Author's Note: Thank you to mac and jess for beta'ing this chapter. You guys mean the world to me. Big love to lizconno for helping me with the American justice system which I know very little about. Please to not bill me for your legal advice!

Facebook Status: Stigmata Tomato
Isabella Swan published a new note:

You tell me I'm like an angel:
Sweet and soft, yielding and exultant.
You misunderstood. Angels are denizens of Heaven.
But I'm in Hell; a perversion of Christ, made to suffer
For your sins. Bleeding, still bleeding.
Orphaned by faith, dying and reborn.
These wounds inflicted by you
Open and cry. Three days grace
And I'm reborn.

You tell me I'm sweet like an apple:
Soft in your mouth, the juice on your chin.
But I'm misunderstood. I've no wisdom to share.
And I've been squeezed too hard,
Bleeding, still bleeding from
These wounds inflicted by you.
I ripen on the ground, cut loose from the vine
And I'm spoiled.

Crucified on your cock,
Rotten and putrid.
Stigmata Tomato.

I felt like vomiting. I stumbled down the stairs as if drunk, my gut churning with radioactive sludge. My stomach lining probably resembled Swiss cheese. I needed a motherfucking Tums stat.

"Charlie," I muttered, dragging my feet over the cracked linoleum floor like a zombie with really crap reflexes and little motivation. "Do we have antacids?" I groaned, collapsing into the kitchen chair across from him.

Christ, he looked beaten down. His face resembled an elephant's cunt, all grey leather and wrinkles. Not that I knew what elephant pussy looked like . . . wow, my head was in a really strange place.

"How'd you sleep?" he muttered, ignoring my question and staring at a piece of dry toast as if he had no fucking clue what to do with it. Thank fuck he didn't have a sausage in his hand because that would've been all kinds of messed up considering my previous simile.

"Like shit." I'd been up half the night writing emo poetry about stabbing tomatoes. Now all I could see was red. "I think I'm pissed off."

"It's about fucking time."

"Yeah, well . . . better late than never. I'm ready to go all Uma Thurman now and kill Phil." I grabbed the toast from him. "Are you going to eat this or just gawk at it like an asshole?"

"Watch your fucking mouth," he snapped, burying his face in his hands. "I spoke to the lawyer last night."

"Yeah? What did he say?"

"She said we need to swear out a complaint in Maricopa County . . . that since there's no, er, physical evidence, rape will be hard to prove."

"Oh." My stomach dropped to my feet. What had I expected? Certainly not that Charlie would snap his fingers and Phil would be rightfully rotting in jail as Bubba's bitch. Whomever Bubba was . . . the resident ass raper or whatever. "Okay."

"That means you have to go back. Can you handle that?"

"Yeah, I mean, fuck. I wish I knew this yesterday." Tears left my ducts totally unbidden by me. "Is it okay if I have a nervous breakdown for a couple of days first?"

"Yeah. I'll see if your doctor can get involved. Maybe he can write a note or something-"

"I'm not crazy, Dad. Dr. Banner won't write a letter claiming I'm too nuts to fill out a complaint. Frankly, I'm insulted."

"That's my girl," he grunted, covering my hand with his and squeezing gently.

"Yep, I'm a motherfucking warrior." I smiled.

"I'll go with you."

"Thanks. Dad?" I really needed to tell him something.

"Yeah?"

"I, uh . . . really love you and shit."

-({})-

"So, I'm really pissed off." I hadn't even sat down yet. I glared at Dr. Banner's perennially amused face, trying to figure out what he saw as he looked back. The girl reflected in his glasses appeared really pathetic.

"At whom are you pissed?" he asked, standing like a gentleman, as if waiting for me to take a seat.

"You're speaking strangely."

"I know, right?" He laughed excitedly, pouring a can of Red Bull into his Starbucks mug. "I have a bet going with my daughter to see who can go the longest without ending a sentence in a preposition."

"Right. Well, okay . . ." What the fuck did I say to that? "So, um, a bunch of stuff happened..."

"Would you like to talk about it? Wait, is 'it' a preposition?"

"No, you're fine. I'll write you list of common ones if it helps. And yes, I'd like to talk about it."

"Oh, good! Make yourself comfortable, Bella. Would you like an energy drink?" He tossed a giant stuffed bear at me and sat down in his ugly pleather chair.

"No, thanks. Also? I totally am reporting Phil for sexually abusing me." I smiled proudly.

"You shouldn't do that," Dr. Banner said flatly.

"What? You don't think Phil should go to jail?"

"Of course! He's a filthy child molester. I mean you shouldn't split infinitives." He grimaced.

"Are you using bad comedy to deflect?" I asked, taking on an Austrian accent.

"Are you?" he countered.

"Yes. Always . . ." Where the fuck was I? "I'm trying to have a breakthrough, Dr. Banner, and you're making it difficult."

"I apologize. Carry on with your epiphany."

"My mother found out about Phil. She disowned me . . . blamed it on me." I kept my voice even.

"Do you think it's your fault?" he asked carefully, the jovial tone leaving his voice.

"No. I mean . . . I don't think so."

"Bella, if you'd allow me to go off the record as your therapist for a moment, there's something I must say."

"Shoot."

"Your mother is a cunt."

If there'd been water in my mouth, it would have shot through my nose as I let out an almost violently painful snort of mirth.

"Is that your professional opinion?" I giggled, wiping tears of laughter out of my eyes.

