DISCLAIMER: Stephenie Meyer owns everything Twilight related. The storyline, however, is mine :)

WARNING: This chapter contains some graphic and possibly disturbing description of self-harm. Proceed with caution if you are sensitive to such images or feel discomfort reading about related topic.

A HUGE THANKS to EdwardsFirstKiss who has become my beta and is doing a wonderful job in editing and consulting with me on story-related issues I have. Thanks so much! Again :)

And now, my darlings, enjoy. R.

(As much as you can, really. This is one DARK chapter.)

7. Green Day – The Forgotten

CHAPTER 6

When You Have To Survive

"Where in the world's the forgotten?
They're lost inside your memory
You're dragging on, your heart's been broken
As we all go down in history."

"Where in the world did the time go?
It's where your spirit seems to roam
Like losing faith to our abandon
Or an empty hallway from a broken home
Well, don't look away from the arms of a bad dream
Well, don't look away, sometimes you're better lost than to be seen."

Saturday, September 19, 2002

I was breathing heavily and moaning loudly under his warm touch.

"You like it?" he snickered smugly.

I smiled. I more than liked it and he knew it. Idiot.

His hand moved to my knee and travelled slowly up, caressing my hip, to the hem of my t-shirt. I felt his hot fingers on my skin and I shuttered. His mouth on mine again, I felt his arousal between my legs.

What was it… the word… fuck?

Yes.

Oh, fuck.

He stopped playing with my breasts over the thin fabric, now solely focused on something else. It took me only a second to figure out what.

I touched his hand. "No," I whispered with a resolution in my voice that surprised me. Yes, I was aroused, if that was the term. Yes, I had no idea what this boy was doing to me, and yes, I trusted him. But there was no way that he was going to see my scars. Not yet.

He whined. "Bella, come on, we've been through this already!" he said and moved his hand dangerously up the side of my scarred stomach, his lips near my earlobe, whispering huskily. "Let me make you feel good, Bells. It's just a t-shirt, you'll love it."

This time it was me who whined. I wanted this. But I didn't want him to see my ugly body. No, I certainly didn't want that.

Crap!

"Jake… I… I am not ready," I said in a small voice, tightening my diaphragm so sensitive upon any touch near my stomach.

The change in my demeanor didn't escape him. He sighed in frustration.

I annoyed him again. I am a terrible girlfriend.

He pulled himself away from me and the loss of his heat made me shiver. He fell on his back beside me, staring up at the ceiling. "I don't understand, Bella! Is there something wrong with… me?"

I vehemently shook my head. "No, Jake, of course not!" I protested, supporting myself on an elbow, facing him. "You know I like you. It's just…" Well, I didn't know. I loved when he touched me, caressed me… I would be lying if I said that I hadn't found his touch uncomfortable at first, foreign even. No one had really touched me besides Mom before. But watching Sam and Emily, Quil and Claire… I had found myself yearning for that kind of connection with someone. And Jacob had always been my best friend; he had always held my hand.

Very soon, I became addicted to his touch.

He was so handsome and every girl in school was drooling over him. His lanky body had filled up with a mass of muscles and he was even taller than Sam now. He was so attractive that suddenly I had found myself attracted to him. To the way his biceps flexed when he pulled his long black hair into a ponytail, how his brows narrowed and threw a shadow over his black eyes when he was annoyed at Embry or when he smiled at me and the wave of ease and heat that washed over my body when he did. We had always only been friends. So, why had my feelings toward him changed so abruptly? Or, had they changed? Hadn't I wanted something more for the whole duration of our friendship?

I didn't know the answer to any of those questions, because – either way – there was no possibility that he would feel more for me. And knowing that hurt. Though, I couldn't give up on him. He was my sun, my Jacob.

But then, so sure of himself - as always - a smug smile on his beautiful face, he had said: "Bella, why don't we date?"

I was speechless.

And ecstatic.

Was this really happening?

When we finally had started dating this summer, I'd been thrilled. Now, he was my best friend. And boyfriend.

"It's just that I don't feel like doing more now," I continued my thought, not lying really. I wasn't feeling that adventurous. Not yet.

He looked at me. "I won't hurt you." His voice was strong, certain.

I smiled at his reassurance. But could I be sure? I certainly didn't trust him enough to tell him about my dangerous night escapades including blades and blood.

He pressed himself up on his elbow as well, now mirroring me. "Look, Bella…" he stopped, his tanned cheeks getting a tint of a reddish touch. "I, I love you, 'kay? Like, I am… fuck-"I loved when he swore- "… am seriously in love with you."

My mouth fell open.

In love with me?

"I mean, I think," he added quickly, his brows furrowed.

And my head was buzzing.

Oh, fuck! Shit - that works, too. What am I going to do now? What am I going to do now? I am done. This feels strange. But good. Strange, but good. Warming, really. Really? Isn't it, after all, isn't this what I wanted? Isn't it? I mean… He loves me. Like… really loves me. And he wants me. Me. Oh, that feels good. He wants me. Jacob. Handsome Jacob Black. My best friend. Wants me.

I felt the rays of the sun warming my insides.

I smiled at him. "Really?" I breathed.

"Yep," he said and chuckled. "What? Are you going to dump me now, Swan?"

Was I?

No way.

"No."

"Good," he smiled. "Because I wouldn't let you go." He put his hand on my waist and pulled me closer.

I snuggled to him. "Thank you."

I felt his chest shutter with a snort. "What are you thanking me for?"

I shrugged. What I was thanking him for?

We lay there for a little while longer. I was holding tightly to his torso, the way I always did, because he made me feel safe.

Was I in love with Jacob? I couldn't tell. Yes, I was attracted to him; I wanted him to be my boyfriend… He was my protector, he stood by my side, and I was hanging out with his pack of wolves. When I had met him, I had finally felt like I had been accepted. Not entirely understood, but… like they didn't mind me being with them. We had gotten so used to each other, Jacob's friends and me, that now I was often the target of their stupid jokes. But as silly as they sometimes were, I liked it. It meant that they felt comfortable around me enough to make fun of me. Though, Jake got all protective when he thought they crossed the line. And I liked that, too.

So, did it mean I was in love with him? I mean… When I imagined being without Jacob…

I shuddered. No, I couldn't be without him. He was my personal heat machine. My sun. I woke up looking forward to seeing him in school, being with him and the pack all day, spending afternoons in La Push, and then going home, only to pick up the phone and talk to him some more.

Was I able to let him go?

No.

Was it love?

"We should go, they're going to start looking for us," he interrupted my train of thought.

I sighed. "Yeah, we should."

We were hiding in Jacob's room. Every Saturday the pack hung out at the beach around a bonfire, having fun, playing some music – Seth played guitar - and also drinking. We never went to First Beach, of course, but to the smaller, more remote one, hidden from the eyes of the tribal Elders. If they knew we were drinking, we would get into some serious trouble. Even now, we were a little drunk. I liked that feeling. It made me relax, and forget my heavy thoughts.

We got up and slowly, hand in hand, left the house, and walked towards the beach. I shivered, it was getting cold. Jacob put his arm around my shoulders. Soon enough, we heard the music and loud voices, whistling and laughing. It was some traditional Quileute melody that we heard, spoiled by Embry's howling. We turned around the stone wall and saw the crackling fire. The energy was light and flowing and I felt good again. I was drawn to the way they interacted with each other. It felt… comfortable. I could breathe easily around them.

"Oh, shut up, Embry! You're gonna wake up the wolves!" laughed Seth who was playing with the strings of his guitar.

"I'm just paying tribute to our culture and history. Besides, wolves are awake," he said, punching his chest like a Tarzan, referring to the wolves in the pack. I looked more closely at his face and smiled. He was so wasted.

