Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended

(AN) So not only am I updating in a timely fashion with this chapter...but I'm also giving you guys a nice, juicy long one. I hope that you find it's contents to your liking. And have I mentioned that you guys are absolutely amazing, and that your reviews put the sun in my sky and make my heart all sorts of squeezy-happy?

When Life Gives You Lemons: Eat Them

Running the race
Like a mouse in a cage
Getting nowhere but I'm trying
Forging ahead
But I'm stuck in the bed
That I made so I'm lying

But if you keep real close
Yeah, you stay real close
I will reach you

I'm down to a whisper
In a daydream on a hill
Shut down to a whisper
Can you hear me still

~Whisper, A Fine Frenzy

Chapter 17-Whisper Wars

The dream was so vivid; colors crisp and clear, and surround sound nudging at my ears. I couldn't really see myself in it, but I knew that I was beautiful, confident, and everything else I had ever wanted to be. I didn't shy away when Edward touched me, I revealed in it. There was no fear or insecurities in my static breathing, only desire. When he whispered sweet nothings huskily in my ear, I smiled, because there was no reason to doubt or second guess him.

I never wanted to wake up.

But of course I did, with a protesting yawn and a stretch that hoped to reach back out and grab the retreating tendrils of slumber.

Sleep was most definitely lost to me when I suddenly found gravity smacking me down like a fighter in a wrestling ring. Something blunt made a brutal acquaintance with the side of my head, and my face met with the coarse sensation of carpet, a muffled "Ooof" barely managing to escape from my mouth. I managed to drag myself to a semi-seated position on the carpet, and glared dolefully at the coffee table which was the source of the pounding pain in my right temple. I made a note to tell Edward that he should never let me fall asleep on his couch again. Couches and coffee tables were now right next to tree roots on the list of things that were hazardous for my health.

As I pulled myself to a stand, I realized that the evil coffee table had a note for me. Edward's handwriting was the perfect mixture of elegant cursive and hastily scribbled messiness, telling me that he hadn't wanted to wake me but had needed to head into work. He invited me to make myself at home, and that if I needed to go he'd left me a copy of his house key in the kitchen so that I could lock up.

Of course I'd get the key to my boyfriend's place in such an unconventional manner, after making a complete and utter fool out of myself and probably leaving a drool stain on his couch.

The night hadn't been all bad though. What had happened (or more accurately NOT happened) in the bedroom, was left behind us as we relocated to the living room. We'd talked through all the bad monster movies, and the whole time he'd held me against his chest, smoothing my hair and touching me like I was something precious. I smiled when I saw I realized he'd written the note using the glittery blue gel pen I'd pulled out of my purse the previous night. He'd smiled when I told him that it was my lucky pen. Back when I met Rosalie, gel pens were the coolest thing in kid history. We'd get in trouble in school for drawing on our hands during free time, for sending notes back and forth scribbled in sparkly pinks and neon greens. Usually teachers were extremely strict in enforcing the rule that papers couldn't be turned in unless they were plain black or blue ink. But one day, I'd scrambled to finish a history report at the last minute, and had written the last page in my blue gel pen because I'd lost all my normal pens. I'd awaited my grade in terror for days, having never been able to get higher than a C- on any of the other assignments for that class. Much to my surprise, the teacher had given me an A. After that moment I'd treasured that silly blue pen, and had used it sparingly.

One of the things I liked most about Edward was that when I told him silly stories like this he didn't give me the look that other people did. That "Omg you're such a weirdo, but at least you're not the kind that would slit my throat while I was sleeping or something" kind of look. No, when I told Edward quirky little stories like that he'd listen like I was the most fascinating thing in the universe and give me a a quirky story about himself in return. Like how all through high school he refused to actually eat french fries, instead opting to go through his serving and lick all of the salt off. Things like that made it so easy to talk to him, to let him see into my heart.

So why am I having such a panic attack over the whole intimacy thing?

I shook the thought from my mind. It was too early in the morning to go there, as the clock in the kitchen blinked an overly cheery 8.30am. I had no new clothes to change into, so a shower was out of the question, but my face felt puffy from the mixture of crying and sleeping on the couch arm, so I found my way to Edward's bathroom. I turned the light on, eyes still half closed with displeasure at the fact that I was awake. Turning the faucet on, I let out a sleepy yawn and went to dip my hands into the stream of water. Something on my right hand caught my attention, and I jerked it closer for inspection.

