A/N
Wow, what a response to the last chapter!
I didn't have time to respond to many reviews because, well… you know… I've been writing.
Thanks to usual suspects: orangeapeal, robsjenn, Sunshine, and my beta, PaintedTeacherLady
Seatbelts still on?
Chapter Fourteen:
Staring up at me, her cloudy, black eyes crystallize.
We stare at each other, frozen, as we catch our breaths.
In a tone so cold, it makes me shiver, she whispers, "Get off of me."
.
Chapter Fifteen
Unlocked
.
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I spring off of Bella and clamber back away on the heels of my hands.
Bella tries to do the same, but attempting to pull down of her camisole makes her frenzied movements cumbersome.
"Bella…" I say to grab her attention as I roll to my knees showing her the palms of my hands, but once she looks at me, I don't know what else to say—I feel as lost as she looks.
Never breaking her frightened stare, she uses the pause to untwist the fabric and pull the top down over her stomach, glowing red from her rug burn. When she is done, she resumes crawling away from me, through the dining area, until her back hits the wall of the breakfast bar.
I can hear her short bursts of breath as she scans the room, only taking her eyes off of me for seconds at a time. Does she still think she's dreaming?
The instructions Charlie told me time and time again come back to me: She doesn't always know she's been dreaming or remembers the dreams. Sometimes she's confused when she wakes. Speak with authority; make her feel safe. Make her feel safe.
"Bella," I possess Charlie's voice, "you were dreaming. You had a nightmare."
"Yes," she whispers, as if she's answering a question.
"You're awake now; you're in the condo."
She quickly nods, scanning the room again before meeting my eyes. "I know." There is no air behind her raspy voice. Still appearing disoriented, her brows pull together and she asks in a shaky voice, "Alice?"
"Alice is fine, she's great. Alice will be home in two days."
"Two days," Bella repeats back to herself.
She needs my help; I need to help her. Fuck, what do I do?
Still showing my palms, I carefully begin to rise to my feet.
"No," she growls, holding out her hands, stopping me.
"Okay, okay…" I return to my knees.
Bella quickly stands, using one hand to feel the wall, while the other holds me in place. Her mouth drops open and long, dazed blinks tell me she's dizzy.
"I just want to help you, Bella."
"I'm okay… don't need help. I can take care of myself," she says as if to herself, glancing towards the hallway that leads to the front door.
She's going to run. A new height of panic sings through my body. I look at her feet as she takes a step to the side. She's not wearing shoes. She won't run… can't run… I can catch her before she reaches the door.
Bella looks like a feral cat, ready to dart at any sudden movements. As subtly as I can, I dig the toes of one foot into the floor, giving me leverage to pounce.
Another step toward the door and I try again in a more compassionate voice, "Bella, I know you can take care of yourself, but…" and another step, "Bella," I warn.
Bella catches the sight of my knee lifting and bolts down the hallway.
I leap into my sprint. My outreached fingertips graze her arm as she ducks into the bathroom and slams the door in my face.
A good shake of the doorknob tells me it's already locked.
"Oh, Mother Mary," I hear through the door, followed by a strange sound—crying or coughing, but muffled, maybe in a towel.
I smooth my hands over the door as if I'm feeling a fire on the other side, because really, there is.
"Bella… Isabella… " I press my forehead to the door and try the doorknob again, "if you need me I'm right outside the door."
"I'm fine… I want to be alone… please leave me alone," Her voice is raw from screaming.
What the fuck just happened? Was that a typical nightmare for her? Charlie warned me, but… holy shit. I try to envision Charlie and Bella during their week in Forks. Did she try to wrestle him like that? I can't help but to feel hurt by her rejection… the way she seemed to fear of me. Maybe I was in her nightmare.
The muffle sounds continue and I try the lock again. Give her some time alone. She's confused; let her recuperate. I take a cleansing breath, rest my back against the door, and sink down to the floor.
The clock on the kitchen wall across the hall catches my eye. Shit, I've been gone for hours. I knew I ran far, but I hadn't realized… Thoughts wander away from the last few minutes and I start to piece together the whole night.
