes.' Check it out. Sorry for any typos. Let me know what you think.
song: your legs grow by nada surf
EPOV
"You're okay, aren't you?" Carlisle's voice was smooth and even. I looked up at him from my open book, studying his face.
He was perched on the edge of my leather sofa where he'd become an almost permanent fixture, his eyes soft. I took a deep breath, looking back to the paragraph I'd read about a dozen times in a row.
"I think so," I breathed, nodding. "It was a lot to take at first, but…I think so."
Carlisle opened his mouth to respond, taking a sharp gasp of air before snapping his jaw closed. He waited a beat before trying to speak again. "I thought you'd be angry that I didn't tell you myself."
I had been. When Emmett had come to me the day before, fat tears in his brown eyes, I had been devastated. Furious. But…I got over it.
It was strange to me. I was so used to caring too much, getting too angry. But I remember this one time when I was really little and Esme had taken Em and I into town to drop a package off at the post office, and an ice cream truck drove by. Emmett had gotten some ridiculous Popsicle in the shape of an action figure, but I, with my superior taste, had opted for the sno-cone with the gum ball at the bottom. Somewhere along the way, Emmett had tripped me and my sno-cone had gone catapulting through the sky, landing in a frosty mess all over the sidewalk. And boy, did I cry. I cried for hours. Hours and hours of snotty, teary mess, my mother smoothing my hair and rocking me in her lap. "I'm just going to let him cry it out," she'd whispered to my dad, her hand clamped over my ear as if I couldn't hear what she was saying. But she was right—eventually I'd cried so hard for so long that I was drained out. Eventually, I calmed down, forgetting about the sno-cone and drifting off into a sleep, and I never thought of it again. Until last night.
I felt like I was small again, and I'd been crying for so long that I was completely and totally…dry. I was spent.
Carlisle had been sick for a long time. I was used to it. I was also used to being selfish, whiny, childish. So as I lay with my face buried in my pillow, Emmett's weight removed from the foot of my bed, it clicked. I wouldn't cry. I wouldn't yell, or complain, or insult. I would just deal.
"I was mad at first," I murmured, dog-earing the page I left off on and throwing the book to the floor with a soft thunk. "But you didn't do anything wrong, Dad. Why would I be angry?"
He raised his brows, or at least, where his brows had been, his hand skimming the top of his naked scalp as he gaped. "You're…you're not mad with me? I don't, er, have to apologize to you?"
I chuckled, crossing my ankles. "No, you don't have to apologize to me."
"Well this is easier than I thought it would be," he laughed, flabbergasted. "I had a full speech prepared."
"If it would make you feel better, you can recite it to me," I offered, grinning.
"I'd rather not," he said, smiling. His mouth loosened, turning into a small frown. "Is there anything you're…you know, curious about?"
I scratched my neck, thinking. Sure, there were thousands of things I was curious about. Millions, even. But a small part of me told me that maybe I didn't want to know all of the answers for once.
"I don't think so," I answered firmly, meeting his eyes. "I'm going to try and take all of this as it comes."
"When did you get so level-headed, son?" Carlisle said with a laugh. "I'm used to you yelling, or breaking things, or carving holes in my door."
My cheeks burned as a mental image formed in my head of me those few months ago, chucking away at Carlisle's study door. How different I'd been then..
I shrugged. "It kind of…I don't know…came to me. I realized that, no matter what, shit's gonna happen. It's going to happen, even if I do all of those things. So I've got to deal with it. It's life."
Carlisle beamed, his eyes twinkling. "You are so mature, in so many ways," he said quietly.
I tore my eyes from him, a strange kind of embarrassment crawling up my spine. The way he was looking at me made me feel almost appreciated. It creeped me out. "I'm just acting the way I should have all along," I replied, my eyes in my lap.
Silence passed between us, the sound of steady rain and the hum of the air conditioning permeating the room.
"I'm getting pretty sick, Edward," Carlisle said suddenly.
A lump of ice formed in my chest, causing my breath to catch in my throat as I was suddenly caught off guard. "We don't have to talk about it," I mumbled.