It had been written on in blue gel pen. The letters were backwards, but I could clearly see they spelled "ARE". An inspection of my left hand found another backwards inscription, this time spelling "YOU".

"Are you" what? "You Are" what?

It was then that I looked up into the mirror above the sink and saw that there were letters on my forehead as well. Hands shaking with an indescribable emotion that was squeezing around my heart, I lifted my hands up, palms facing forward.

"YOU" said my left hand, and "ARE" said my right.

"Beautiful," I whispered tearfully as I read the word on my forehead.

It was obvious who had written those words, and it was also obvious why he had done it.

Two things immediately became very clear to me.

1) Edward Masen was quite possibly the most beautifully sweet man on the history of the planet.

2) I needed to get my head together so that I could have lots and lots of insecurity free sex with him.

How I went about fulfilling the requirements for number two was, of course, a complete mystery.

It hadn't taken long before I started feeling awkward being in Edward's house when he wasn't there. My brain was a jumble of too many thoughts and emotions, and I knew I wasn't going to be able to start getting my thoughts together until I got myself a shower and a fresh pair of clothes. So I took his key and locked up, heading home with slept-in wrinkly clothes, and finger brushed hair.

Could someone be on "a walk of shame" if they hadn't gotten any?

When I got home and shot the door behind me, I could hear Rose in the kitchen. In full "join me in my pity party" mood, I stalked towards the kitchen. "So Rosalie, remember how you were all adamant that a vibrator would totally loosen up my sexual repression? Well you wer…"

I actually made it into the kitchen, only to be slapped in the face with the sight of Emmett making eggs.

My soul may have shriveled up just a tad in the shadow of my immense embarrassment.

At least he had clothes on.

He smiled at me warmly, waving the spatula in greeting as if we were in the middle of a perfectly normal scenario.

"Wh…where's Rose?" I asked.

"In the shower. You want some eggs? There's plenty here."

"Um…no thank you. I think I'll just retreat to my room where I plan to die a slow and painful death."

Emmett rolled his eyes at me as he tended to his cooking. "Relax Bella, it's not that big a deal. You're a sexual creature…I'm a sexual creature. It's all kosher."

Oh god please strike me dead with lightning or holy fire or something.

But I was kind of hungry…and those eggs smelled really good…so maybe the death by heavenly wrath could wait till after a plate of eggs.

Emmett gave me a cocky smile when I approached with a hungry "please sir, may I have some more?" look on my face. "S'what I thought," he proclaimed smugly, grabbing a plate from the cabinet and plopping a healthy serving of fluffy golden deliciousness upon it. "You know…despite my hefty male appendage, I'm actually very good at advising people in the intimacy department. Come…step into my office." He thrust my plate into my hands and pushed me towards the dining room.

I think I was in shock from his blatant approach, because I just sat down and stared as he took a seat adjacent to me, folding his arms to make a support for his chin and looking at me with an expectant face.

"Um…Emmett. I'm not really sure I wanna talk to you about this stuff."

He raised an eyebrow at me. "Why not? I'm a guy…Edward's a guy…I can give you some perspective from a male point of view."

I raised a forkful of eggs to my mouth. "It's not really his view that's the problem. It's the messed up perspective in my own head."

"Don't you girls learn about this stuff through your cheesy romance novels?" Emmett made a funny face and took on a mockingly feminine tone. "Steven stuffed Sally with his sensuous sausage."

I choked on my eggs, wildly flailing my arms as I tried to force my food to not make a beeline for my lungs instead of my stomach. "Oh my god, Emmett. Are you trying to kill me?" I wheezed.

"Well jeeze, if you want the delicate flower approach…maybe you should go talk to my mom."

I rolled my eyes, getting up to grab a glass of water from the kitchen. "Oh sure…why don't I just have a big open meeting and talk about my personal sexual issues with your whole family? That'll be fun."

"Oh…my mom didn't tell you what she does for a living, did she?"

"No she didn't. I'm afraid to ask why that's relevant to this already awkward conversation, but I'm going to do it anyway."

Emmett leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms behind his head. "My mother's a licensed therapist. That works from home. You've been sitting across from a person whose job it is to help people sort through the jumbled mess of their minds for months."

