Chapter 4

I was sitting in the bathroom. There was blood everywhere. It seeped in from under the door, it dripped from the ceiling. I stood up, confused. What happened in here? There was a large pool of red at my feet, I stepped over it as I headed for the door. The door handle wouldn't move, it wouldn't even jiggle, it was locked. That was strange. I banged on the door and called for Charlie. No one came.

Blood gushed into the bathroom a little quicker now. It oozed from the drywall, poured from the sink, slid down the mirror. In only a few minutes it coated every surface. I tried cleaning it up even though I knew it was a wasted effort. The blood kept coming, covering the areas I'd just cleaned.

I heard a bang, and then the door opened. Edward stood in the hall, his face stoic. "Oh, thank God, Edward! I thought I was stuck in here!" He didn't respond, his face remained distant. All of a sudden his head snapped up, and he looked me directly in the eye. The corners of his mouth lifted, giving me an evil grin. He turned around and disappeared, locking the door behind him.

"Edward, come back!" I called out.

He didn't come.

Suddenly, blood flooded everywhere. It rose from the tiles, it showered from the ceiling. The room became a pool of blood. The blood rose and rose until it was at my knees, and then rose until it reached my shoulders.

"Edward, help!" I tried to scream, but blood poured into my throat, choking me.

The blood continued to fill the room, and there was nothing I could do. Soon, blood filled all the way to the ceiling, and I drowned.

Cold hands gripped my shoulders, gently shaking me. I opened my eyes. Edward leaned over me, his face rigid and hard. His expression reminded me of the way he looked in my dream, stoney and distant. I flinched away, but relaxed once I saw his eyes. They were not dead, like in my nightmare, they bursted with emotion. His eyes were a dark gold, almost brown color. They were vivid, lively with anxiety. His eyes squinted around the edges, setting his face into a distressed expression.

"Bella?" He whispered. "Are you alright?"

I didn't respond.

"Did you have a nightmare?"

I kept my mouth shut.

"Won't you please talk to me?"

Instead of saying anything, I wrapped my arms around him and bursted into tears. I was awfully weepy lately. It bothered me that I was unable to hold in my emotions. I cried and cried, and then I cried some more because I couldn't seem to help myself. I let it all out all the pain, all the embarrassment, all the things I've kept locked inside since he left.

Edward held me, and that was really all that I needed. I was just relieved to have him with me.

I dozed on and off throughout the rest of the night, not really getting much sleep. When it was finally morning, I was relieved to be able to get out of bed and forget about last night. I felt uncomfortable with the fact that I was so vulnerable. I just wanted to get on with the day and put that behind me.

"Am I going to school today?" I asked.

"No." He replied.

"Does Charlie know where I am?"

He sighed. "Charlie went to work early, to get his work in Forks squared away before he heads off to San Francisco. He won't know if you're in school or not today. Besides, you're a senior, you can call yourself out."

"Okay," I responded. "Does your whole family know what happened?" I asked, embarrassed.

"Yes." He sighed. "They left early this morning to go hunting and give us some privacy—well, everyone except for Carlisle, he's still here. The family will be back later tonight."

He made me breakfast, and when I tried to protest, he silenced me with a cold glare. I decided that I was in enough trouble as it was, and shut up. I shoveled a few bites of food into my mouth, even though it made me sick. I didn't hide the disgust on my face.

Edward handed me a pill and a glass of water.

"I don't take anti-depressants, Edward. I'm not depressed." I announced. He stared at me for a minute, studying my face. Finally he spoke. "It's not an anti-depressant. It's an antibiotic. Your arm is infected."

Oh. Right. I forgot about that. I decided to shut up and swallow the pill.

"When you're done with breakfast, let's talk in the living room." He said, his voice authoritative.

"I'm done," I said as I got up. In a flash, he was beside me.

"You're not done. Eat."

I took another bite, cringing as I felt the pile of food slide down my throat. Sometimes, eating felt alien to me, like it was an action my body wasn't designed to do. Eating is kind of weird to think about. I mean, you put a pile of goop inside a hole on your face, you mash up the goop with these bones that jut out of your gums, you moisten the goop with some sort of solution that secretes from the back of your throat, and then you force the goop down a tube to be digested. That's messed up.

I couldn't eat more. I just couldn't. "Please, Edward? I can't eat anymore. I'm done."

He let me get up this time, although he wasn't happy about it.