"I just…I want you to know. Just so nothing is sudden," he whispered. "You're taking everything so well, and it makes me nervous."
His words bathed me in guilt. He was worried about me. He was battling cancer, and he was worried about me. He was concerned because I was acting maturely rather than my characteristic ass-like tendencies. What was wrong with me?
"Don't be," I pleaded. "I don't know what to say. It's just, I mean, look at how far we've come?" He smiled. "I don't mean to get all gushy on you, because that's just fucking gay. But I remember when I wouldn't have cared if this was happening to you, to be honest. If you had told me you were this bad five months ago, I would have waved you out of the door with a 'good riddance' and a stiff kick in the pants. But look at us, Dad. This is how it should have always been."
He continued to smile, his blue eyes liquid and solemn. "I wish you wouldn't talk like that," he said. "You speak like everything is so…final."
"It kind of is," I choked. "Em says it's bad."
Carlisle nodded. "It is. But it's beatable, son."
"Do you really think so?"
"I've seen a battle such as mine beaten before, Edward. I'm going to try, as hard as I can."
"We need you, Dad."
"And I need you all just the same."
We stared at one another from opposite sides of the room, understanding flowing between us like it never had. Then something happened.
Carlisle stood from the couch, his muscles tensed, and I assumed he was going to leave the room. Our conversation had left off at an odd place, and it hadn't really been finished, but he had a habit of doing that. He crossed the room towards me very swiftly then, my eyebrows lowering with confusion. I sat up in alarm as he approached me, throwing my legs over the side of the bed.
And…what? Carlisle's hand shoved below my right armpit, wrapping his arm around my back as his other went over my shoulder. He lifted me from where I sat, planting me on my feet as he squeezed me to his chest.
A hug.
I tensed before returning the embrace, my mouth hanging open all the while as I tried to process what was happening. My father was hugging me. My father was hugging me.
"I…I love you, Edward," he said gruffly, patting my back once with his left hand.
"I, um, love you too, Dad," I replied, my voice reaching a strange octave as shock coursed through my veins.
And then, as quickly as he'd wrapped his arms around my shoulders, he released me, and promptly left the room.
I thought about the hug for what seemed like forever.
Carlisle and I never did that. We never touched if we could help it. Every night that he had come to sit on my couch and speak to me, he left with only a quiet "good night," if that. When I'd taken him to my white house, he hadn't touched me at all. The last time I remembered him hugging me, I was nine, and it was on my birthday. But it was only a half-hug, for picture-taking purposes. But this, this had been strange. It was…well, it was a nice goddamn gesture. It almost made me happy.
Carlisle was very sick. Worse, substantially so. If I'd thought everything was in perspective before, I'd been wrong. I saw his life as something different. It wasn't a dwindling hour glass, a few grains of sand left in the top portion before it was too late. I saw it as a span of time, still limited, but open to endless possibilities. I couldn't make up for seventeen years in five weeks, but I could try. I knew the one place I wanted to take my father, just in case he wasn't going to be around for much longer.
The thought, while almost tragically depressing, inspired me. I found myself smiling, daydreaming. It was hideously ironic.
I padded down the stairs after my stomach began growling loudly, running my fingers along the wall as I climbed down both flights. Loud sounds of burning rubber and Emmett's howling echoed into the kitchen from the family room as I dug around the pantry for a bag of chips, causing a stupid smile to spread on my face as I headed towards the noise. It was nice to hear Emmett laugh, considering he'd been sobbing for days after learning about Carlisle's worsened condition. He almost couldn't talk to Rosalie over the phone, he was crying so hard. Alice had to fucking tell her what had happened.
Carlisle was sitting on the couch in the den with Emmett playing his stupid X-box game, both of their expressions nearly identical as they wove through dark streets collecting hookers and stealing cars.
"Edward," Carlisle acknowledged without looking away from the screen. "You can play winner."
"He means, you can play me," Emmett teased, running his yellow Porsche into a guardrail and sending a flurry of orange, poorly animated sparks into the night air.
"In your dreams," Carlisle snickered. He fiddled with his controller for a moment before Emmett groaned, throwing his arms into the air and letting out a string of hushed expletives.