Well…if that ain't a sign from the universe, I don't know what is.

~0.0~~0.0~~0.0~~0.0~~0.0~~0.0~~0.0~~0.0~~0.0~~0.0~~0.0~~0.0~~0.0~~0.0~~0.0~~0.0~~0.0~

Later that morning, when I'd convinced myself it wasn't too early, I tiptoed my way to the front door of the Cullen's house, and timidly knocked on the door. Esme opened the door, hair and face like a silver screen actress from the 50's, and a softness about her features that made me want to hug her as if she were my own mother and not practically a stranger.

"Bella," she said in a warm honey tone, "how are you? I ran into your father the other day at the store, he's looking so wonderful."

"Yeah," I said with a smile, "he says he feels healthier now than he ever has. I'm sure the diner is missing his business though."

An awkward silence took over, because I wasn't sure how to move the conversation. I didn't think something like "Hey Mrs. Cullen, I know we don't really know each other, but I was wondering if you could help me get over my intimacy issues so that I can make the beast with two backs with your son's best friend" was going to come across very well.

"Is there something I can help you with dear?" she asked, after a few moments of silence passed between us.

"Well…um…Emmett was telling me that you're a therapist…and I'm sure I'm not doing this the right way…but…I was wondering…if I could make an appointment?"

Esme smiled and ushered me through the door. "Come in sweetheart."

I'm usually not a nervous talker. But as Esme lead me through the house towards her office, I couldn't seem to shut up. "So I don't know how much you charge, or if you charge by the minute or the hour…and I don't really have that much money right now, I mean I started a job at the Newtown's hiking gear store, but I've only got like two paychecks for that, but I can totally pay you as much as I can right now."

"Oh there's no need for any of that," Esme responded, as she opened the door to a homey office, "let's just say that one free session is a perk you get from renting the guest house."

"A…are you sure?"

"Positively." Esme gestured to a corner of the room where two comfy looking armchairs faced each other in an intimate fashion, not like other therapist office settings I'd seen on tv where a cold desk acted as a wall between the professional and client.

I made myself as comfortable as possible, given my nerves regarding the subject matter of which I wanted to speak. I fiddled nervously while Esme closed the door and seated herself. "So, Bella, what do you want to talk about?"

"Oh gosh.' I hoped I wasn't blushing. "Um, I guess I'm gonna start kind of slow and work my way up to my point…if that's okay with you?"

"However you'd like to proceed. The floor is yours, so to speak."

I took a breath. "Okay, well since the gossip has reached Chief Swan's ears I'm sure it's reached yours too, and you've heard that I'm seeing Edward in a non-professional manner."

"I had heard a few birdies tweeting about it, yes."

My fiddling increased tenfold. "Well, we've been seeing each other for a while now…and I'm finding it hard to allow the intimacy in our relationship grow…the way that I want it too."

Esme looked at me thoughtfully for a minute. "And is there a certain aspect of intimacy that you're particularly uncomfortable with?"

"Um…the thought of being seen without my clothes on…the thought of being touched without my clothes on, makes me very uncomfortable."

"And would you say that this discomfort stems from insecurities regarding your body?"

A dark chuckle rose from deep in my throat. "Well I mean look at me. I think the answer to that question is pretty obvious."

Esme nodded and leaned towards me a little in her seat. "And if these scenarios you're uncomfortable about were to happen…being seen and touched without the barrier of clothing to hide behind…is there a response that you fear will occur?"

I knew the answer…but I had to force it to come out. "Rejection. I'm…afraid that he'd reject me. All my life so many things; media, health gurus, other people, have made me feel like this extra weight I'm carrying around is comparable to walking around with bags of trash tied to me. It's disgusting, shameful, makes me feel less-than everyone else. If I want to subject myself to that mess, no one can stop me…but it's wrong of me to subject other people to it. Being intimate feels like I'd be subjecting that other person to the garbage that I carry around with me, and I can't imagine how anyone could see me, or touch me, and not be…disgusted"

Towards the end of my lengthy rant, my words had begun to grow thick with tears. Esme offered me a few tissues from a soothingly colored box, and patted my knee reassuringly. "It's a lot harder to say things like that out loud then just letting them be whispers in your head."