Damp hair and pajamas—Bella took a shower and fell asleep on the couch. How long was she locked in her nightmare? She was alone… I left her alone for hours. I attacked her, oh Jesus, I attacked her and left for hours… she woke from a nightmare and I was still attacking her.
The muffled sound on the other side of the door becomes understandable… dry heaves… she's hiding the sound of her retching body. Why is she…? Oh, God… I now notice the scent of bleach… Bella's already vomited. I assaulted her… no, I spent the night being cold and distant… no, the last three days being cold and distant, then I assaulted her and left. I made her sick… and now she's hidden away in the bathroom.
Separated only by this door, I hear her right next to me; she, too, is on the floor. I press my ear to the wood and hear her whispering a prayer…. Oh, Bella, I'm so sorry. I try to make out her prayer. I want to pray with you.
I pick out her rhythm, as she repeats the prayer in a steady stream… there is a repetitive 's' sound. Christ? Yes, Christ… she's saying Christ. What is your prayer, Bella? I lie on my stomach and listen through the space at the bottom of the door.
"I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me… " My heart slices open. It is not a prayer; it is a distress signal.
I roll onto my back and cover my eyes with my forearm. Dry heaves begin again and I look at the clock—twelve minutes—Bella has been locked away for twelve minutes.
I watch the second hand sweep—thirteen minutes.
More dry heaves—fourteen minutes.
I can take no more; she can take no more. Patting down my body, I search for the key.
I stand and open the front door to find my key stuck in the last lock, sick irony. As I find my resolve, movements become automatic.
From the refrigerator, I grab a bottle of Pedialyte. I fill a glass with water from the refrigerator door and take two straws from the cupboard. All the while, I hold the key in my fist. Fifteen minutes.
Opening the refrigerator door again, I eye the orange juice. I am so thirsty, but don't deserve to drink. I open the cap, stand in the open door, raise it to my lips and curse myself with each long glug of the ice-cold, sweet, acidic juice. Spilling down the corners of my mouth, over my jaw and neck, I inhale the juice until my body can expand no more.
I wipe my face with my hand, peel off my sweat soaked t-shirt, throw it into the laundry, and pull a fresh one from the dryer. Seventeen minutes.
I open my fist and see a jagged purple imprint on my palm surrounding the key. With the Pedialyte in the crook of my arm and holding the glass of water, I raise the key to the lock and take inventory of all my entrance will mean: She will resist my help, possibly frightened of me; I will be sending the message, 'No, Bella you can't take care of yourself.' And tomorrow she will leave me, as she should. I repeat for myself, I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me, and… click… Bella unlocks the door. I pause to take a breath.
The door swings open a few inches before it hits her body on the tile floor. Watching her drag her herself away from the door, I wait until she's far enough for me to slip inside.
Devastating. I have to avert my eyes for a moment to steel myself, then I drop to the floor, put down the drinks and yank a pile of towels from the shelf.
A lifeless marionette, there is no resistance when I pull her shoulders and head up onto my lap. Her arms and legs look twisted and uncomfortable. I lift her arm, then place it down more comfortably. Listening to Bella's breathing quicken with my touch, I know she doesn't want my hands on her. She shifts and adjusts her body, pulling her knees up and turning her head away from me.
Gingerly, I lift her head and place a towel for a pillow on my lap, and lay her back down.
Bella's colorless skin is nearly invisible. I see blue veins throughout her face, neck, arms… everywhere.
Wide, glassy, dead eyes stare at nothing in front of her. A lock of hair, soaked in cold sweat sticks to her neck in perfect curl. What lies in front of me is only her shell; Bella Swan is far away.
Pedialyte first, I decide. As I bring the straw to her mouth, Bella parts her lips willingly. She stretches her neck and, as I guide the straw in and her lips close around it, I notice the fresh blood in the cut on her lip. I ripped open her wound tonight with my kiss. My kiss.
"Thank you," she mouths without a sound.