"No. My professional opinion is that you need to cut off contact with your mother for the time being. I also think it would be healthy to for you to work on forgiving her for failing you. As a parent, though, my opinion is she's a cunt."

"So, you're kind of awesome." I cuddled the teddy bear against my cheek.

"Could I get that in writing?"

"Of course." I chewed my lip thoughtfully. "This is good, right?"

"Yes, Bella. It's very good. In fact-" he tossed a bottle at me, "here's your Scooby Snack. Effexor. Take it once daily."

"I am!"

"Why must you turn my office into a house of lies?" he deadpanned.

"Stop quoting 'The Simpsons'!" I glared at the red horse pills, shaking the bottle. "Fine. I'll try them again, but they make me dizzy."

"That's because you're not taking them regularly. Be good to your serotonin, and it will be good to you."

"Okay," I acquiesced. "I'll take them on the regular . . . can we talk about something else?"

"We can," he said pleasantly, leaning forward his chair.

"I want to talk about Edward Cullen."

"What for?" He frowned.

"You just ended that sentence in a preposition."

"Shit."

"I'm in love with him. Is that bad?" I closed my eyes, afraid of the answer.

"Loving another person is never bad."

"Yeah . . . but I'm fucking him and stuff."

"Bella." He sighed. "You know I can't discuss Edward's therapy with you."

"I know," I said quickly. "I just . . . I don't want to mess him up. Just give me your professional opinion, okay?"

"Okay," he agreed. "But only if you'll allow me to give you my non-professional opinion too."

"Fine."

"I don't think a sexual relationship is healthy for either of you right now."

"Oh," I said, feeling my stomach drop, a heaviness weighing my shoulders down and making my chest tight.

"My non-professional opinion, however, is Edward is a good guy, and he cares for you very much."

"He talks about me?" I threw the poor teddy bear on the floor, nearly falling out of my chair.

"I didn't say that. Did you hear me say that? You know I can't tell you what Edward divulges in our sessions. I'm not telling you he cares about you very much. I'm also not telling you how much it would crush him if you broke up with him."

"You're not telling me a lot of things. Is that ethical?"

"Meh, ethics shmethics. I love a good loophole." He pulled a juice box out of his desk and tossed it to me. "Take your crazy pill."

"Fine. But could you please give me some straightforward advice about Edward?"

"You know I can't. My job isn't to tell you what to do."

"Bullshit. You tell me what to do all the time." I poked a straw into the apple juice and swallowed the pill, coughing as it stuck in my throat for an instant.

"You need to do what's best for you."

"What's that?"

"I don't know, Bella. Only time will tell."

-({})-

"Let me in, Bella!" Edward yelled, pounding on the front door of the house.

"Please . . . I just want to be by myself," I replied, scarcely loud enough for him to hear.

"C'mon, pretty girl. Please don't make me beg."

"Edward, the door's unlocked. If you want to come in, just open it." I huffed out an annoyed breath.

"I need you to invite me in," he said plaintively.

"Why? Are you a vampire?" I grumbled, reluctantly getting my ass off of Charlie's favourite plaid couch. I opened the door, and my knees buckled upon the sight of Edward, all rumpled hair and sparkling green eyes. "You have girly eyelashes. I'm going to have to demand you stop being prettier than me."

I turned my back to him and collapsed onto the couch, laying on my stomach.

"Bella," he whispered in his best sex voice, the cushions shifting beneath me as he draped his body carefully over mine. "No one is more beautiful than you. Ever."

"Stop it." My eyes burned with hot tears. I'd promised myself I wouldn't cry.

"Stop what, pretty girl?" he asked, his breath husky in my ear, his tongue licking my neck just below. "You taste so good, baby." His erection poked insistently into my backside. Slowly arching off the couch, I raised my ass so he could grind against it. "My girl . . . I want you. Can I have you?"

I rolled onto my back and stared silently at his face. Actually, I gawked at his slightly exposed happy trail first because I was a total slut, but then I contemplated his eyes. They were wild, hooded and dark with lust.

"I don't know if it's a good idea. I just came from seeing Dr. Banner and-"

"Please," he groaned, rubbing himself over his jeans. "Please, Bella . . . I need you so much. I can't think straight." He cupped my crotch in his hand and lowered his face to my stomach, his hot tongue licking my navel. I cried out, grinding into him. "Yeah, you want me too . . . I know you do. Please, pretty girl?"

"I need to talk to you," I gasped, fighting to keep my thoughts coherent as I felt my jeans suddenly drag down my hips. That fucker sure had stealth . . . like, sex stealth.

"Please, please let me fuck you," he begged. "I need you."

"Slow down . . . please. Look at me for a second, okay?"

He stared at me, half-crazed, pleading and desperate; he could barely keep his hips still.

And I knew this wasn't him. This was his disease begging to be satisfied.

Fuck, this was such a bad idea, but I wanted him to be happy.

One last time.

"I love you, Edward," I said, smiling as well as I could. "Please fuck the shit out of me."

Author's Note: the end. No! I'm totally kidding. The rest of this scene is written but I needed to cut here. If you review me, I'll update again this weekend. But I must receive at least 100 reviews first... No! I'm totally kidding again! Ha! But I will update this weekend.

Big love to all readers of Tomato. The encouragement you send me means the world to me. I'm sorry I'm not able to send flowers and kittens to all of you. Chat with me on twitter! I'm BellaFlan. All reviews receive my best intentions and buzz my phone into submission.