I nodded and blew my nose loudly. "It's just like that too. Whispers in my head…not in a creepy schizophrenic kind of way, you know? And I could try and blame it on advertising or models…but no matter where the whispers came from, they've grown into something that's taken on its own life in my head…and I don't know how to stop it. How do you go to war with the whispers in your head? How do you make them stop so that you can let people in?"

Esme considered my question for a moment. "I think it has to start with an understanding that the words you hear in your head, those whispers, they don't speak for everybody else. You have to take the chance, the risk, in letting people speak for themselves. Deciding what people think about you is a way for you to hide, to protect yourself. But let me ask you this. Do you think that Edward is less aware of your size when you have your clothes on?"

I sniffled and grabbed another tissue. "Well I mean…sometimes I like to tell myself that clothes hide my size, but I don't think that's really true."

"And when you've been with Edward, fully clothed, has he shown attraction towards you on an intimate level?"

"Yes, but I guess in my head…having an idea of what I may look like underneath my clothes…and actually seeing it…are two different things."

Esme nodded. "I think that's a completely logical fear. That's the morbid seduction of fear, it always makes so much sense, it so easily sucks you in. But in life, inaction because of a fear risks bringing about the same consequence you're afraid of incurring by facing your fear."

"That's my dilemma!" I exclaimed. "I feel like I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't."

"And you're not alone in that feeling," Esme added. "So many people, men and women, large and small, face insecurities of all shapes and sizes regarding relationships. We all have fears that we won't be good enough for that other person. It's about finding someone who you think is worth the risk of opening up to. When they embrace you, it's the most wonderful feeling in the world. If they can't love who you are, for all that you are, that can be quite painful. But in the end you realize that person wasn't worthy of loving you anyway."

"Wow you're good," I replied, earning a sweet smile from her.

"Of course anything I tell you now may sound really good here in this room, but you can't expect your feelings and perspectives to just change overnight. It takes time to build up these viewpoints; therefore it has to take time to fully break them down and replace them with new ones. My advice to you is not to try and force yourself to go places you aren't ready to go yet. If a person cares about you, they'll be willing to wait for you. A moment will come…where despite any fears or reservations; you'll be ready to take a leap of faith. It has to come on its own."

"Is there anything I can do in the meantime…to help move things along? The 'wait and see approach' just feels like a cop-out to me."

"There are some activities you can do to help improve your self-esteem. Things like starting every morning by looking in a mirror and telling yourself three things about your physical features that you like, and then three about your personality that you like. Do it every morning, and then every night before bed. It'll seem trivial and awkward at first, but it can make a huge difference over time."

"Like if you tell yourself something long enough you start to believe it?"

"In a way, yes. It's very easy, you see, to try and make self improvement changes in order to try and please others. Little activities like the ones I described are a chance for you to face your own reflection and be reminded that this should be about you, about improving your relationship with yourself."

I gave a melancholy smile. "Rose has always told me I'm too much of a people pleaser. I guess I often don't see myself as someone worthy of pleasing."

Esme half pointed her index finger towards me in an affirming fashion. "And that's the crux of everything, isn't it? You have to find the worth in yourself, because if you can't see it, how can you be convinced that anyone else does?"

I sighed and leaned back in my seat. "You sure there isn't some kind of short cut "easy button" I can push? You know like the ones they used to use in those Staples commercials?"

"Afraid not," Esme replied with a small smile. "Everything that makes the human mind so beautifully wonderful also makes it painfully mysterious and complex."

"Yeah. I guess I'm going to have to wait until I die to file a product complaint with the manufacturer."

We both laughed at my cynicism, and eased our way out of the conversation with some light talk about my hobbies and interests. When I stood to leave, Esme hugged me warmly and told me that if I ever needed to talk, I was welcome in her office and home, free of charge. The raw compassion that just oozed from her pores was almost too much to bear. On the one hand, it had felt freeing to talk with someone in such an open way. I hadn't even realized how deeply I thought some of the things I said until they had bled forth from my mouth. Which is why on the other hand, I walked back to the guest house feeling a little raw and mentally exhausted. It was as if now that I'd said all my thoughts out loud I was responsible for them in a way I somehow hadn't been when they were just whispers in my head.

I spent a good portion of the rest of the day lying in my bed and thinking.

What kind of weapons does one bring to a whisper war?