Jacob laughed at his friend. "Shut up, idiot. Paying a tribute, my ass," Jacob snickered, shaking his head and sitting on our blanket. I sat between his legs, his arms wrapped around me. I felt his lips on the back of my neck and I shivered.

Shit. I was losing it again.

He loved me. Jacob loved me.

And I wanted him to touch me more. I could feel a tingling between my legs every time we made out. I had talked to Claire a few times about sex, but she was mainly the one who contributed any relevant information to the conversation. So, I knew what it meant, my excitement and the sudden hunger I couldn't place.

Did I want to have sex with Jacob?

…yes, I did. Eventually.

Was I ready to explain my scars?

No, I wasn't. I was too afraid of his rejection. So afraid.

I'd been thinking the other day. How could I explain the scars to Jake? There were just too many of them to pretend they were something else. Some of them were faded, but some of them were still fresh. The new ones. Maybe it would have been different for me had I stopped, easier to explain. But I was still hiding a knife and razor blades in my room, wrapped in an old cloth, hidden under the mattress. Sue, the bitch of all bitches, didn't search there.

I wasn't able to stop.

Seth changed the melody, so Embry would shut up. In response, Embry threw his shoe at him. "You're such a jerk, Seth Clearwater. Fucking jerk," he whined drunkenly, but sat down on the nearby rock. Seth laughed heartily, along with Sam and Emily. Quil and Claire were lost in each other's gaze.

I was watching Seth for a little while and realized that there was something missing. Leah wasn't here. She used to play the guitar along with Seth. They were a great team, singing, playing their guitars, making us all shut up with their improvisations and unique voices tinted with husky, coarse timbres. I loved music so much and theirs was just spectacular. They were so talented.

Now she was gone, because of Emily. All hard feelings within the group had subsided, but it had been quite the drama.

Emily had visited Leah and Seth last Christmas. She was their cousin from the Makah reservation located several miles northwards. There had been an instant attraction between Sam and Emily. Leah noticed, but tried to ignore it at first. We were quite fond of each other, Leah and me. Before Claire joined us, she had been the only girl in the group. When she had told me the first time, she thought Sam was cheating on her with Emily, I hadn't wanted to believe it.

But when Sam had broken up with her two months after Emily's arrival in La Push, her suspicion had been proven to be correct. Reluctantly, he had admitted cheating. Leah's eyes were never the same anymore, and I started to secretly hate both, Sam and Emily. Who would do such a thing? I mean… If he didn't love Leah anymore, couldn't he break up with her first and then pursue his next love interest? And what about Emily? Hadn't she held at least a bit of respect towards her cousin? Leah had always spoken so nicely about her. The pain reflected in her face, the tears she shed, clinging to my shoulder… I had felt her pain immeasurably.

I never showed my disapproval, though. Sam and Emily were obviously in love. Sickly in love, as Embry had said one day. It was strange for all of us at first - Leah being replaced by her cousin. But apart from Seth, the guys and Claire got over it fairly quickly. It was Sam's choice, and they respected it, though we all missed Leah who who had taken took off after graduation and gone to college in Seattle. We hadn't seen her since last June.

We sat around the bonfire for a while longer, drinking some more, listening to Seth's beautiful arrangements of popular songs, occasionally throwing something at Embry who either started howling again or said something awfully stupid. He had set a precedent earlier, after all, so there was some throwing involved all night. He eventually drifted off to sleep, curling himself into a ball on the ground covered with wet sand. I was looked at him for a while, not sure if he was asleep or not, but aware of the sudden change in the direction of the of wind and the lowered temperature. He must have been cold.

"Jake, let's wake Embry up, so we can drive him home," I said quietly. "It's really late." Seth wasn't playing anything specific now; the tunes were vague, quiet and not anything easily identifiable. I tried to untangle myself out of Jake's embrace, but his embrace tightened around me.

"Let's not go just yet," he whispered in my ear, attacking my neck with kisses.

I felt goosebumps rise where his lips made contact with my flesh. "We have to go, Jake," I giggled when he started to nibble on my skin.

He groaned. "Yeah, I know. Hurry, then, and wake up that moron, so I don't have to throw something at him again."

I narrowed my eyes at him. Embry was a lunatic sometimes, but we all loved him. He was the crazy one, had silly ideas and proclaimed himself the alpha – the leader - of the pack.

Well, if there was any alpha I doubted it would be Embry.

But we let him joke around and I loved how relaxed he was around people, how comfortable with himself he seemed to be, how people accepted him for who he was, even though he could be a real pain in the ass sometimes. He served as a constant target of snarky remarks and stupid jokes. I didn't understand exactly why, but I envied him in a way. I envied him his freedom to be himself.

"Hey, Em, wake up, buddy, we're going home," I said, poking his shoulder.

He snored.

I laughed. "Come on, Em, you must be terribly cold. We're taking you home, you don't have to walk."

He turned on his back and smiled at me drunkenly. "Hello, beautiful. Wanna join me?"

Before I could reply, an empty can of coke hit his head with a loud sound. It sounded pretty painful. I looked over my shoulder and saw Jacob grinning at us.

Idiot. Sometimes he could be really rude.

"You had better stop harassing my woman who has the mercy to wake you up like the pussy you are," said Jacob. "Because I could've just keep throwing trash at you, until you woke up, ohhh mighty alpha."

The others who were watching the exchange laughed and Embry just chuckled stupidly. Did he even understand? I helped him to stand up; he had drunk a lot tonight.

Sam caught him when he became dizzy from the sudden change in position and I was grateful for his prompt intervention. Otherwise, he would've crushed me.

Seth and Jacob quenched the fire and pulled out their flashlights, and we found our way home. Seth, Quil and Claire had a car in the parking lot near the beach, but Jake's car was at his place. It wasn't far away from the beach, so Sam and Emily accompanied us, Sam supporting a drunken Embry. He loaded him in Jake's Rabbit and without a further ado left as well. Embry's house was located in a remote part of the rez, and because he didn't drive much, most of the time one of us ended up driving him home.

"You know I'm doing this shit for you," said Jacob, his voice only slightly touched by alcohol.

Yes, I knew. He shouldn't be driving at all.

"What shit?"

"Taking care of this mongrel. If it had been up to me, I would've left him there."

I rolled my eyes. "Shut up, Jake. No, you wouldn't have."

"Well, I would have definitely not offered to take care of him."

"Watch the road, Jake," I reminded him. "But, anyway, thanks."

Even in the dark, I could see his white teeth as he snickered smugly, just the way I knew he would. "You owe me, woman."

I shifted uncomfortably at the name he used for me for the second time tonight. I wouldn't have minded really, but the way he said it, the possessiveness in his voice, made me feel tense. For some reason, I didn't like it.

However, on the other hand, what did I know? Maybe that was the way relationships worked.

Embry, half-awake and half-lost, managed to get out of the car safely. He promised to be quiet and not to wake up his Mom. The fact that it was just the two of them made it much easier for him to get crazy when alcohol was involved.

"So," started Jacob when we were on our way to Forks. "I was thinking about where we are going to attend college. I mean… we can go anywhere, really, but I don't want to be too far away from home and I bet Charlie doesn't want to spend a lot of money on your tuition as well, so I was thinking that University of Washington would be a great option. For both of us. It is close to home and you can make use of your ridiculously good grades," said Jacob, snorting at the end.

Wait… What?

"Seattle's cool. I like it there. They have a good engineering program for me, and I bet you could find an area of study for yourself as well. You're good at everything. You read a lot, so I was thinking… English, maybe?"

Oh, oh, oh.

Slow down there.

University of Washington.

So… wrong.