"Shhh, Bella."
Please don't thank me.
I would talk to God right now, but I don't think I deserve to.
She opens her mouth again to speak, but it takes a moment before the words come, "I'm okay."
"I know," I whisper my lie. I go to touch her shoulder, but she curves it away from me.
She opens her mouth again I think to speak, but winces, pushes off of my legs, and tries to crawl off of me.
I don't understand what she is doing until she vomits Pedialyte on the floor. I pull her away from the small pink puddle and back onto my lap. She begins to shiver and I can't stop myself from lifting her body and embracing her.
I have no right to speak, but the damn breaks and I begin to babble, "I'm so, so sorry, Bella. I don't know what came over me… I… I…" there are no adequate words.
"Please stop talking."
Yes, I should stop talking.
I rest her head back down. The best thing I can do for her is to follow her rules: Do not touch her; do not speak.
She parts her lips again and I bring the glass of water to her mouth. She drinks. Moments later, I feel her stomach spasm. Too weak to lift her own body, I hold a towel next to her mouth, she further turns her head and the water flows back out.
Sometime it takes minutes, and others only second, but the water always comes back up. We continue like this in silence for what seems like an eternity.
Each time, I imagine what vision or thought provokes the retching. Is it the memory of Mike's disregard for her humanity? Is it the accident retold in her nightmares? Or is it something worse—her current reality of being on a bathroom floor with a man she met two weeks ago, away from Alice and Charlie and everyone she loves and trusts?
A knight in shining armor?
I have ejaculated on her, but never said I loved her.
I am no knight. I am no man of God.
Between sips of water and vomiting, I shove my hands in my hair to stop myself from touching her.
Slow, but unsteady, she breaths like a dying fish. I lean over her to get a better view of her eyes—still locked in a black stare.
Bella's wrecked body shows all the signs of food poisoning, but she is suffering from the more sinister form of venom, human behavior.
Bella drinks the last sip of water from the glass and just as I prepare a new, dry corner of the towel, it comes back up.
Okay… okay… this isn't working.
A wave of anxiety crashes over me… she's not well… she needs an IV… sedatives… psychological intervention… something… God damn it. If I take her to the hospital, they'll probably commit her… maybe they should.
"Hospital," I say with Charlie's authority.
"No." It's the strongest her voice has been all night.
"Let's go see Alice… don't you want to see Al-"
"No," she grits through her teeth.
She's so fucking defiant. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Think, Edward… God damn it! Jasper? No—she'd freak out. Hospital, IV, Alice… Alice, prayer… Alice, prayer, ice chips… she needs ice chips.
I pick up Bella's head and place another clean towel under it as try to rise.
Oh, shit. I wobble on useless legs, numb from sitting. I stagger into the kitchen and fill a coffee mug with ice chips, shaking out my limbs. A quick glance at the clock tells me it has been well over an hour. The tile is ruthless; I have to get her off the floor.
I go back in, crouch down, and risk speaking again, "Bella, I need to take you upstairs. You must get off this floor."
"I… " she swallows and takes a few labored breaths, she's loosing strength, "am… going… nowhere."
I sit back down and pull her up again on my lap. This time she weakly resists, but I pretend not to notice. I bring an ice chip to her mouth; she opens, and takes it. And again. One by one, she lets me feed her.
Selfishly, I sometimes let my thumb graze her bottom lip. I need her touch… I'll miss her touch… Tomorrow, she'll leave. I can't think about that.
It's working. The ice chips are half gone and she hasn't vomited, but she's cold. I pull the last clean towels from the floor and lay them over her shivering body. I want to warm her, but she'll reject whatever I offer. Fuck—how can I protect her if she refuses to protect herself?
I throw my head back against the tile wall and the pain feels so fucking good, justified. I slam it again, harder… and again…
"Please stop," she breathes and places her hand on my knee.
I look down and, for the first time tonight, her eyes are closed. Please rest, Bella; I'll stop if you rest.
"Ice… please," she says with her eyes still closed, opening her mouth again.