"Language," Carlisle chided before pivoting to face me. "What are you up to, Edward?"
I popped a chip into my mouth, crunching loudly before opening my mouth to answer. "Are you guys busy?"
"What did you have in mind?" Emmett asked, raising an eyebrow.
I licked the generic cheese powder from my fingertips, peeking out of the south windows that took up the entire back wall of our home. Carlisle liked the light.
"Well, it's not dark yet. Do you guys…um, want to go somewhere? Like, the house?" They knew which house I was talking about.
"But it's raining," Emmett said quickly.
"Esme won't know where we've gone," Carlisle piped in.
I shrugged. "Alice is home. She can tell Mom we're gone for a while," I explained, trying to sound enthusiastic.
Emmett looked at Carlisle with questioning eyes. Carlisle seemed to deliberate for a moment, Em and I waiting for response. Finally, he nodded.
"Sure," he said suddenly. "Let me just get my shoes on."
*
Everything was falling into place.
I tried not to let myself think about how it could very well be the last time that my father, Emmett, and I all went to the house together. It was too fucking awesome to ruin.
Carlisle was extra attentive now. But it wasn't annoying or forced like before. I liked it. He was around a lot, completely home from work and showing up for dinner the second Esme threw it on the table.
I felt normal.
I can't explain it, or even rationalize it. But I felt…man, I dunno, new. I felt at peace.
And I think it all snapped in my head when Bella never called. I was freaking out all day and night, lashing out on Alice and staring at the goddamned phone screen, willing for it to light up with her name and number. It was borderline pathetic, and I'd seen it a hundred times on fucking stupid Drew Barrymore movies and semi-retarded, superficial sitcoms. Except for the person waiting by the phone was always a fucking female.
Eventually, I got tired. Physically, I mean. My eyes were fluttering shut and my limbs were heavy with sleep. But wait! I would shout in my head. What if she calls while I'm asleep? What if I miss it? What if it's the only chance I get?
That's when I started the first pot of coffee.
Yes, I stayed up. All. Fucking. Night. Not a single call. Not a single text with the utterly Bella-like smiley faces all over the place. Nothing.
And I was tired.
That's when it clicked. At least, I think that's when it was. I was sitting up in my bed, my eyes the weight of bowling balls, staring at the black leather couch with a silent telephone in my hand. I realize that I would have to sleep eventually. I couldn't live my life waiting for her to call me back.
I fucked up. There is no real other way to say it. I fucking fucked shit up, and what was done was done. I was hopelessly obsessed with Bella, and that was still true, but I knew, deep inside of my…heart or whatever—shit motherfuck, I am such a woman—that I eventually would have to sleep. I would eventually have to let it go. I couldn't make her come back to me.
So I tried to let it go.
I drifted off into the deepest, most fucking amazing sleep I'd had in months.
And when I woke up, it was all new.
Thank fucking Jesus for Winter Break, though. It prevented me from having to skip like a three-year-old and it let me stay at home for a while until I had to see Bella again. Things were better, but my feelings weren't gone. I would always have them, I just had to shove them into the back of my mind.
My Bella epiphany was strangely relevant to my Daddy issues. We'd been back to the house twice in two days.
And now it was Friday, the day before New Years' and three days before school started, and I was going back to that damned house again. Because, even though I was dealing with things, I needed some place where Bella and I were still alive. Some place that I had declared as ours, even though she rejected it.
I had written to her that I could never go back to the house again. I hadn't been lying—I really thought that I wouldn't be able. But it turned out to be some sick kind of therapy for me. I could swear to God that I could smell her in the air.
It was raining, like fucking always, but I still left the confines of my house and set off into the woods to forget for a while.
Carlisle was taking a nap, anyway.
*
BPOV
I pulled the truck over on the shoulder four times before I finally made it.
This was going to be harder than I thought.
With each changing moment, floods of recollection hit me like a sack of bricks. It made me question everything, even myself, and the feeling was excruciating.