"So, what do you say? I think I planned it perfectly. Rachel's graduating this year, and she said she can pass her apartment on to us, because she wants to go to Hawaii, to live with Rebecca. I've mentioned it to you, haven't I?"

Yes, he did. But… what?

"Bella? You here?"

I cleared my throat. "Yes, sorry."

"So, what do you think?"

"I don't know, Jake. I haven't thought about college yet," I lied.

"Come on, Bells. There is nothing to think about," he said dismissively. "You want to be with me, don't you?"

"'course I do."

"So? I don't see a problem. Even Leah's in Seattle. I mentioned it to Charlie the other day, and he agreed. He wants to keep an eye on you. He trusts me," said Jacob, his voice full of self-satisfaction and conceit.

Shit.

Fuck.

I didn't say anything. I was sitting in the passenger seat, struck and immobile. Physically as well as mentally.

This was so wrong.

Jake didn't say anything else, and I was glad. The dread and repulsion flew through me like a lightning bolt. After a long time, I felt the walls of my throat constrict in a familiar movement and found it difficult to swallow air.

Inhale. Exhale.

Breathe, Bella.

The rest of the ride felt like an eternity. It was only a short feeling of horror and discomfort that I had felt upon his words, but it was the fear that had settled somewhere deep in my bones that had caused me to panic.

"See you tomorrow, Bells?" he asked when he pulled the car in front of Charlie's house.

"Yep," I stammered, my voice grainy.

He leaned in to kiss me and it was the first time I didn't want to feel his warm lips on mine. He had frightened me.

I didn't stop him, although I didn't return the kiss with the amount of enthusiasm he probably expected.

I pulled away, and I saw that he was frowning. "Everything okay?"

"Sure," I managed to say. "I'm just… tired." That wasn't a lie.

"Okay, then. Sweet dreams."

It was rude of me and I shouldn't have done it, but I fled from the car without a look back at him or a single response.

I am a terrible girlfriend. Why is he with me?

The house was quiet and dark. Charlie and Sue were already asleep. Quietly, I hurried up to my room, locked it and picked up the heavy mattress in a in quickly learned movements. There, in the top left corner of the bed base, were hidden my large black file folders where I kept my recent paintings and blood covered cloth with the knife and razors. I took the folders out.

Slowly, I opened each folder, taking out paintings one by one, each covered with archival paper and loose plastic cover preventing dirt and dust from getting onto them. It was quite a challenge, to store easily susceptible oil paintings safely, since I couldn't really afford any professional storage space for them, so this had to do. The watercolor ones were easier to store, but I stored them just the way I did the oil ones. They were too precious for me to risk anything happening to them.

I laid out all fifteen pictures on the bed, looking at them critically. I saw every step I'd made, every stroke of the brush, every mixture of color I had had to come up with in order to get that one shade I'd wanted. Behind every painting I saw an emotion, an idea, the thoughts I'd thought when I had been painting it, the frustration when I'd messed up and the happiness when I had finally finished. I knew they were far from perfect, but I was proud of them, nevertheless. Never in my life had I painted with more determination and soul. They were all so personal, but different.

Very quickly, the fear I had felt earlier subsided and cornered itself into the back of my head, replaced by a sudden feeling of contentment and excitement. My portfolio. Those paintings were my ticket to making my dream come true.

I reached into one of the folders and there, on the very bottom, was a thin file of papers regarding my application to The Art Institute of Chicago together with scholarship information. That scholarship meant everything to me. It was the only way for me to escape, to get out from this messy place and to begin again. I hoped that maybe, maybe if I was accepted and offered a scholarship, Dad would get over his animosity towards my desire to be an artist and would support me. I would show him that I was good enough. That I was good enough for this, and that I had talent and that what I did made sense. I hoped that the new beginning would bring me more peace, and fewer nightmares and help me to stop hurting myself.

I really wanted to stop.

Longingly, with a picture of myself in Chicago in my head, I smiled. I imagined being in a place where I would be encouraged. Where I would thrive and would get better at what I was doing, and where I would meet people like me.

The shot of electricity ran down my spine and I shivered, because I knew this was very, very right.

I couldn't wait to send in my application.

But then I remembered… University of Washington. How could I even think about UW? English? Never. I might have not known who I was, but I knew who I wasn't. And thatis definitely wasn't me. So mundane. So… not exciting. So… boring. But if I didn't get the scholarship… well, what other choice did I have?

The doubts started to penetrate my mind for the millionth time. Maybe I shouldn't do this. Hundreds of students apply for scholarships every year, many of them better than me, many of them with a professional training, supported by their families. Honestly, what were my chances? I am awful at this. What am I thinking?

Stop dreaming, Bella.

Get realistic.

With a painful twinge in my chest, I put all the paintings back in their place, angry for even allowing myself to hope that there was a better life for me, the one I'd dreamed for myself, the one where I would be free and could breathe without constriction.

Stupid Bella.

I lifted the mattress again, shoved the folder onto the bed base more forcefully than I really intended and reached aggressively for the cloth covered in blood stains, feeling familiar shapes in my hand.

Go away. Go away. It'll go away.

I switched the light on my lamp on and quickly changed into my PJs with nothing but blood on my mind. In those moments, I never felt more disgusted and relieved at the same time. Disgusted for what I was doing, relieved for the upcoming release. And when I thought of that liberation - albeit short-lived – I was not able to stop.

It will go away.

In practiced movements, I unwrapped the blades and reached into the drawer of my bed table for thick paper napkins, Band-Aids and antibiotic cream. I lifted my old t-shirt up, just enough for me to see the newest scars. It must have been six days since I last cut myself. I squeezed a little bit of cream into my hands and ran them over the scars that were awfully itchy until they healed properly. I always tried not to pay attention to how my stomach looked, but it was difficult to overlook the amount of both large and small and bigger lines scattered all over my belly. Some of them white and protruding, the sign of deep cuts. Some of them were pinkish and some of them were still more reddish, itching upon my touch.

Three and a half years of cutting had definitely left its mark on my body.

My abdomen looked ghastly and repulsive. If I didn't have to, I wouldn't touch it for any other reason than to put cream on the scars, wash it or cut it. It was ugly and downright sickening.

I was the ugliest person ever.

Eager to escape those thoughts, I reached for my favorite knife. It's been some time since I had used a knife. I preferred razors, they were more hygienic, but the knife's blade offered a particularly resonant experience. And that was exactly what I needed tonight.

There was nothing in my head, just the blade and an upcoming feeling of freedom. I lowered my pants just enough to reveal my bony hips. I wanted pain, and I wanted a lot of it. Without a second thought I put the old cloth beneath me and plunged the knife deep into the thin cream-white skin near my right hipbone, squeaking in sharp unfamiliar pain. Impulsively, I covered my mouth with my other hand, eying blood running crazily from the cut. Breathing heavily, ignoring the smell, I made another cut anticipating this new kind of itching pain. Another cut. And another. Expecting the very well-known feeling of emancipation, I felt only throbbing pain in my lower abdomen. My sight suddenly covered in a red haze, even tears started to well in my eyes. The hand clutching the knife started to shake, but I felt like I was in a heavy trance, not being able to stop. It was so familiar, but so new. Another cut. And another. Left hand still on my mouth, muting my sobs and involuntary yelps.

Why it isn't working?

Why do I still feel miserable?

Why do I feel even worse?

It is supposed to help! To make it all go away!

I saw blood everywhere, but it wasn't something I wasn't already used to. I felt my whole body shaking, but I was desperate for release. Swallowing sobs and hitched inhales, I cut even deeper, in the way I had never before, and the pain struck so hard that a temporary blackness took over my sight.

"Shit," I breathed, squeezing my eyes together. "Fuck!"

But crazily enough… I. Wasn't. Able. To. Stop.