~0.0~~0.0~~0.0~~0.0~~0.0~~0.0~~0.0~~0.0~~0.0~~0.0~~0.0~~0.0~~0.0~~0.0~~0.0~~0.0~~0.0~

Over the next two weeks I tried to take Esme's advice to heart. Every morning and every night found me facing myself in the mirror, telling my reflection what I liked about it, trying to take the time to not just say the words, but to feel even a tiny smidgeon of truth behind them.

Strangely enough, I did begin to feel a tiny bit more confident in my days.

Which made it all the more awkward that I was sort of avoiding Edward. I made it to all of my work outs with him, and conversed with him normally, but I found myself dodging his attempts to see me outside of the gym. It wasn't that I didn't want to see him, but I felt that I needed to say something to him about what he'd written on me that morning after I'd broken down at his house. Something as sweet and kind as that deserved to be addressed, but I needed time to collect my thoughts and decide how big of a conversation I wanted to have with him about it. After two weeks of thinking it over and having mock conversations in my head, I finally felt like I was capable of seeing him without becoming an embarrassed mess.

So he invited me over for dinner on a Friday night.

There is something incredibly sexy about a man who knows his way around the kitchen.

Like we're talking a "let's eat our meal in between bouts of hot kitchen make out sessions" kind of alluring.

I think Rosalie suffered a small stroke of shock when I actually asked her if she'd come shopping with me for an outfit. My actively initiating a shopping session was probably written down in history as one of the signs of the coming apocalypse. She was almost speechless when I walked out of the store with a pair of dark, fitted denim jeans, and a silky red top with an empire waist and fluttery sleeves. It felt kind of freeing to be able to say I was stepping out of my comfort zone and surprising someone.

When Edward opened his front door, I felt underdressed, as I always did around his stunning good looks. He was only in a pair of jeans and grey t-shirt, but still. The man could wear one of those floral print Hawaiian shirts and a pair of ripped shorts, and you'd feel like you needed full formal wear in the wake of his handsomeness.

"Hey beautiful," he said, greeting me with a warm embrace and a chaste kiss. "You have perfect timing. I just finished dinner."

"I can't lie Edward, I'm sort of excited to see what kind of culinary masterpiece you whipped up. People who can cook without burning everything are absolutely mind boggling to my poor cooking disabled brain."

He led me into the dining room, where my nose was assaulted with a myriad of tempting scents. Lemon-basil chicken on a bed of broccoli and cauliflower awaited me upon a plate. Food I would have scoffed at months ago and called disgusting, I was now practically drooling over.

Light chit chat punctuated our meal, the atmosphere calm and easy. When I'd cleaned my plate and sat back in satisfaction, Edward shot me a coy grin. "I hope you've saved room for dessert."

He disappeared into the kitchen, and what he returned with left me blinking in confusion.

"Edward….are those…tiny little cheesecakes in muffin tins? Because I smell cheesecake…and this better not be some sort of test because if you put cheesecake in front of me, I will eat it."

Edward laughed, husky and amused. "They are cheesecakes yes, but this isn't a trick. They're made with ricotta, reduced fat cream cheese and cocoa powder. Only 130 calories in one tin."

My eyes were wide with wonder as he placed a tin in my hand. "Oh dear sweet baby cheesecake, you are one of the most beautiful things my eyes have ever seen."

I carefully peeled the tin away, and closed my eyes to take a bite. It wasn't quite the same as the high fat cheesecakes I'd had before, but it was equally tasty, and I couldn't help the satisfied whimpers that escaped from me in between my slow bites and extended chewing periods.

I savored that cheesecake like it was the last one I'd ever eat.

When I finished that last delicious bite, I looked at Edward, and the entire speech I'd practiced in my head, thanking him for how wonderful and understanding he'd been, disappeared. It suddenly felt like no words could convey my meaning enough.

The man had made me cheesecake, held me while I let my emotional baggage make mince meat out of me, and was currently looking at me like I was beautiful and sexy and desirable.

Because I am.

All this time I'd been driving myself crazy, tiptoeing around him afraid that he'd turn tail and run, when everything that came out of his mouth and everything he did demonstrated the exact opposite. He knew who I was…he knew my flaws and my strengths, my quirks and my sorrows, and he'd been standing here all this time telling me that he wanted me in spite of them, because of them. It was time I stopped hiding, and second guessing. Was it possible that things between Edward and I could end in a less than amicable way? Absolutely.

