Chapter 5

Edward and I spent the rest of the morning watching movies and snuggling on the couch. He never brought up my cutting or eating problems, and I was very thankful for that. I knew the discussion was far from over, though.

"Bella, come into my office for a minute, please," Carlisle called to me from upstairs.

I looked at Edward, my face bashful. I didn't want to spill all of my secrets to Carlisle— what would he think of me? Would he not want me to join his family?

Edward noticed my discomfort and came over to me, placing his hand lightly on my cheek. "Would you like me to go with you, Love?" He kindly asked. I nodded, relieved. Edward took my hand and led me upstairs to Carlisle's office. He sat next to me on the little couch across from Carlisle's desk.

"Bella, I'd like to help you recover from your problems— the whole family would like to support you through this. Will you please let us help you?" Carlisle asked. I buried my head into Edward's shoulder, and he wrapped his arms around my waist comfortingly. That would be embarrassing, getting the whole family involved. I wished they would just leave me alone. I reluctantly nodded my head though, because I knew they were not going to take no for an answer.

"Good, Bella. We're all happy to help," Carlisle responded with a smile. "The family left last night, as you probably realized, to give us some privacy as we figure this out. But when they come back, you will have their full support, I guarantee it. If you need to talk to someone, any of the Cullens will listen. I myself would like to help you— as both a doctor and your future father. I have experience with this sort of thing— I spent many years working in an asylum. I met many people who had similar problems as you. I would love to help you get through this."

Edward spoke, "What is the plan, Carlisle? She needs help. Should she go to a hospital? Therapy? Should she stay with us until she is well again?"

"I think Bella should decide for herself, Edward."

They turned to me waiting for a response. "Um. . . can't I just. . .not do anything?"

Edward spoke, suddenly angry. "Bella, I'm not going to sit here and watch you hurt yourself. You're going to get help. You're going to stop. I'll make sure of it."

Carlisle shot Edward a warning look. "Bella, you need help. You may not see the danger that you're putting yourself in, but the people around you see it. When you hurt yourself last night, you also hurt Edward and the rest of the family. We care about you and want you to get better."

They were going to make me get help: force me into therapy or send me to a hospital. I refused to let that happen.

"What if I agreed to help, just not from a stranger? Didn't Edward go to medical school? Didn't he study psychology? Is it possible for Edward to be my psychologist? I would feel better talking to him than anyone else."

Carlisle and Edward exchanged a look. I could tell they were having a mental conversation. After a moment Edward nodded.

"Alright, Love, you don't have to go see a therapist or a doctor as long as you cooperate with us as we try to help you. You have to talk and really try your best, or this won't work. If I feel that you aren't progressing, I will get another doctor involved, alright?" I nodded enthusiastically, relieved that I would not have to suffer through therapy with some stranger. "And Carlile will still check in with us, okay? Just to make sure everything is alright." I nodded.

"Am I going to stay here with you guys?" I asked.

"Yes, I think that would be best," Carlile said. "You should call Charlie tonight, and tell him that you're staying over at Alice's. After that, Charlie will be gone and school will be out. I want you to stay with us over break. After a that, we'll see how you're progressing and go from there. If you are ready to go home, then you can go back."

"Okay," I responded.

"Why don't we take a look at your arm right now, see how you're healing, alright?" Carlisle asked.

I rolled up my sleeves, but didn't look at my arms. Edward's hands squeezed into fists once he saw the scars, but relaxed after a second. I dazed out as they worked on my skin, dabbing it with antiseptic and covering it with bandages. I listened to Edward's voice as he talked to Carlisle about medical stuff— I wasn't listening to what he was saying, just listening to the tenor of his velvet voice.

Edward sat me at the kitchen table after the meeting with Carlisle. "What would you like for dinner, Bella?" I grunted, unhappy with having to choke down another meal today. "Anything's fine with me," I growled.

"That's the spirit," Edward mumbled as he bagan food preparations.

He made spaghetti, and even prepared a homemade sauce rather than just using the stuff from the can. I swallowed my food without chewing it, hoping that I wouldn't taste it. After a few bites, I felt that I was going to be sick.

"Edward, I'm sick. I can't eat any more." I stood up, but Edward wouldn't let me off the hook so easily. "You're going to finish your dinner, Bella. You have to eat."

"No, I'm done," I said, stubbornly.

Edward grabbed my face gently in his hands, forcing me to look at him. "Bella, you have to cooperate, remember? If you do not wish to see a psychologist or go to a hospital, then you have follow my guidance. Now please finish eating."

I scooped up another pile of grub unhappily. Ugh, noodles? The texture was disgusting. It was like swallowing slimy yarn. And the flavor was repulsive— bland and and rubbery, but covered in a potent tomato sauce. I tried swallowing, but the strings got caught in my throat.

"Please, Edward?" I asked, hoping he wouldn't make me eat anymore. He shook his head with a frustrated expression.

Ugh, why did he have to make this so hard? I didn't want to eat. Why couldn't he just let me be finished? If he was going to be difficult, then so was I.

I threw myself off the chair and sprinted to the kitchen sink, where I plunged a finger down my throat. Edward was beside me a second later, his hand pulling my finger out of my mouth. But it was too late— I was sick. Edward stayed with me as I hurled out my guts, holding back my hair and rubbing my back. I tried shoving him away, but he wouldn't budge.

I rinsed my mouth out with water once I was done, trying to remove the sour taste.

Edward's hands left my back for a second. Before I had time to turn around, he was holding out my toothbrush and toothpaste.

"To get rid of the taste." He explained.

"I figured."

I brushed my teeth, and then brushed again, making sure my mouth was clean of all remnants of barf. Then Edward gently picked me up and carried me upstairs, setting me on his bed.

When I looked up at his face, I noticed the sadness in his eyes. His whole face looked worn and tired. I felt immediately guilty for making him so upset.

"Sorry," I apologized.

He shook his head. "It's not your fault."

I gave him a strange look. "It is my fault. I did it on purpose."

"It's not your fault." He repeated.

"Then whose is it?" I questioned.

Edward's face became pained. "Mine." He whispered.

I shook my head. He was wrong.