How had I gotten to this point? Why did things have to be this way? What if Edward had never liked me in the first place and I was still the weirdo with the chinchilla shit rain stick and he was still dealing with everything on his own? What if I'd never slept with him or lied to him or what if I never learned the truth? Or worse…what if Carlisle had died while Edward and I were still avoiding one another, and I had to harbor that guilt forever?
I'd come so far.
As I parked, my lungs exploding and my forehead smacking against the steering wheel, I remembered. I remembered my first night alone in Charlie's house, and the sound of Edward's wet sneakers hitting the wood of my bedroom floor. I remembered the feeling of his lips on mine, the sound of his voice as we talked together outside of the mangled oak of his father's office door. I remembered the first drive home from school, and when he'd defended me against Rosalie, and when he'd treated me so gently that night I found myself between his sheets even though I didn't deserve it.
I remembered the scratch of his tone when he'd called me a whore.
I should have never come to Forks. I had fallen so irrationally and deeply in love with a cranky, bronze-headed boy who couldn't get his shit together that I was destroying everything like mother fucking Godzilla. It was disgusting. But somehow, for some reason, I couldn't bring myself to regret the decision I'd made to move to Washington. It brought me to Edward. And as I willed myself to refasten my seatbelt and trying to push myself another few miles down the road, I knew that I would take him, rich or poor, healthy or cancer-ridden, happy or fucking messed up, everyday for the rest of my life. No questions asked, no turning back.
And it was incredibly fucked up that it took me so long to realize this.
He might not even take me back. He'd given me the wooden box on Christmas Day, and I had let him sit around wondering for days until finally, I swallowed my stupid goddamn pride. I hated myself for needing the excuse of Carlisle getting worse. Maybe Edward would think that all of my impulses were driven by the condition of his father.
But I guess that our entire relationship was based off of growing up, impulses, and ever-changing perspectives.
Now here I was.
I'd stopped twice on the three-mile driveway, my breathing shallow as the rain pelted against the windshield. I knew the drive so well that I left my wipers off, using the greens and blues of the rain-smeared blur trailing across the glass pane to calm myself down.
Why is this so hard? He's probably not even there. But what if he is? Then what?
I had no idea why I was stalling. Oh, that's right. I remember now.
Edward had given me a gift, begging for me back, and I'd ignored it. Of course, I stared at it at every opportunity, but he didn't know that. So, by now, I was dead to him. And if he saw me, there's no way in hell he'd forgive me now. I'd wronged him twice in a row, and Edward was the most stubborn fucker to ever roam the earth.
But I loved it.
And if I failed, well…I don't know what I'd do.
This was all because of me. I was always fucking things up, from the very beginning. I fucked up Alice's perfect life and Edward's reputation and Jasper's tough guy front. I'd fucked up Rosalie's little exclusive group of friends and Jessica's seating arrangement and the whole fucking Cullen family. I'd fucked up everything.
So now I was crawling back.
Dear Jesus, Please make this like the prodigal son situation and make Edward let me come back. Except for not in the creepy father-son kind of way, but more like a controlled-by-hormones boyfriend/girlfriend kind of way. Love, Bella.
I don't know how I got there, but my feet hit doormat and I was staring at the brass knocker to the Cullen house. It was all kind of a blackout—my eyes probably weren't even open. I almost chickened out and turned back, but it had taken me just over an hour rather than the typical twenty minutes to get there, and there was no way in hell I was going back now. My future was on the other side of that door.
Funny how the mind allows you to think of so many things at once when under extreme pressure.
As the knocker fell back against the brass, I stared in fear and preparation as I waited for it to open, praying that it wouldn't just slam back in my face as soon as I was recognized. As I watched the threshold, I thought of something.
Doors. Doors had so much to fucking do with my life. My world, formerly so desperately intertwined with Edward's, had always been restricted on one side of the door.
Carlisle's study door. The one thing keeping Edward away for seventeen years. Edward's door, keeping his father away. My door. Forced to stay shut at night, bringing Edward through the window and his arms around my waist. Alice's door. Hiding her from her brothers the first day she knew. Rosalie's door. Keeping me hesitant yet on my toes for a devastating minute as I waited for my fate. The doors of my school. They had been so heavy as I sprinted, my eyes searching for Edward only to see the glow of his taillights as he sped away from me. Edward's car door. I loved the quiet click of it, no matter how hard you slammed it. It made a lump rise in my throat as I remembered our drives home together, his hand on my knee.