One by one, I feed her the rest of the chips. Her bottom lip quivers from the cold, and damning it all, I try one more offer, "Blanket."
"Yes… yes, please." I can barely hear her words; she's almost asleep.
I slip out from under her and go to the linen closet down the hall. As my hand touches the blanket, I hear her broken cry.
I run back, "Bella…?" to see her trying to shut the door with her foot while moving herself to the corner. What happened? The hand she uses to shield herself calls my attention to the feather that pushed her over the cliff—a circle of urine on her pajama pants. Oh, my Bella. Her body is exhausted.
I am DONE playing by her rules. Fuck the consequences.
I lay the blanket over her, and though she cries her protests, I scoop her up.
Lord, I'm not asking for me… please let me care for her.
"Isabella, I'm taking you upstairs. I am not to be argued with." Speaking to her in this way is not a right, but a requirement.
Suddenly, her struggling and crying cease. She turns into my chest and I can feel her exhale warm breath through my shirt; I can swear it is a relieved sound.
I carry her upstairs, lay her down on the bed, and run the bath.
When I return, she is standing at the end of the bed, with one trembling hand shielding her eyes.
On the area of the dresser where Bella keeps her things, I find the hairclip she often uses. I crawl on the bed and twist her hair in a sloppy bun, using the clip to hold it together.
"Arms up," I whisper, and she complies.
I pull her camisole off and her hand returns to her eyes.
I walk around in front of her. On my knees, I hook my thumbs into her pajama pants and underwear, and as I do, a single soft sob tumbles from her lips.
I look at my hands holding the waistband and realize there are a myriad of things that could cause that sob.
"May I?"
Bella nods her consent.
I peel her pajamas and underwear down to the floor.
"Step," I whisper and she complies.
I pick her up and carry her to the bathtub. Stepping one foot in the bath so I can rest her down carefully, I feel the warm water burn my raw foot.
The water rises and the color of her rug burn returns; purple-brown bruises on her forearms from pounding the window appear.
I bathe her, careful to use the washcloth and not my hands to touch her.
I take the glass from the vanity and fill it with cool water.
Bringing it to her lips, I say, "Sip." She tries to take a gulp, and I tip the glass away, "Slow." I feed her one slow sip after another until the glass is empty. All the while, the trembling hand still covers her eyes. I wonder to where she has gone, if she's found a new happy place, if she complies because she wants to or because I insisted. My tone was harsh.
As I the switch the lever to drain the tub of water, she attempts to lift herself out.
"Careful." I hold her free hand and help her step out of the tub.
Standing like a statue, she lets me dry her.
I take her free hand and lead her into the bedroom.
Few things remain in Bella's drawer, nothing to sleep in. The only clean pair of panties is the lace pair she bought for me, for us. I can't bring myself to put them on her.
I take out a pair of my flannel pajamas, the top of which I never wear. Bella slips each arm in and I button it up.
"Step." She steps into the bottoms and I pull them up over her bare hips. Pulling the drawstring, I keep them loose enough to prevent any further damage to her tender burn. "Lift." As she lifts each leg, I gather the material and fold the hems.
I sit back on my heels and look up at her. There is nothing to say.
"Done?" she asks in a small, but unreadable voice.
"Yes."
"Thank you."
Bella immediately gets into bed and scoots to the far corner, curling herself into a ball.
I stay on my knees watching her back expand and collapse. The desire to stand is useless. As my anesthetic daze evaporates, I am unable to move. She'll leave tomorrow. Where will she go? She can't go back to her apartment alone. I made a promise to Charlie.
With great effort, I force my bottom lip and teeth to meet. "Forks?"
Bella stirs for a moment, then resumes her breathing.
In an eerily calm voice she says, "I understand if you want me to leave."
"No..." Tears pick at my eyes and I try to coax the words caught in my throat, "No, I want you to stay here with me... please stay with me."
"I want to stay."
The tension I didn't know I held begins to leave my body; I feel like I'm melting.
"Rough night, huh, Edward?"
I almost have to laugh, but can't, instead I simply reply, "Yes."