Maybe it was the hipbone that didn't work.

When I gathered that last bit of strength and focus I had in my body and mind, my eyes flickered on my wrists.

Just one last deep cut.

Come on, Bella. You can make it go away.

Just one. And it'll be gone.

Suddenly, a wave of misery and nausea washed through me. "No, no, no," I was shaking my head, sobbing, feeling cold and damp thick liquid under my hips, my body pulsating with adrenaline and pain, shaking almost uncontrollably.

This was so bad, so wrong. The pain was still in my chest. I didn't want to do this. Not really.

But, yes. I did.

I needed it.

I needed to show everyone how ugly and selfish I was. Bad daughter, bad friend, bad girlfriend. Terrible painter. Untalented.

"No," I whispered in a sob.

Yes.

Cut yourself, Bella.

"No."

Yes. Cut your wrist. Show them how unworthy you are. Show them what you're doing to yourself and make the pain go away.

You can make it go away. You did so many times before. Forget your belly, your thighs… They won't ever see it. Show them.

And desperate for the feeling I had grown addicted to, I cut my left wrist. Feeling pain even in the toes on my feet, I registered a new source of burn.

But no, even wrist didn't work.

Again, sudden guilt possessed me.

I felt bad.

Miserable.

Sick of myself. Repulsed.

But I couldn't stop.

And I couldn't breathe.

"No…!"

I cut again. And again. I cut my thighs, my belly, and my other hipbone. Blood rushed from all of the cuts and I didn't even bother to silence my heavy sobs and squeals anymore. Buried in physical pain, I couldn't lose that one in my chest.

Just cut, Bella.

It'll go away.

It'll soon go away.

And eventually it did. What followed afterwards, I didn't remember.

XOXOXOXOXOXO

The first thing I heard was a high-pitched sound that repeated itself at a regular interval.

Peep. Peep. Peep. Peep.

Then, I smelled the repulsing odor of disinfectant, antiseptic and generic scent of laundry. I felt I had something in my nostrils. I couldn't feel my body properly, but my head felt like it was removed from its place, heavy and glued to the bed where I was lying.

Bed. Lying.

The smell. The peeping sound.

My eyes shot open and closed right away, blinded by a strong white light. I blinked several times, and I felt their puffiness and swollenness. When they got used to unnatural brightness in the room, I looked around.

I was in the hospital.

I was in the fucking hospital.

And before I was able to realize to full extent what had happened, the door opened and a man in a white coat entered the room.

White coat. I shivered and felt fear; guilt and dread possessed my consciousness. My body tensed as in anticipation of attack.

I expected him to violate my personal space, but he stopped at the heel of the bed, a wary look on his face.

"Bella," he said, his brows furrowed. His eyes were blue as the sky, a clear shade of light blue, but not icy and cold. Despite the natural chilliness of the color, his eyes radiated warmth.

And it felt like they saw right through me.

Because, after all, he knew.

Suddenly, I felt small and vulnerable, naked in front of a stranger who must have seen it all. All my scars. All my cuts.

I looked away.

"My name is Dr. Carlisle Cullen," he introduced himself politely, his voice calm and soothing.

He continued. "I know it must be very confusing for you to wake up here. Do you know what happened?"

Unwilling, I nodded. But then I realized that I didn't really know. I didn't remember. So, I shook my head, maybe a little bit too vehemently.

"Bella," he started again, his voice still unnaturally soft and tender. "You were found by your father in your bed, unconscious; loosing a lot of blood. My colleagues in Forks were successful in stopping the bleeding, disinfected and stitched your cuts, but you urgently needed a blood transfusion. They had a little bit of a problem since your blood type is so rare. They managed to keep you stabilized with that little amount they had, but you were immediately transported to Port Angeles, where they could continue with the transfusion and look more closely at your left wrist. Bella, do you remember what happened in Forks?"

What was he talking about?

My confused expression must have told him that I didn't. He sighed. "I thought so. After few hours you woke up, but you were delirious, hallucinating. You screamed and cried, fought violently with the personnel, breaking your stitches open. They had to heavily sedate you."

I felt my stomach in my throat.

Breathe. Inhale. Exhale.

I dared to look at his face. He was so calm.

"In Port Angeles they looked closer at your injuries, especially the deep cuts that might have penetrated too deep into your skin. They didn't like what they found, and you were transported again, to Seattle, where we could perform necessary surgery. You see, Bella, the skin on the wrist is very delicate and all of the key nerves, veins, ligaments and tendons are much closer to the surface of the skin then the ones on the thighs, abdomen or hips."

I was going to be sick, slowly realizing the extent of my irresponsible conduct.

"The cuts on your right wrist were not deep enough to reach any of those tissues, particularly because the cuts were located higher, more on the forearm than the wrist itself. However, your left wrist wasn't that lucky."

I quickly looked down at my body for the first time, expecting the worst – no left hand. But when I spotted it exactly where it should be, I exhaled with relief. It was wrapped tightly in a thick bandage, my fingers and hand as well, tightly put together, restricting any movement.

Dr. Cullen chuckled. "No, we didn't have to amputate your hand, Bella. But the injury you inflicted upon yourself was no less serious." He moved closer to me very slowly, his eyes never leaving my face. I felt incredibly uncomfortable. "Do you feel it?"

What? I was going to ask when I noticed he was squeezing the palm of my hand.

I couldn't feel a shit.

I felt horror rising in my chest and I started breathing shallowly, my throat burning.

I raised my eyes in question to look at the doctor.

He understood. "Don't worry, Bella, in time it's going to be okay. We did our best in repairing the damaged tissue. You were lucky, though. A few centimeters deeper and you could've lost the feeling in your hand and fingers for good." His voice was serious and deep, but not judging or scolding.

"You shouldn't move your left wrist or fingers very much. It needs a proper time to heal, but I am fairly certain it will function just as it did before."

Finally, I managed to get some words out of my mouth. I couldn't avoid harshness in my voice. "Fairly certain?"

He chuckled again. Why was he doing that? Wasn't I the one who cut herself? Wasn't he supposed to be the one that was angry with me, accusing me of the most horrid deed ever, repulsed by how terrible a person I am? Wasn't he supposed to look down on me for what I was doing to myself?

"We can never be one hundred percent sure with this kind of injury. But if we voluntary limit the mobility as much as we can and allow the cut time to heal, I can't see any reason, why your hand and fingers shouldn't work as well as before."

I nodded and sighed. A Hheavy weight of guilt sank deep into me and I fought the tears fervently from falling over the edge.

What have I done?

"Bella?" asked Dr. Cullen, his voice even softer.

"Hm?"

He heard him sigh. "I have to ask you some questions that might feel uncomfortable, even personal. I would like you to answer as much as you can, but if you feel at any point that it is too much, you don't have to, okay? And I would like to remind you that anything said in this room stays between you and me."

He sat down on the chair beside the bed and when I was sure I suppressed the water welling in my eyes, I looked at his pretty face. His almost white hair made him look angelic. His face was ridiculously symmetrical, and I wondered what planet he had come from. He looked… surreal. Like he had stepped down from one of my paintings. He must have been in his forties, or maybe even late thirties. It was hard to tell.

Dr. Angelic.

My fingers itched in need of a pencil. It would be a pleasure to draw his face. Artistic enjoyment.

Would he pose for me?

Calm down, Bella.

"Bella," he started, his voice gentle but careful. "Is it true you inflicted cutting injuries upon your body five days ago with the knife your father found in your bed?"

I felt my chest tighten. Why did he ask that shit? He knew I did.

I nodded.

"Are the scars on your body, predominantly the ones on your right thigh and upper abdomen, the result of previous self-harm?"

I swallowed, sensing contractions in my throat. Again, I nodded.

