You breathe upon my skin and leave your imprint. My clothes smell of you. My pillow smells of you. My soul smells of you.

–

I can't breathe. My head spins and I've thrown up twice already, ever since returning from the club. This just feels so wrong. My skin is too sensitive as I wash myself in the shower. My heartbeat is thudding in my ears. It's so loud, I wonder if it echoes in the confines of this bathroom but the echo is being drowned out by the sound of the shower spray. God knows it's echoing inside me, hurting my head with every beat.

Make it stop, make it stop…

I take the scrubber off the shelf and scrub my arms furiously. He – I don't know his name, or don't remember it, and don't want to – ran his hands allover my arms. Over and over and over. I hated his touch. I hated his breath on my neck. He smelled of too much alcohol. He smelled like filth and vomit. And now I smell like him so I take the body–wash and wash myself for the second time. Or is it the third?

My head pounds, goddammit.

His teeth. His teeth broke my skin. I can feel my shoulder throbbing. I can feel the mark if I touch it…the slight swelling of the area. I scrub it. Get it off, get it off, please let this thing come off.

It doesn't. I scrub myself harder. I try to breathe deeply, but the in and out of air is shallow and I'm gasping. I want to breathe properly. I don't know what's happening to me. Is this how my mom felt just before she died? Your whole body failing, your limbs wanting you to just give up and sink to the floor, your blood reminding you of all the wrongs you did.

Because it was wrong. So wrong. Tonight was all wrong. No encounter has ever made me feel so weak and broken. I'm falling to pieces. I gasp and gasp and gasp and sink to the floor…

"Bella!"

Someone's calling my name…I know this voice…

"Bella, baby, open the door."

My mind is playing tricks. It's one in the morning – or two – I don't remember – it's just really fucking late. And it's a Saturday night. Technically Sunday morning. I don't care.

But he can't be here right now. He can't be here tonight. It's not a Tuesday. I know that.

"Edward," I cry anyway.

"I'm here, sweetheart, just open the door." His voice sounds frantic to me. Why is he so desperate? Why is my mind conjuring his panicked voice? Is he alright? Did something happen?

There's a loud thud. Really, really loud. I jump and almost shriek in fear. Another loud noise. And again. And yet again. I cover my ears and close my eyes. I rock back and forth, curled up upon myself, under the shower spray.

I hear the noise one more time before something metallic clangs to the marble floor. I am about to scream again when the shower curtain is moved but my scream gets caught in my throat when he bends down, fully clothed, and I see my Angel's face.

"Edward…Edward…" I try. I try really fucking hard to explain to him what happened but no words will form.

"Shh," he soothes and sits beside me on the bathroom floor, under the shower spray. At once he wraps his arms around me, and I try to breathe his scent. But the more I breathe, the more I choke. And then I can't stop crying. Loud, strangled sobs escape my throat and I have no idea what is going on. I just want this insanity to stop. He's saying something in my ear. I need to focus. I need to focus on his voice and everything will be alright again.

"Shit, baby, you're bleeding," he says, sounding so pained that I sob again.

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"How did you…?" I ask him. How did he get here? How did he know I needed him? Does he know what happened? I want to ask so much but right now I just want to lose myself in him and not think at all.

"Maria called me an hour or so ago," he explains, speaking softly in my ear, correctly guessing my question. "She said you looked out of it and wouldn't speak coherently when you left. You refused to wait till Maria could drop you home. She had to put you in a cab hired by the club to drop off people who are too drunk."

His voice is soothing. I relax minutely. I am not hyperventilating anymore. I'm okay. I'll be okay. He's here and I'll be okay.

"Bella, are you listening to me?"

I nod.

"Did you do drugs, Bella?"

I shake my head. I always stay away from drugs. Being a whore is bad enough; I don't need to be a crack whore on top of it. He is holding my wrist in his hand.

"Your pulse is too fast, baby. Let me take you to a doctor."