"I'm sor- sorry for putting you through that," her composure breaks for only a second, and the calm returns. "Thank you for taking care of me."
My 'you're welcome' is little more than an exhale.
"I'm mad at you for earlier tonight."
"I know."
"And I might still be a little mad tomorrow."
"Okay."
"But I'll forgive you."
I don't deserve it.
"You more than deserve it," she reads my mind and leaves me astounded by her grace.
"I need to sleep in tomorrow," she says.
"Yes."
I wait for a long time for her to speak again, but she doesn't. Her breathing slows, but the sleeping purr does not come. When she's been still long enough to be asleep, I find the energy to stand, take a pillow, and head for the stairs to sleep on the couch.
"Edward…" her voice halts me. Though she has not moved, she's completely awake.
"Yes, Bella?"
"Will you still sleep in bed with me?"
"Yes."
I ease myself onto my side of the bed, staying above the covers, and keeping my distance from her.
"Thank you."
"Do you… do you want me to blow in your ear?"
It takes a long time for her to consider my offer; eventually she says, "Please."
Without touching her, I lean over and blow, trying to find a way to transform love into breath.
"Thank you."
"Get some sleep, Isabella," my love.
"You too."
I lie still until she's been purring for a long while.
After I put a fresh glass of water on her nightstand and change into pajama pants, I return to bed, watch her sleep, and hear her make sounds, nonsensical words… I'm relieved that they don't sound sad.
In the middle of the night, while Bella sleeps, she migrates over to my side of the bed; she rests her head on my chest and lays her arm across my stomach. As soon as she does, I fall asleep.
~0~
I wake to the aroma of coffee and find Bella lying next to me. Though her back is to me, she isn't curled into her ball.
"I made coffee." Her voice still calm, matter of fact.
"I smell it, thank you." I sit up, look over to her side of the bed and see she has a new bottle of Pedialyte, but no coffee. She is holding Pedi. "Can I get you a cup?"
"No. I went down and had some cereal. I made the coffee for you."
"Thank you, I appreciate it."
Bella turns around, facing me, and gives a long sigh. Her eyes scan my face… maybe I am as difficult to read as she. "Are you going to church?"
"No. I'd like to stay here with you today."
A lock of hair escapes her bun and I go to move it behind her ear, but stop myself. The corner of her mouth creeps into a short-lived apologetic smile as she tucks it herself and says, "I'm not going to be much fun."
"No?"
Her smile returns, "No," and then fades again as she takes my hand. Her touch. "Oh, Edward, we really need to talk."
"I know," I say, looking down and nodding. My stomach tightens. The phrase 'we need to talk' always frightens me, regardless of who says it. From Bella's lips, it terrifies me. But she wants to stay; she's not breaking up, is she?
Edward…" Bella rubs her thumb over my knuckles and it feels so good, "that makes you nervous, doesn't it…? Saying we should talk?"
"Yes, it does." I stare at my knees and focus on her warm, soothing touch. "I don't think I ever had a positive conversation that started with that phrase. I don't know… I never really got punished as a kid, but when my dad said 'we need to talk'… well, it wasn't ever about anything good." I lie back down into bed and move down until we are at eye level. Turning to her, I brace myself. "Do you want to talk now?"
"If I say I'm not ready to talk yet, will that make it worse for you? Will it feel like a punishment?"
"No," I could use some time to prepare. I look at her, she appears so… normal, but last night… "You're still mad a me."
Bella releases my hand, bringing her finger and thumb together showing less than an inch. She squints as she looks at me through the small opening.
"Just that much?" I ask.
"Just that much."
She returns to squeezing Pedi.
"You shouldn't be so easy on me."
"Yes, I should… " Bella opens her mouth to speak again, but her chin begins to quiver, she shields her eyes with her hand and she begins to cry. I want to hold her or say something, but she starts to shake her head and wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. I think it's best to simply wait. "Sorry…" she sniffles and continues, "I was just so confused… and scared and angry last night… I…" she closes her eyes and shakes her head again, "I think I want to go back to sleep now."