"For how long have you been cutting yourself?"

I inhaled deeply, but still felt like suffocating.

When I didn't answer, he continued in the same tone, no hint of anger or impatience was present in his voice. "Did begin cutting yourself four years ago?"

Roughly. I nodded. How he knew it I didn't have a fucking clue.

"Have you ever suffered from a serious infection after cutting? Have you ever had a fever or swelling around your cuts?"

I nodded. "But no fever," I added quickly, in a low voice. Sometimes my skin reddened around fresh cuts. But I knew how to handle that.

He took a deep breath and the wrinkles on his forehead deepened. "Have you ever been the victim of physical abuse?"

Shock struck me for a second, but I vigorously shook my head.

This seemed to lessen the tension on his face. "Have you ever been the victim of emotional abuse?"

I shook my head again. I had no idea what that meant, but if anyone was a victim, it was my Dad. And Jacob. And even Sue. How could I drag them into this shit of mine? How could I let it go so far? I wouldn't be surprised if he kicked me out of the house. I was an adult now, after all.

"Do you get along with your father and his partner?"

I nodded. Dad was okay, it was Sue who sometimes got on my nerves with her consistent bitching, but I never let her know how I felt about her.

"Bella," he started, now his voice was very cagy and alert. "Did you try to commit suicide?"

Was I?

I shook my head.

Did he believe me?

He exhaled deeply, writing my answer down and smiled at me.

Yes, he did.

"Okay, sweetheart. That was all I needed to know. But expect some other people to come to talk to you some more."

Like I needed anyone else to know about this shit. I felt fear and distrust, unwillingness to become open and vulnerable, exposing myself in front of strangers, in shame of what I had done.

Involuntary, I whined.

He smiled. "Nobody wants to hurt you, Bella. We just want to understand. Self-harm and self-abuse in any way is a very serious misconduct against oneself. We want to help you in any way we can. I know it must be hard, but you can trust us."

Trust white coats?

Well, Dr. Angelic was nice. His tone of voice reminded me of Mom's. But I couldn't imagine anyone else could be even remotely as pleasant as him.

And to talk about what I had been doing for the last three and a half years? No, thank you. The fact I answered Dr. Angelic's questions was heavily influenced by his allure and amiable face. But he was still a doctor.

A fucking doctor.

I frowned at him. Suddenly, I wanted him to go away.

"Your father is in the waiting room, Bella. I wanted to talk to you in private before I allowed anybody to see you. Do you want me to let him in?" he asked, frowning, as if he hoped I wouldn't want to talk to him.

"Well, you can't keep him out there forever," I sighed.

He nodded. "No." And after three seconds of silence, he added, "Are you sure there is nothing else you want to talk about?"

Whoa, whoa, whoa. You might have the most attractive face I've ever seen, but I have my boundaries.

Fucking doctor.

"No."

He smiled tensely. "Well, if you need anything, just call the nurse and she will fetch me. I'll come and check on you later."

And gone he was. Now I had much bigger challenge to face.

Charlie.

In those three minutes I was alone, my brain buzzed with questions and potential scenarios. What would I do if Charlie kicked me out? Where was I going to go? The Black's? No way, Jacob would dump me the moment he found out. He had probably broken up with me already, even without my presence. I mean… I bet he didn't want to look at me in the face anymore. Why would he want such a crazy girl? Ugly and scarred? Maybe I could stay with Seth until I graduated and found a job. I would never go to college, let alone go to Chicago. Tears filled my eyes again at the thought of my dream school. It had never been so close and so far away at once.

The door opened with a loud noise and my Dad marched into my room with face red with fury.

I felt my body trembling, my breath unsteady. I was looking into his eyes, my eyes, but he seemed to be at a loss for words.

Finally, he inhaled. "What the hell did you think, Isabella Swan?!" His tone was strict and severe. Almost callous.

I was paralyzed.

"What the fuck, Bella?! I thought I had a nightmare when I found you covered in fucking blood! You wanted to die? To kill yourself? Are you completely out of your mind? Like I need any of it! Sue almost had a heart attack when she saw you. You know she has a weak heart! Do you ever think about anyone beside yourself?"

Now, I couldn't stop tears from falling down my cheeks. The staggering contrast between Dr. Cullen and my Dad was mind-blowing.

But he was so right. I was selfish.

"The doctor told me you've been doing this thing to yourself for four years. Four fucking years!" He was shaking his head, pacing the room from one side to the other. "Your fucking nightmares, those shitty drawings of yours and now this! You had better stop this emo behavior, Bella, or I'll be forced to send you to a mental hospital!"

Oh. There it was.

No. No. No. No.

I was shaking as much as if I was somewhere naked in Alaska.

"Daddy, please, no," I begged.

"No? Now you're begging me? Damn it, Bella," he said, becoming a little calmer, but the fierceness in his eyes didn't disappear. "I have every reason to send you to those shrinks so you can get your shit together, for god's sakes!"

"No, Daddy, I promise, I won't do anything like that again, I promise!" I begged again, unconsciously lifting my bandaged hands in a plea in his direction.

"How can I be sure? How can I be sure you won't do it again?"

"I'll do anything to stay with you, Dad, please!"

"Stop crying, Bella!" he said, but as if on the purpose, my uncontrollable sobs and hitched breaths burst in another wave.

He ran his hand over his face. "Dr. Cullen told me he saved your hand and you had better be grateful, because I was so pissed when they told me they were transporting you to Seattle. You know I have to work as well! Who's gonna pay for the house? You?" He started again, and I felt like the biggest failure walking on the earth. It would have been better had I died.

Much, much better.

"I-I'm so-so sorry-y."

"You better be."

I gathered the last drops of bravery left in my quivering body. "What can I do, Daddy? What can I do so you'll forgive me?"

He sighed. "I don't know. Dr. Cullen wants you to have a psychiatrist and we had better find one. No arguments! Your head is obviously sick, and I should've noticed sooner, the moment you started drawing those crazy dragons. Sue was right, after all. There is something wrong with you."

I was clenching my jaw so tight I felt my teeth cracking. I held the sobs in my body, I held all pain, my crumbling chest, my burning throat, and I held everything tightly inside of myself, even the tears. I felt like I wasn't allowed to show any of those things anymore. Like I wasn't allowed to even acknowledge them.

Because there was something wrong with me.

"One more night," he said. "One more night and we're out of here. I'll talk to your doctors and see what they want me to do with you. But I'm not staying here any longer. I have had just about enough of this. I'll take you home, but if there is one," he lifted his finger in a warning gesture, "one attempt at cutting yourself again, you're done. Understood?"

I nodded, voiceless.

And just like Dr. Angelic, he was gone.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXO

It was the longest and the most embarrassing day of my entire life. Every fifteen minutes a nurse came into my room to check on me. She never said why, but it wasn't hard to guess. She was checking to see if I was hurting myself. Like I would try anything here. I was so paralyzed by fear and shame I could barely move. I was just staring at the ceiling, sometimes closing my eyes, and imagining Dr. Angelic's calming face, how would I draw it, maybe even paint it, what mix of blues would I use to replicate the color of his eyes, and how I would draw those little lines around his mouth when he smiled…

Later, a couple of other white coats made their appearance asking me questions that made my body cringe and my mind scream. Psychiatrists. The pressure they created was making me even more reluctant to say anything than I already was. They all watched me like I was something to observe, writing down my every facial expression and body movement. Their eyes were not the ones of Dr. Angelic. They were not warm, but cold and impersonal, constantly judging me. Questions were asked and I had to answer some of them. When did I cut myself, with what, how often, what was the pattern, how I'd been hiding the evidence…? There was one particular doctor, and I couldn't remember his name, but the way he asked his questions, with such a precision and insistence, I started to cry and even scream when he repeated them even when I refused to say any thing. They had to make me sleep and the next thing I saw when I woke up was the face of Dr. Angelic and he had never been more beautiful. I found it tremendously difficult to move my body. I thought about a movement and it took me good five seconds, until my brain registered the impulse.