And now this one. It was laughing at me as panic exuded from every pore. It was holding me back, taunting me. I know what's on the other side, and you don't, I could almost hear it scream. No wonder Edward destroyed the one from Carlisle's study.
It took hours for it to finally open. Or so it seemed.
"Bella?" Esme's voice was so soft and sweet that I nearly cried at the sound of it. I had missed it so much.
A smile took up half her face, her eyes gleaming as she lunged forward to pull me tightly into her warm arms. "Bella," she breathed. Her hair smelled like cookies. "We've missed you. All of us."
I pulled back just enough to meet her gaze. "I doubt that," I chuckled darkly, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill.
Esme's face fell, her eyes darkening as she searched my face for something. She frowned deeply, pulling me back against her and squeezing me one last time.
"I mean it, Bella," she said quietly. "We want you around."
I forced a smile, which probably looked more like a grimace. "Thanks, Esme. Is, um, is Edward home?" I immediately felt like a child, going to a friend's house to ask them to play. Except for this was so much different, so much more painful, that the irony almost made me laugh out loud. Almost.
Her lips straightened into a hard line as she crossed her arms, shivering as the light mist from outside blew against her. "He's gone," she said simply. She was telling the truth; I could tell.
"Where is he?" I asked, my voice whiny as the lump in my throat tightened.
She seemed to deliberate for a moment, brushing one, slender hand against her impossibly high cheekbone. Her wedding ring sparkled against her bony finger.
"He's…" she began, clearing her throat. "Bella, I don't know if I can tell you where he went."
"What? Why not?" I demanded, my brow furrowing. Esme was supposed to be on my side. And now, what, she was refusing to let me see her son? It was ridiculous. It was the stupidest thing I ever heard. And...it made sense.
I'd hurt him. I'd damaged him beyond recognition, kicking him while he was already down. And all of the while, I blamed him for it. Of course she was protecting him. She wouldn't be much of a mother if she wasn't.
"Because," she whispered. "He's only just getting better. I can't watch him go back to the way he was."
He's getting better. He's over you.
"I see," I muttered, my eyes falling to the floor. "Um," I choked out, tears spilling down my cheeks without my permission. "Can I…Can I just…"
"Oh, Bella, don't cry," she soothed, pulling me back into another embrace. She smoothed my hair with her palm, rubbing her hand against my shoulder.
"Please," I blubbered, my voice muffled by the material of her wrap sweater. "I need to see him. Please." My pleas were simple. But I could feel the weight of my emotion hanging off every syllable, and I hoped that Esme could hear it too.
She searched my eyes again, the discerning look of a mother sketched all over her face. She bit her lip, which was more chapped and pale than usual, her fingers fluttering nervously at her sides.
"He's…" she began, looking at the ceiling. "He said he was going somewhere. He took off into the woods. He could be anywhere by now."
Immediately, I spun on my heel at prepared to fly down the stairs to the backyard. I knew where he was. Esme didn't, but I did. As I prepared to fly down the steps, something caught my sleeve.
"Bella," Esme said, her tone heavy. "Don't hurt him. He can't take it."
I nodded. "I swear to you, I will never hurt him again."
I ran from the porch before she could say anything more.
*
My anxiousness didn't, by any means, let up as I trekked through the dark green expanse of forest. The rain quietly tapped against the leaves of the canopy, sending chills down my spine. I'd never been in those woods without Edward. So I was surprised to experience how much scarier and how much larger the woods seemed without his comfortable presence beside me. I tried to look around me for markers, points of reference, just in case I would have to make the journey back alone. Without Edward.
I stuck my wad of gum that I'd been furiously chomping on against the rough bark of a tree bordering the worn path. I, of all people, would be the one to get lost although a winding walkway had been beaten into the soil by Edward and Emmett over the years.