"Okay… okay, Bella."
"Do you mind if I spend the day in bed, wallowing in self pity?"
"No. I'll do the same thing downstairs."
As I get up out of bed, Bella grabs my hand again. Closing her eyes, she presses my fingers firmly to her lips. I close my eyes and feel her warm tears roll down my pinky and thumb. She begins to release my hand but brings it back for two more kisses.
I place my hand on the top of her head. "Get some rest, Bella."
She looks up at me and nods, sinking further into the bed.
I head downstairs, take a fist full of Aleve with my coffee and the longest shower of my life.
Sitting on the couch, I open my laptop and absent-mindedly search through furniture store websites. I want to burn this couch. Just sitting here reminds me of forcing Bella over the arm. Fuck it, too many choices. I'll ask Esme to pick one out.
I hate that fireplace, too. I should move. I should get some hovel in the woods somewhere, make real fires, read books and listen to depressing music. I should take up hunting. No, I can't kill animals. Bird watching.
With a surprising surge of energy, I get up and start to rearrange the furniture. I pull the coffee table and couch further from the fireplace. I roll up the area rug… fuck this rug… fuck all this shit. I push the dining room table across the living room, and up against the wall of glass. I don't think I've ever eaten a meal at that table anyway. And if I want to, now it has a view. Sliding the couch and coffee table into the former dining room area, I take a long, hard look at my work.
Two chairs that used to anchor the couch remain in the living room… dining room… who the fuck knows what it is now. Why do I have so many places to sit? No one comes over here anyway.
I move the two chairs to the bottom of the steps and make a separate seating area. Fine, done.
In the kitchen, I make a double batch of milkshakes, one for each of us. I brace myself at the bottom of the stairs, wondering what I'll find at the top. Time to talk? I hope not.
I'm somewhat relieved to find her asleep curled up in her little Bella ball—she needs to rest, we've been on a locomotive to only God knows where for two weeks. I place the glass down and head for the stairs.
"Thank you," she says, surprising me again with her full, alert voice.
"Hey, you're awake."
"Yes." She shifts and I can see her eyes again as I approach her. She's been crying, but isn't crying now. "How is your wallowing going?" Though her words are playful, her voice is sad, very sad.
"Eh… I've wallowed better. You?"
"I'm wallowing pretty well… I won't be doing this all day."
"Take all the time you need, Bella."
"Thanks." She tries to force a smile, but it doesn't quite make it.
All I want to do is crawl in bed with her and hold her, but I know I shouldn't.
"Can I get you anything else?"
She shakes her head. "Can I get you anything, Edward?"
Touch me.
"No… thank you."
We hold each others' eyes for a long while and when I think I have no more purpose for being here, a lock of her hair falls down to her cheek. Feeling brave and greedy, I take my time brushing my fingertips over her forehead until I reach the lock, I slide my fingers down to the end, and Bella turns her face into my touch. Thank you. I close my eyes and just feel her velvet skin in the palm of my hand. I stroke my thumb over her cheek and I hear her soft hum. I could stand here forever, suspended, all other senses muted, only her creamy skin on my hand and her hum in the air.
I feel her hand on mine and it is time to stop. A soft kiss on my palm is my departing gift.
"I'll check on you again in a bit. If you need anything…"
"I know. Thank you." Her smile is warm, reassuring… I want to believe everything will be alright.
I descend the stairs to see the travesty I called furniture rearrangement. Who the hell could live like this? I move all of the furniture back with two exceptions: the couch now faces the large window instead of the fireplace-I don't have to look at the fireplace or the reflection of the couch in it, and the rolled up rug is now in the laundry room.
I sit on the couch, staring at the water between the buildings, and think about… nothing.
My cell phone buzzes.
I ignore it.
Morning light changes into afternoon light.
My cell phone continues to buzz.
I pull myself off of the couch, oh, fuck… I'm sore. Taking another fistful of Aleve, with a bottle of Pedialyte, I grab my cell phone, and return to my position on the couch.