But Edward was worth the risk, and so was I.

Wordlessly I pushed my chair out and stood up, tossing a look at him before heading down the hallway towards his bedroom. My heart was pounding against my ribcage like a battering ram.

It would be a lie to say that the fearful whispers I'd been listening to for years were gone. But for once in my life I decided to be louder than them.

I deserved heavy kisses, ragged breathing, and skin to skin contact as much as anyone else.

I am not garbage.

I am not ugly.

I am everything that I am, and that's good enough.

I am worthy of loving and being loved in return.

By the time Edward had reached the doorway, I had stripped myself of my shirt and jeans, standing before him in simple black undergarments. Every fat roll and stretch mark was displayed, telling the story of who I was. But Edward knew who I wanted to be, who I could be, underneath all the skin. When he approached me there was no abhorrence in his eyes, only tenderness. There was no judgment in his fingers as he ran them down my arm, and there was no fear in my kiss as I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him closer.

I managed to get his shirt off of him before he was pushing me down on the bed, hungry kisses nipping at my neck while his fingers undid my bra before I laid completely flush against his cool bed sheets. His affections were like a full meal, his fingers on my breasts a spicy appetizer which only barely prepared me for the entrée that was the touch of his mouth upon my sensitive nipples. Dessert came when he held one gently between his teeth and then flicked it with his tongue, sending my light whimpers spiraling into a full out moan.

My nerves came rushing back in a panicked stampede for a moment when my underwear was removed and I was completely bare before him. I'd always taken the time to trim downstairs, but never been into the concept of putting hot wax on my lady bits. I wasn't sure if being bare down there was an unspoken requirement for girls these days. Edward didn't seem to have a problem with it, and my nerves were erased as he settled next to me, showering kisses on my face and neck as his fingers traced a windy, torturous pathway down my body. When his hand was flush with an area of body that even I had barely touched that intimately, I gasped and buried my head in the crook where his neck met his shoulder.

It was slow and sweet, the way he pleasured me. His fingers explored in tandem to the state of my breathing. Having never experienced such sensations, I was amazed at the way the tremulous heat began underneath his fingers and then traveled to the rest of my body in waves that build in height until I was moaning loudly and writhing underneath his touch. Then that pleasure took off like a jet plane, until it was everything I felt in every cell of my body and my nails were digging into his arms as the waves slowly subsided, like water being pulled back to the sea. Edward held me until the trembling subsided, his own breathing still heavy in my ear.

Holy hell if that's how good that feels, how the hell does anyone ever get out of bed and force themselves to put clothes on?

It suddenly occurred to me that what had just happened had only been the result of his fingers. I was suddenly very curious to know what it would feel like with another part of his anatomy.

Rosalie had been very open with me when she'd lost her virginity. She said the first time it had transitioned from painful to uncomfortable, but if you're with a guy who gives a crap about what's happening, the intimacy of the moment can still be satisfying.

Of course that's what it was like with Edward. Emboldened, I had propped myself up on one arm and watched as he removed the rest of his clothes. I was not completely naive to the male anatomy, but I had never seen one so close up. Edward was more than happy to let me introduce myself, to let me acquaint my fingers to the surprisingly silky feeling of the skin, lined with large, bumpy veins. I watched in erotic fascination, Edward's hand covering my own and directing my moves, as he swelled and lengthened underneath my touch. When his breathing started to get ragged, he pushed my hand away so he could turn away and slide a condom on before covering my body with his own, skin smooth and intoxicating as it moved against my own.

There was pain that made me bite my lip and wince. It faded into a strange, mildly uncomfortable feeling that was punctuated by a satisfying mixture of amazed wonder. We moved together slow at first, increasing in speed as his husky breathing grew louder, and he buried his head against my neck. I could feel the potential for the friction to build into that same pleasurable burst I'd experienced earlier, but there was something satisfying enough in just feeling the sweat gather in Edward's auburn locks, and the way his shoulder blades moved as he let out a strangled moan and jerked against me. When his breathing had tempered off a little, he rolled over and pulled me to a resting place on his chest. I smiled against his warm skin lazily, lethargy moving through my veins and enticing me to sleep.

I was only too happy to oblige.

No fearful whispers pursued me into sleep.

There was only bliss.