In other words, I felt like I was high. High like that one time, when Jacob had to carry me to my bedroom, because I said I couldn't walk up the stairs because they were dancing and they were not my friends.

I never got high with the pack again.

But now, when I saw Dr. Angelic's face, I felt an involuntary smile plastered on my lips. "Hi."

He chuckled. "Hi, Bella. I apologize for waking you up."

"You did this?" I heard my voice slurry and unusually deep.

"Yes, I did. I had to talk to you before I finished my shift. Don't worry; I'll make you go back to sleep just as easily."

"Your face is so white," I mumbled. "I mean, very beautiful."

He shifted uncomfortably. "How do you feel, Bella?"

"Like I'm high."

He chuckled again. "Well, that was a stupid question. Yes, pretty much you are." And then he realized something. "Have you ever been… high?"

Oh, no. I had to shake my head. You were not supposed to get Jake into trouble. "No."

Did he believe me? It didn't look like he did. "Your dad wants to take you home tomorrow even though Dr. Varner and I have advised against it. It is not really my area of expertise, though. I am merely in charge of your physical health but… I am worried. Physically, you are perfectly fine to be discharged. But mentally…"

He wanted to keep me here?

Oh, no!

And I wanted to make my opinion known, but it sounded like a very poor attempt at being resolute. "I am… not. I mean… I am not staying here. I won't do it again, I promised Dad. I need to go to college."

He sighed, his face marred by a deep frown. "Well, you are an adult, Bella. At the end of the day, it all depends on you."

"I know."

"Did Dr. Varner make you feel uncomfortable?"

"He asked tough questions. But it was painful. He pressed me too much."

"And you don't like to be pressed," he concluded.

I shook my head, and it felt as if it weighed two hundred pounds, I swear. It was so difficult to move it.

"I know. Dr. Varner's… approach might come across as a little fierce sometimes."

I shrugged. Fierce? He sunk a knife into every painful place in my chest. I had felt cornered.

"Well, look, sweetheart, you have to get the cutting under control and you have to be under the care of get a psychiatrist, maybe even a psychologist so you can work with them on your… so you can talk to them. It will help, trust me. I have already told this to your Dad. But it doesn't mean that you have to settle for the first team of specialists you find. In the mental health field, patients and doctors… they have to click. They have to trust each other in order for it to work. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

I nodded laboriously. "I clicked with you."

Why am I saying those things?

He smiled. "Yeah. I clicked with you, too. But I am neither of those things. I don't know how to help you."

I lifted my left bandaged hand with difficulty. "You did help me."

"I know," he smiled. "And I will want to see you in a few weeks to check on your hand."

I shrugged.

"Dr. Varner told me to tell you that it might be difficult at first. Not to cut yourself. But, Bella, you are a strong girl. You can do it," he smiled.

So beautiful.

"You're so beautiful," I said again.

Get a grip, Bella, for god's sakes!

"Yeah, well, just focus on other things," I didn't know now if he ignored me and continued with his speech or if he said it in relation to him being beautiful. Because, dude, it was fucking hard not to focus on his heavenly face and the warmth that emanated from his blue irises. "Your Dad mentioned that you have a boyfriend and a lot of friends at school. Don't be afraid to talk to them about it. If you trust them. Just… talk, okay?"

I shrugged again. Like I could. "May I draw your face?" I asked instead. This question burned in the back of my head.

He laughed, but then sighed. "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with your Dad. Is everything alright?"

He wasn't so beautiful anymore. "Yes."

He didn't answer, and I looked away so I didn't see his reaction. After a while he approached me with a syringe in his hands and before I was able to process critically what that meant, I felt fear overtaking me. It took my body some time before it cringed and before my face could create an expression relating to those feelings.

"Don't worry, it'll make you sleep all night and eventually, the sedation will go away naturally. Your mind must must be jumbled. I won't be able to see you tomorrow, but I hope that when I see you in a few weeks, you'll tell me about your progress. Okay?"

I nodded and relaxed a little.

White fucking coat.

He injected the drug into the IV in my right arm. Then, he squeezed my hand compassionately and smiled. "You're no different from any of us, Bella. We all have our… baggage, but we need to have people in our lives who we can talk to about those things. I wish all of us had such people in their lives, but sometimes they do not. And there is no shame whatsoever in talking to someone who is trained specifically for such cases."

I was lost in his soft voice and gentle eyes, feeling the drug taking effect.

"It will be hard, sweetheart. To talk is to acknowledge – truth, pain, weakness. But to talk is also to let go. And I promise, if you allow those things to heal, it will get better. The pain will go away."

I didn't know if he really said those words or if it was just the result of my imagination. He smiled at me for the last time and very soon, darkness possessed me once again.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Late afternoon, the next day, we arrived in Forks, that struggling, dying little town. I'd been wondering if we could stay in Seattle one more night, maybe see a few things, but when I saw Charlie's resolution to get home as soon as possible, I didn't say anything.

In the hospital Dr. Varner and some other doctor instead of Dr. Angelic performed my physical and mental examinations. He gave me a prescription and a list of psychiatrists working in the area around Forks. Then they'd sent me out with a nurse, to wait for Dad, because they wanted to talk to him without me in the room.

Since I'd woken up in the hospital, the feelings of shame, guilt and embarrassment hadn'tsubsided. Quite the contrary, with each passing hour, each of Charlie's glances, and the knowing that now I had to face the world that knew, the poisonous cocktail of emotions in my veins made me feel even more sick than I already felt. But on the other hand, I was happy to go home and get away from that smelly, whitey place full of white coats. I had just had enough of them.

However, when I saw a familiar Volkswagen parked in front of the house, I wanted to go back.

No, no, no, no, no!

My already ragged breathing quickened and even if Charlie saw the change of expression on my face when I noticed Jake's Rabbit, he ignored me.

"Dad?"

"Hm?"

Had I forgotten to mention that he wasn't speaking to me?

My voice was shaking. "What is Jake doing here?"

"How do I know? He's your boyfriend, isn't he?"

Not for long.

With my heart in my throat, we entered the house. I was cold and shaking, feeling subtle pulsating in my stitched cuts, hugging myself as a form of self-preservation. I felt open and vulnerable, fragile and on the verge of breaking into a million little pieces.

They knew.

I followed Dad into the kitchen and my eyes fell on Jacob sitting behind the table, being unusually serious. He knew. His black eyes dilated when he met mine and he immediately stood up, taking up most of the space in Dad's little kitchen. I had forgotten how huge he was.

"You okay, Bella?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.

Concern?

Voicelessly, I nodded. Lost in his gaze I only noticed Sue when she threw something with a loud thud into the sink, eying me mercilessly. Without a word she passed me leaving the kitchen, as if my very presence was insulting to her.

Bitch, I thought. But she had a right to be angry, I guess. It was her house. And she knew too.

I suddenly felt a quiver running down my spine and a pair of black and brown eyes on me, eyes that knew. I tightened my arms around me and turned to leave.

"Where do you think you're going?" I heard Charlie.

"To my room," I replied.

"Jake will go with you. You're not supposed to be left alone."

Fucking great.

I felt Jake's warmth behind me; his closeness was somewhat of a comfort. But I wasn't allowed to think like that. I already lost him. It didn't matter that he'd made me quite angry the last time we had talked, with all the college bullshit, because at the end of the day… it was Jacob. My Jacob. My best friend. The boy who had wanted to spend his time with me from the first day we had met, a virtual stranger.