Seven new texts.
Carlisle:
Hi Edward-
Missed you at church.
Are you and Bella still coming for dinner?
I text back:
No, sorry I forgot to call.
Bella isn't feeling well.
Not a lie, I tell myself.
The next one is from Charlie. Charlie?
Dear Edward,
This is a test. This is a texting test.
Please respond.
-Charlie Swan
Huh, I wonder if Alice taught him to add an automatic signature… he really doesn't have to do that, neither does Alice.
Then there is one from Sue:
B & E-
If you two don't respond to Charlie,
he's returning the phone.
He thinks it's dysfunctional.
I text back to Charlie and Sue:
Sorry, it works. Busy day.
Talk soon.
I have a twinge of guilt, still wondering if Bella should be in Forks right now.
Sue responds immediately:
Edward,
Now that you have my number,
Don't be afraid to use it.
I think for a minute about responding, but decide against it.
The next three texts are from Alice. I can see her anxiety rise with each one. The last reads:
For fuck's sake, WHERE ARE YOU?
Parents are gone-
Do I need to take a cab home
from the hospital tomorrow?
-Alice Brandon
Sorry Alice.
We'll pick you up tomorrow.
Can't come to visit today.
-E
An immediate response:
What's wrong?
-Alice Brandon
My response:
Nothing
-E
The phone rings and I let it go to voicemail.
A moment later, there's another text from her:
LIAR!
Starting tomorrow,
You can't hide shit from
me any more.
This is your only warning.
-Alice Brandon
I bury my head in my hands and the phone buzzes again.
E-
Please tell me
You two are ok.
-Alice Brandon
A-
We're ok.
-E
The last text is from Jasper:
Hey Edward-
Squash this week? Lunch?
As soon as I see his name, my chest starts to ache. I want to talk to him… tell him everything that happened last night… ask him what to do. She needs therapy… but fuck… I'll have to tell him everything I did. I don't want to tell him. He'll be so disappointed in me… I don't want anyone to know… but God knows, my parents know. They saw last night.
Don't cry, you pussy. The angry voice screams in my head, but it no use.
Before the inevitable bawling comes, I get off the couch and go into the bathroom. Quickly, I strip out of my clothes, turn on the shower, and step in before the first ugly sounds rip through my chest. Palms and forehead press against the tile as I wail. I don't even think there are tears, this is worse than tears, better than tears… this is guttural… primal… the expulsion of pain through sound. But it feels so fucking good to release all this shit.
Fuck everyone… fuck everything… who gives a shit that I fucked up. I force out a last cathartic howl and then bend my fingers back against the tile wall as far as they will go.
I stare at pink swirl of water and from the bleeding wounds on my feet until I am empty, done. I look at my cock and I'm sure it will never be hard again.
I get out of the shower, dry off, and dress.
I sit on the couch, staring at the water between the buildings, and think about… nothing.
My cell phone buzzes.
I ignore it.
Afternoon light changes into dusk.
My cell phone buzzes.
I ignore it.
I pull myself off the couch, and… oh, fuck, I'm sore. I take two Aleve and wash it down with a glug of orange juice. Opening the refrigerator and cabinet doors, I can't figure out what to eat, what to make Bella. I have no appetite and I gain a new appreciation for her need to 'work,' as she calls it, at eating. I pour a bowl of some cereal that seems to land between healthy and sweet—I don't pay attention to the name—and bring it up to her.
"Hey," I hear her voice before I reach the top.
"Hey."
"You brought me cereal?"
"I brought you cereal. Is that okay?"
"Cereal is always okay." I put it down on her bedside table and reach for the lamp. Looking for Bella's approval, she nods and I switch it on.
Bella blinks at the glare, but moves towards the center of the bed, and pats the spot in front of her. I sit.
"Have you eaten, Edward?"
"A little." I have to smirk at the reversal and it isn't lost on Bella.
"Can I cook you something?"
"No. Thank you."
"I want you to know, I'm almost done."
"Done being mad at me?"