"No, no, please, Edward, I'm fine. No, no doctors." I'm shaking my head too fast and the room is spinning, so I cling to him again.

"Make it go away, Edward," I sob.

He moves his hands to my face and wipes my tears, even though the shower is running so it doesn't matter. "Make what go away?" he asks me tenderly, as if I were a child, asking someone to dispel my nightmare.

"His scent. His face. His teeth. Just get him off of me."

"Oh, baby, I am so sorry," he sounds like he is choking too. He pulls me back to him and I suddenly remember.

"He gave me my drink. I don't usually drink like this but I did tonight. He put something in it, Edward. I know he did. Everything's falling apart since then."

"We should get you checked –"

"No, and he – his hands – he was too strong. He was too close. I felt too much. I don't feel so much. I don't want to feel it anymore," I plead with him, as if he can make it all okay just by his words.

"Okay," he says soothingly. "It will stop. Just breathe with me, alright?"

He brings my head back to his chest and urges me to match my breathing with his. I try and it works. He breathes deeply and I breathe with him. When I am a bit calm, he slowly pulls us off the ground, and I tug at his t–shirt.

"Take it off," I tell him, and he complies.

He takes off his soaked clothes and throws them aside. I belatedly notice that he isn't wearing a jacket, so he must have removed it before he decided to break my bathroom door. He then stands under the spray, with my face buried in his shoulder. I finally feel like I've come home. Like I won't fall apart anymore. He strokes my hair rhythmically and it is so soothing that I almost fall asleep right there. He feels the tension leaving my body and kisses my hair. I place a kiss on his pecs in return and just let him hold me till we run out of hot water.

Once he closes the shower, he takes a large towel from the shelf and wraps me in it, and then takes another to wrap around his waist. He asks me to go sit on the bed and I do so, hearing him rummage in the cabinet for something. He comes back out with a first aid kit in his hand and it's then that I notice what he meant about me bleeding. I scrubbed my arms too hard. I have angry red skin on both my arms – some of it bleeds – and he gives me a sad smile as he notices the same. He carefully cleans the cuts, and wraps gauze around them, while I just sit there like an imbecile, drowning in shame and guilt. He kisses the bite-mark on my shoulder and my tears start falling. I wonder how I have any left since I've already cried so much.

"I'm sorry," I say, just like I did in the shower. Because I am. How could I be so stupid to take a drink from a man like that? How could I just do what I did tonight? What am I doing with my life?

He kisses my forehead once he is done putting a bandage over the mark as well. "It wasn't your fault," he repeats himself as well. "Do you feel any better?"

I nod and look down. He puts a hand under my chin and makes me look at him, brushing my tears with his other hand.

"No more," he says. "You are not doing this anymore and that's that. I've had enough of your pride and ego and self–destruction."

"It wasn't self–destruction," I mumble.

"From where I see it, you've spent almost fifteen years of your life putting your dreams on the backburner for this shell of a life. This is the last straw, Bella. Where did your courage go? Are you that big a coward now?"

"Don't call me that!" I say fiercely.

He leans forward and whispers against my lips. "Prove me wrong. Don't go this 'job' of yours anymore. Abandon this lifestyle. Don't take any favors from me if you don't want to but go out and find a decent job."

"I have no qualifications, Edward, you know –"

"Bullshit. You are a high school graduate, and there are plenty of jobs if you just look. So just look, Bella. Try. Try for me."

"You don't understand," I shake my head as more tears spill.

"You're right. I don't. I don't understand why you would throw your life away like this." He strokes my hair again. "I love you, Bella. I love you enough to leave my house at midnight, without giving anyone any explanations, and come running to you because I know you need me. But seeing you like this hurts me too much. Won't you do just this for me? Won't you try?"

I sniffle and bury my head in my hands. He takes me in his arms again as we lie down, and hums a melody to put me to sleep. In the two years that I've known him, it's the first time he stays the night. His love makes me forget.

––x––