We entered my room and the first thing I saw was my bed, stripped of the bedding, now completely bare. Even the sheet that covered the mattress was not in its place, which meant that… I quickly lifted the mattress.

The folders were gone.

My folders.

I swallowed hard.

"Bella?" Jacob's low voice startled me.

I turned to him and finally, finally felt tears in my eyes.

They knew everything.

My hands started shaking, and I knew what was going to come. The panic set in, my throat started burning and I wasn't able to breathe. I couldn't draw what I saw, I couldn't go and grab the razor from the bathroom;, I couldn't do any of those things that made me feel better. I was panicking. I was lost. I was…

The warmth enveloped me. Jake. He squeezed me tightly, and I buried my face in his chest, not quite understanding why he was comforting me. Releasing the tension of the last six days – most of which I had spent sedated – I realized I didn't know what to do next. Where to turn next. They hated me, they didn't want me here. They knew, and they didn't want me.

I started to push Jake away and his arms let me go. I looked at his face and saw wariness, and fear in his eyes. So unnatural for him, for his ever-present confidence and the allure of security and assurance.

"Bells, sorry, I-I… don't know what to do. Tell me how to help you, please. I was shit scared when Charlie called me, telling me that you were in the hospital. And then when I came there, I saw those cuts and your pale face and you looked like you were dead and I thought I was gonna get sick. You know, I thought I'd made you angry in the car with something, that it was my fault, but we had had such a good time that night and… shit!" he stopped, running his hand over his face. "Did I push you too far? You didn't want me to touch you because of the scars, right? I knew I was doing something wrong. Oh, god, and then you started screaming when you woke up and it was the worst thing I had ever seen, I swear! It was nothing like you. And the doctor told us you must have been cutting yourself for years! Christ, Bella, how could you do that? Weren't you happy? I mean, wasn't I making you happy? You have your Dad and Sue and me and the pack… and you always looked so content and happy and… fuck, Bella, I thought I was gonna… How could you do such a stupid thing? Were you trying to kill yourself? Didn't you think about the other people in your life? How this would affect them?" His voice was filled with so much confusion and fright, with fear and anxiety that it made me feel even worse if that was even possible.

I hurt them all. I was terrible. I was selfish. I was not worthy of any of them.

I burst into another loud cry and Jake's arms tucked me to him again. "Christ, Bella, tell me what to do!"

"Why-y ar-re y-you h-here?"

"Why?"

I nodded, clutching his shirt, wetting it with my tears.

"Bella, what kind of stupid question is that?"

"I am h-horrible and s-selfish. I don't deserve you."

"Yes, you are pretty stupid, and yes, I wondered for a while if I even knew who you were, but then I decided. You're mine," he said, the uncomfortable undertone of ownership in his voice. "You're my girl. Bella, I told you… I love you."

I looked up to him in confusion. "W-what?"

"I love you. So, suck it up. You're not getting rid of me."

The flicker of hope rose in my heart and I smiled through the tears. "I l-love you, too, Jake."

And with that, he calmed down a bit, a faint resemblance of that cocky grin settled on his lips, and he leaned down to kiss me. "Just tell me, Bella, what to do, okay?"

I nodded, though I didn't know to what. I had no idea what to do myself. My world was crumbling down, and I was rapidly losing the sense of who I was.

Saturday, April 12, 2003

I tried to get into my room as quietly as possible. I told Jake to drop me off a few streets away from the one where I lived, that I wanted to take a walk after a long time in the car. He didn't find it suspicious, Olympia was three hours away from Forks and when you had to do that ride every week, it could get kinda boring. We were driving there every Friday after school, and returning on Saturday.

"I thought I might hang out with you at home for a little bit," Jacob said when he pulled the Rabbit onto the side of the road.

My heart jumped. "No!" I said, maybe a little too eagerly. "No, Jake… I have a lot to do. I need to study." I didn't need him to be witness to the conversation with Charlie again. Besides, he was firmly on his side, so it didn't help a shit.

He laughed. I never knew if he could tell that I was lying. "Me too."

"So, then you need to go home as well."

"Whatever, Bells. See you tomorrow, I hope?"

I nodded and gave him a peck on the lips. "Can I stay overnight?" I assumed I wouldn't want to hang around Charlie more than necessary. If he didn't talk about my session today, he would certainly bring it up tomorrow. Jacob was my only safe harbor in this hole of shit.

His face lighted up. "Sure, babe."

"Don't get any ideas," I said playfully.

"Do I ever?"

I didn't comment on his response and the cocky grin that revealed beautifully white teeth. Wasn't he gorgeous? I loved him so much. Now, we were exploring our bodies, little by little. With what had happened in September, he had barely touched me for a few weeks. But I knew it was more because of how afraid he was of the whole situation than for my sake. He said he didn't want me to run from him screaming. I knew he said it as a joke, but there was some truth to it too, so it hurt a little, nevertheless.

Well, it was Jacob, after all.

"See you tomorrow," I said.

"See you tomorrow," he winked, and I rolled my eyes.

With my heart beating loudly in my chest, I was approached the staircase, knowing that Charlie would be in the living room with Sue. They were watching football. And just when I was fairly sure he hadn't heard me…

"Bella?!"

Crap! Shit! Fuck!

"Yeah?"

"Come in here!"

I walked into the living room. As if on the cue, Sue got up and left. I was doing my best not to roll my eyes. It was so childish of her, bitch. I looked at Dad and felt my heart sink. He was angry, furious. Again. I knew he didn't love me anymore. After what I had done.

What am I doing to him?

"Dad…?"

"Don't act like you don't know what you've done, Bella."

Don't cry, don't cry, Bella.

"Care to explain?" he continued.

"Dad, he was so pushy! And those pills he is making me to take… they are awful, I can't concentrate when I take them!" The thoughts of white coats flooded my head even though they weren't really wearing white coats. They assumed that I was being unstable, depressed and not able to go on with my life without pills. The way they were looking at me, impersonally, and as if they didn't want to have anything to do with me, the one who denied the fact that she had tried to kill herself. Like I was some troubled kid with a crazy mind. How was I supposed to trust them? Trust their fake smiles and assurances? They didn't even believe that it was an accident. That I hadn't wanted to kill myself. That I would never do such a thing!

"Are you even listening to yourself, Bella? Because I don't believe this bullshit anymore! We have tried seven different doctors! Seven! Is anyone ever going to be good enough for you?"

"Dad, they don't understand me! They don't know me! They expect to figure me out because they allegedly know how a human mind works, but they don't know anything about me! They don't want to know what is really going on. They are just giving me prescriptions with new drugs again and again, making assumptions and they are wrong!"

He sighed. We had had this conversation many times already. "Bella," he started. "I agreed when you asked me to change your first psychiatrist, because you didn't feel comfortable with her. And Dr. Cullen and Dr. Varner said that you must find someone that works for you. But now, I am starting to doubt your ability to cooperate, Bella, instead of their ability to do their job! This is just ridiculous! Jake must drive you six hours to and back from Olympia every fucking week! Do you ever think of the repercussions of what you did? You want me to buy you a fucking helicopter, so you can fly to whatever motherfucking city you choose to try next?"

"I don't want to try anything else! I am okay, Dad, don't you see? I don't need any of those stupid pills or psychiatrists! I haven't put a knife or razor to my skin for more than six months! Dad, please, please, don't make go there again, please! I'll do anything, anything! They don't understand me, please!"

"How am I supposed to believe it won't happen again?"

He doesn't trust me.

"It won't, Dad, I promise. Please!"

"I don't believe you, Bella," he was shaking his head.

I was crying, my breath hitching again. Fucking throat! "Dad…"

Inhale. Exhale.