"No… I stopped being mad at you hours ago. I'm almost done wallowing."
I should be elated that she's not mad at me, but this isn't right.
"Bella, how can you forgive me when I… when I…I haven't even properly apologized?"
"You tried last night, but I didn't let you."
This is wrong—all wrong.
"Bella…"
"Edward, I know. You should have the chance to say what you want to say. I'm just… I'm not…" she flops back onto the bed and rubs her hands over her face. Even in this light, her bruises are obvious.
"Need to wallow some more?"
She breathes her relief, "Yes," and rubs her hand on my shoulder, "thank you."
I stand and walk to the stairs.
"Edward?"
"Yes?" I stop at the top of the steps.
Bella sits up and when I turn to her, I see her beautiful face is riddled with concern. It's for me, that concern is for me. Taking a moment to find her words, she asks, "How is the wallowing going downstairs?"
I nod my head, "Better. I'm getting better at it."
"Okay…" looking like there is more to say, she simply presses her mouth into an attempted smile.
I return her attempt, then head downstairs.
Staring at the window, I text Jasper:
Yes. Let's get together this week.
I. AM. FUCKED.
-Edward
I turn off the ringer and toss the phone. Though I didn't notice it before, in the ambient light of the surrounding buildings, I see the smudges on the window from Bella's pounding.
Taking Windex and a roll of paper towels from the kitchen, I return to the window. The pattern of handprints tells the story of her nightmare. They start low on the left side of the glass, a million distinct, overlapping handprints. She probably crawled from where the couch used to be.
On my knees, I spray the blue liquid and watch it roll down the glass, cutting through the evidence. I look to the rest of the window—the next handprints are high—she must have stood. They slide back down again. I see where she went from slamming her hands to her full arms. Oh, Bella, how long were you in that nightmare?
I close my eyes and begin to spray… high… low… everywhere. Blindly I wipe the window with the paper towels… I can't look anymore. I just want them to be gone.
With a hand full of wet towels, I open my eyes. Yes, they are almost gone. I stand and give one last, meticulous cleaning—no smudges, no smears.
I return to the kitchen and toss the empty bottle and towels away.
I fill a glass with ice, grab a bottle of Jameson Whiskey, and my iPod.
I put my feet on the coffee table and drink until the sores on my feet no longer sting.
I drink until the whiskey no longer burns.
It doesn't take much.
Hitting shuffle on my iPod, I hope the universe brings me something appropriate.
A steel guitar starts and Justin Vernon's soulful voice fills my ears. I love this song, but didn't know I had it on my iPod. Did Bella put it on? Isn't this song depressing?
And I told you to be patient
And I told you to be fine
And I told you to be balanced
And I told you to be kind
In the morning I'll be with you
But it will be a different kind…
From my preferable vision, I see Bella descend the stairs. She curls up next to me on the couch and nestles her head on my shoulder. Gently, she pulls one ear bud from my ear, music fills the open air for a few seconds until she secures it in her own ear. As we listen together, I put my arm around her, and she stretches her hand across my body. Her fingertips run over my ribs in the calming rhythm of the song. She pets me like a wounded, stray dog.
When the song is done, Bella looks up at me and I remove the buds from both of our ears.
"Hi," she whispers as she scans my face.
"Hi."
She continues to glide her fingertips over my ribs and I am so grateful.
In that heart-shaped face of hers, there is compassion, beauty, knowledge, and strength. There is nothing to fear.
"Edward, there is something you want to tell me."
"Yes, Bella. There is a lot I want to tell you."
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A/N:
Soooo… someone very graciously nominated She Gives Me Religion for a Sunflower Award in the Best Drama category. The Sunflower Awards recognizes fics with fewer than 1,000 reviews at the time of nomination.
www (dot) thesunflowerawards (dot) blogspot (dot) com
Please hop over and support these stories, authors, and reviewers with your votes.
Voting ends May 25.
I know, I know… you're still pissed at me.
Next update, one week.
Thank you, Honorella for the song selection. Skinny Love can be found on my profile.