My backpack was extremely heavy on my back. I felt kind of like a moron, carrying the thing everywhere. But my purse couldn't fit the wooden box inside of it, and the backpack was more ideal. I never left the house without it. Now it felt more like a burden as I walked, a reminder of how I hadn't come to find him right after Alice dumped it on my bed.
I was never really one for letting things go.
In the seventh grade, back when I still lived with Renee, I had a best friend named Maggie. We'd been friends for a while—our mothers kind of forced us together after meeting in an afternoon yoga session. Then, I was still an introvert, the same as I had been upon first coming to Forks, and it had taken a while to warm to Maggie. After a while, we became inseparable. Sleepovers, shopping trips, the horrifically cliché late-night gossip fests…the works. Best friends. That is, until I caught her tongue kissing the center of my affections, Alec, at the seventh grade dance. Needless to say, I never spoke to her again. Good thing Renee didn't like yoga anymore.
Obviously, I have issues with getting over things.
"Fuck, I am such an idiot," I whispered to myself, a branch snapping beneath my weight. It was true. Edward was everything I could have ever asked for, and I'd fucked it up because I couldn't wipe my nose and pick up a goddamn telephone.
Jesus Christ, had my mouth gotten dirty.
I was basking in self loathing—my mind in several places and my back groaning in protest against the pack pounding against my spine—when I realized where I was. I was twenty feet away from a rather familiar clearing in the wood.
And I was going to fucking pass out. I pinched my eyes closed.
*
EPOV
I hadn't been in the house in a while. Always outside, on the porch or in the ferns, but never in it. It felt weird.
I think that a part of me was still waiting for it to fall down. My nightmare, so many nights ago, was pushing itself back into my subconscious mind, permeating my thoughts as I leaned against the ancient, worn sofa. The sofa wasn't mine. This house wasn't mine. But, at the same time, it was in so many tangible ways that there was no denying that this house somehow was always meant to belong to me. So why did I feel so uneasy?
I don't know how this house became Bella's, as well. I'd always been saving it for my father. Ever since the day Em and I found it, a piece of my little boy heart had wanted us men to live there with our spectacular breeds of canine, watching baseball on a big television and doing 'man' things. There was something sickly bittersweet about that dream, like how my father had finally come with me after years and years of wishing, and how the satisfaction that I'd hoped for never came.
As Carlisle swung beside me on the dilapidated porch swing, something went unfulfilled. I'd held my breath, waiting for stars to align and puzzle pieces to fit into place, but they never did. Sure, it felt fucking awesome to know that my dad had been there, especially since there was a chance that he could die. It was the missing link between us, the one thing I'd wished for more than anything. But it still wasn't good enough.
I could hear the rain pounding against the roof as I leaned my head against the creaking sofa, breathing in the musty scent of the neglected fabric.
This house was always meant to belong to me.
Maybe it was the truth.
I sat there in silence, listening to the crashing storm and gazing at darkened water stain on the impossibly high ceiling. There was nothing but me and the ancient structure, the sound of static and silence and water and my breathing soaking the empty air. I felt alone.
I was dealing with the inevitable death of my father. But at the end of the day, when all was said and done, I would be, without a doubt, one hundred percent alone.
Funny how Jesus does things sometimes for shitty people.
As I breathed in steadily, thinking about death and loneliness and how the polyester of the couch smelled like ass, something sounded from the other side of the thinning mahogany front door.
I sat up quickly, my eyes wide and my heart beating fast. The sudden noise caught me off guard. It wasn't loud, per say, just the quick patter of light steps up the short staircase leading up to the porch. There was no way Emmett could have made such a sound; the kid sounded like a heard of elephants just walking across a flat surface. Carlisle?
The door creaked open after a quiet moment, and I had no lungs.
"What are you doing here?" I immediately blurted. My breath was stored in my throat, a giant wisp of it slipping through my teeth.
Bella.
Fuck me, she was beautiful. She hadn't changed a bit. I think part of me expected her to change drastically in the days I hadn't seen her. It hadn't been that long. But at the same time, it had been forever.