Edward followed me into the living room. I sat on the couch, and he sat across from me on the loveseat. I decided to get off the couch and crawl next to him. He wrapped his arms around my shoulders in a tight hug.

"Bella?"

I didn't want to respond. I just wanted to sit with him.

"Come on, Bella. We've got to talk now. Tell me what's going on." I could hear frustration in his voice.

"Edward, I-I'm sorry. . .that you had to see me like that. With all the blood. Was it hard for you?"

His voice was harsh, like a whip striking my face. "That was the hardest thing I've ever done. I can't do that again."

I scooted away from him, hurt. "I shouldn't have called you. It was unfair of me to ask you to deal with my blood. I should have taken care of it myself. I-"

"That's not what I meant. I didn't mean that you shouldn't have called me. I'm glad that you did— so glad. I can't even think about what would have happened if I wasn't there. It makes me sick."

"Then what did you mean? Why was it the hardest thing you've ever done?" I asked.

"I didn't mind being around your blood, the scent didn't bother me at all. But the sight of you— on the floor like that, dying. That was hard for me. That was torture. And then when I figured out that you did that to yourself on purpose. . . I-I that broke my heart. I have almost lost you so many times— I just got you back. I can't understand why you would do something like that, why you would want to leave me like that." His voice broke at the end. I snuggled back up to him, trying to comfort him. He relaxed slightly at my touch, though he was still very rigid. He was upset. That was clear. His eyes were cold, his voice broken. I thought he might be on the verge of crying, if that were possible.

"I wasn't trying to kill myself. I promise. I'm sorry if I scared you."

He grabbed my arms and pulled up my sleeves, showing me the scars that decorated my skin.

"Why do you have these, then, if you weren't trying to kill yourself? Do you do it for fun? Does it feel good? Help me understand why you would do something so gruesome."

"You're not going to like the answer," I warned.

"Good. The truth hurts. I want the truth."

I took a deep breath. "When you left, I was really, really hurt. More than hurt, I was. . . mutilated. You left without a trace, and took everything with you. You showed me this whole world— one I never knew existed— and then you took it away. You showed me a future, you promised me I could share it with you— and then you took that, too. There was so much pain, everyday, all day. I couldn't escape my misery. So I found a way to make it bearable. I took the pain that was inside and I put it on the outside. I wasn't suicidal, even then. I was just looking for an escape."

I looked up at Edward after I gave my little speech. The look that he gave me was frightening. I was expecting him to be angry or upset. But he just looked at me like he didn't even know me, like he had never seen me before.

"Do I even want to ask how long you've been doing this?" He whispered.

"Since October." I answered.

Edward closed his eyes and let out a deep breath.

To be honest, it felt good to let it all out. It was scary— terrifying— to be so honest and vulnerable, and I was half expecting him to just get up and leave. But some part of me was relieved to not hold this in anymore. It felt kind of good to take the pain I had been holding inside and give it to someone else.

His voice was a whisper. "What about the eating? Why don't you eat anymore?"

"That happened too, when you left. I really haven't figured out why. I don't do it on purpose, I'm not trying to lose weight or anything. I just can't. . . I don't know. . . find the desire to eat anymore."

He was upset by my answer, but seemed to accept it.

"Are you going to keep doing this?" He asked, his voice very serious.

Honestly, I hadn't thought about that. What was I going to do now? Edward would want me to stop, I was sure of it. But did I want to stop? I wasn't certain. I guess some part of me wanted to. I wanted to make Edward happy, appease him. I also just wanted to stop being so dependent on pain. I knew I needed to heal, I needed to get over this, I needed to stop. But another part of me didn't think I could do it. I needed the pain to survive.

I shrugged.

Edward was surprised by my response, his face became angry instantly. "Let me rephrase that; You are going to stop. I'm not giving you an option." His voice was dark, frightening.

I really didn't like it when he bossed me around. I mean, yeah, I knew I should stop. I knew it was dangerous, but it was my body. I should be able to do whatever I wanted with it.

"No" I said stubbornly.

Suddenly he towered over me. He grabbed my face in his hands, maybe a little too harshly, and forced me to look at him.

"Isabella Marie Swan. You. Will. Stop. Doing. This. Right. Now." His face was livid.

"Nope," I replied.

"You don't have a choice, I won't let you harm yourself. I will be there every second of the day. I will stop you every time you harm yourself. I will make sure you eat. I will make sure you sleep. I will make sure you that you stay alive."

"You can't stop me from doing anything," I responded.