She stood nervously, half of her body through the door. She had her father's tan jacket on, falling halfway down her thighs, the cumulus mane of her dark tendrils escaping from beneath her hood. A backpack was strapped to her spine, her frail wrists gripping at the straps as if she were prepared to drop it and run. I saw the deep chocolate half-moons of her eyes peeking at me from beneath thick lashes, her teeth biting on the scarlet of her bottom lip as I shook where I stood. She was the same, only better. And her blush…
"Should I leave?" Her words broke through my skull like a flash of hot lightening. It broke my gaze, my eyes squeezing shut and willing for her to disappear when I opened my eyes like the apparition that I was almost sure that she was. But when I lifted my lids, my mouth frozen in a scowl of surprise, she was still there, the rain blowing underneath the porch and splashing against the deep gray wooden planks lining the floor. She pulled down her hood.
"Stay," I whispered. I wasn't in control of my mouth or my brain or my vocal chords. I couldn't remember my middle name or why I was in the big, white house in the first place. I only saw her, in that fucking tan coat that was too fucking big for her, and her brown eyes that were permanently burned on the backs of my lids. Ever since the first night in her room.
She hesitated for a moment, studying me, before taking a tiny step forward and pressing the door closed behind her. It clicked shut quietly, the rush of the wind silenced infinitesimally. She leaned against the door, her arms behind her back as she watched me. Waiting for the time bomb to go off, most likely.
My mouth was dry from hanging open, but I couldn't close it. I stared at her, my mind blank, before I finally forced myself to say something. "Why are you here?"
She swallowed, her eyes frozen on my face. "Esme told me you'd be here."
I shook my head slowly, careful not to look away from her gaze. "I mean, why did you come?"
I didn't think she would start crying. I mean, technically, I wasn't really able to think at all, but I guess I just didn't expect it. But as soon as the tears began to fall from her eyelids in thick beads, it was so familiar and so expected and so Bella that I almost smiled at her anguish.
"I'm so sorry," she said quietly. Her voice was not strained in the slightest way; it sounded almost as if she wasn't crying at all. "I'm sorry that I hurt you," she began, taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry that I pried into your life, and then lied about it, and I'm sorry that I let you love me and then I ruined everything. I'm sorry that I fell in love with you, only because of the way that it happened.
I'm sorry that I didn't call you on Christmas, and I'm sorry that I didn't try to find you, and I'm sorry that you drove away from me the day that I wanted to make everything better. I'm so sorry for destroying you, and your family. I'm sorry for my pride. I can't make anything good for you, and I love you so much that I should be able to tell you that I'm horrible for you, and that you deserve better. But I can't, Edward. I can't live a single day without you anymore. I'm fucking selfish and despicable and I can't fucking believe that you still love me. I'm sorry for testing you, day-in and day-out, like your feelings for me are some kind of science experiment. I'm sorry for being so utterly and disgustingly undeserving of you. More than anything, Edward, I'm fucking sorry for staying away for so long, and I'm sorry that I pretended that it didn't kill me every day that I didn't see you. I'm sorry that I wormed my way into your life and made everything worse, and I'm sorry that Carlisle is worse now and that only because I know that, because Rosalie told me, I came here to find you. I'm sorry that it took another fucking disaster to make me realize how much I need you."
Her words were rehearsed. She had practiced them a million times in her head, and I could tell. But the way that her voice broke down, spiraling into thick, tortured sobs, let me know that she meant every word.
Two full minutes of absolute quietness.
I couldn't apologize anymore. I was spent. I'd told her how I felt, given her the only things that ever meant anything to me, and she'd ignored them. I was done.
So I did all that I could do.
I crossed the floor to her, grabbing her and squeezing her in my arms, planting my cheek firmly against the top of her head. The sound of her backpack smacking to the floor echoed off the walls as I lifted her feet off the floor, my heart pounding in my ears, relishing in the feeling of her arms squeezing me back after just a brief moment of shock. I heard her chokes as she grasped me, moving her face from my chest to my neck, the warmth of her tears dripping against my skin.
"I'm sorry," she breathed, kissing the tender flesh just below my ear lobe.
I didn't speak to her. I just held her.