He was looking at me for a few seconds and then he grabbed my left wrist to follow him to the kitchen. I cringed a little; the new-found tingling feeling in my hand was still surprising for me after months of not being able to feel anything. When I hissed involuntarily, he let it go, murmuring a little 'sorry'. I was still wearing the bandage Dr. Angelic had given me a month ago, religiously following his orders. No straining, no pulling, no necessary movements.

"Sit," he ordered when we were in the kitchen, taking an envelope into his hands. He put it in front of me.

"What is it?" I asked, but I didn't have to. I saw it myself. The black letters on white paper.

The Art Institute of Chicago.

I grabbed the already opened envelope, hating the feeling that it wasn't me who had gotten the news first. But the excitement and fear were too strong for me to pay attention to such a details. I saw my hands trembling crazily and when I finally managed to open the single letter with the final verdict, I swear, my heart skipped a beat.

Dear Miss Swan,

Regarding your application for our undergraduate program at The Art Institute of Chicago, we are pleased to offer you a conditional place…

Was it happening?

I read further.

…and awarded a scholarship….

Was it fucking happening?

"Dad! Dad! Did you see this? They accepted me! They want me! They liked my work! Oh my god! I can't believe this is happening! I am going to Chicago! I am going to Chicago! You see, Dad? You didn't want to believe me, but they want me… they want me…" I would probably continue my breathless monologue full of joy, excitement and disbelief if I hadn't seen Charlie's expressionless face.

Oh no.

"I wouldn't get ahead of myself, if I were you, Bella." There was an unusual calmness to his voice suddenly.

Oh no.

I swallowed.

"Do you really expect me to let you go to Chicago alone?" he asked mockingly. "After what Dr. Banner told me happened in your yesterday's session?"

I swallowed again.

No, no, no.

He had never cared. Charlie had never cared much. Why now?

"You threw books at him, Bella, and stormed out of his office in the middle of the session! He said that you are unstable and even though you don't cut yourself anymore, you are a potential danger to yourself and those around you."

"What?!" I couldn't believe what he was saying. Yes, I threw a few books at him. So far, he was the worst of them all. Well, maybe that dick Varner in Seattle was the worst, but this one was pretty awful as well. He obviously despised me and I got so afraid of what he might find out about me that I couldn't help myself. The rage just came out of nowhere. There was no one to sedate me. When I calmed down and my sudden fury subsided, I cried, hating myself, sitting on the bench in the park where I was supposed to meet Jake and then go to the hotel. When he asked what had happened, I just said I had had a difficult session. And because this whole thing was making him incredibly uncomfortable, he didn't ask more. Thankfully. He insisted on me having a professional help, though, and deep inside, I knew why. He would never admit it, but he wasn't able to handle me, my baggage. He had always been very careful around me at first, asking me what to do… I couldn't overlook his change in behavior when he was around me. I begged Charlie, even Sue, not to tell him about Chicago and my paintings. Fortunately, they listened to me. I don't know how he would take that. I loved him, and he wanted me. I couldn't afford to make him even more uncomfortable around me. What if he left me? What if he left me because of who I really was? Because of what I really had to deal with?

He ignored my question. "You can't possibly expect me to let stop you seeing a shrink, let alone letting you go to Chicago all alone."

I was shaking my head; tears were welling in my eyes again. "Dad, but I…"

"This is not a topic for discussion." Still, incredibly calm.

"Dad, I… I promise I won't do it again."

"I have heard that so many times, Bella."

"I never broke my promise!"

"You did in my book, keeping secrets about fucking art schools and scholarships."

"But…"

"Enough. Though… There is one option I can see working," he said finally, a sly smile on his lips.

So, would he let me go to Chicago after all?

"Okay. What do I have to do? What do I have to do to be able to go Chicago, Dad? I'll do anything."

He laughed. "Oh, Bella, do you really think you would be able to keep up with other students even if I let you go there? The chance of your being successful is slim and I don't even understand what they saw in those doodles you sent them. So, no, there is no way I am allowing you to go to Chicago. You need to do something worthwhile. Something that will provide a roof over your head."

I might die. Very soon.

His brown eyes, almost black under the shadows of his brows, were smiling.

"You can't force me not to go," I heard myself say, very resolutely.

"No, I can't. But there will be no support from me whatsoever. There is not much left from the money your grandmother left you and I doubt the scholarship covers all of the expenses. You'll need new paints, brushes, a new easel… All that shit that is not particularly cheap. And you're gonna need that every year and I am not talking about other shit. You won't see a dime from me, Isabella. There will be no home to return to. You will be alone."

No, he isn't…

If you go, Bella, he will leave you. He will give up on you if you go to Chicago.

I couldn't breathe. I was crying again.

"So, think about that, ok? And now for my offer… What if I told you that you don't have to see a psychiatrist ever again?"

My eyes shot to him. "What?"

"Yes," that cunning smile on his lips again. "You don't have to attend any other session, but there is one condition."

Whatever.

"You'll go to the UW with Jacob. So, I can keep an eye on you and check on you every once in a while. You'll get to come home anytime you like, you'll have everything you need paid for… And you'll get a degree that is going to count for something. What do you say?"

Is he serious? Is he making me choose?

"Dad, but… You can't make me choose! You know how much… how much I wanted to go to Chicago! It is my dream, Dad! You can't…. Dad, please!"

"You know my opinion on this, Bella, and I won't change my mind. Do you really want to leave Jacob here? Have you told him about Chicago? What is he going to say?"

I was paralyzed.

"You have a choice to make, Bella. Think about everything carefully," he said, finishing the conversation by opening a beer and leaving the kitchen. I sat there, not able to move, tears streaming down my face. I made myself to stand up and go to my room, burying myself in the sheets, muting my desperate screams for help, trying to breathe as well as I could, expanding the muscles in my throat.

What am I going to do?

Jacob. He's gonna hate you, Bella. And he will leave you as well. Dad, Jacob, the pack… You will be alone and hated. In Chicago, but hated nevertheless. And… think about it. No one ever understood you. Why do you expect this thing to happen in Chicago? Just because they offered you a place doesn't mean they will accept you. Maybe I just got lucky.

Yes. This must be it. I definitely got lucky.

So, would you risk losing people who love you, the home you have, for something so… unreal? For a dream? Would you risk the safety you have now for something so surreal as a possibility of becoming an artist? Come on, Bella, you are not that good.

You are pretty average.

No, you can't risk that.

You can't risk that one last thing that you have left.

Besides… just imagine not having to deal with those shrinks that obviously needed help themselves. You don't need anyone analyzing you, because no one will ever get it. No one will. No one will ever understand the pain you have gone through, the pain you are going through every day. No one.

No one will ever be comfortable around you. No one will ever understand who you really are. And you won't allow anyone to know who you are. You will never risk losing safety again.

You wouldn't survive.

And Dad… You owe him so much. How many times he could've sent you away? How many times have you betrayed him? How much trouble did you cause him? He gave you this choice because he worries about you. You caused this. Had you not been so stupid, maybe he would've allowed you to go. But you did a lot of stupid things. You owe him this much. And maybe, if you go to Seattle, he will love you again.

Jake… you owe him, too. He loves you despite you being a lunatic. A crazy girlfriend that was cutting herself. He stayed with you. You owe him.

So… What am I going to do?

And with that question, woven in every fiber of my being, every tear and every scream that left my body, I felt and felt and felt… I couldn't move, I couldn't breathe.

I couldn't draw. I wasn't good enough.

I couldn't cut. I wasn't loved enough.

No one knew me. No one understood. And I had to find a way how to survive.

In Chicago... I wouldn't.

What am I going to do?

What I felt was killing me. So, I thought of Mom and asked her for help again.

But for the first time, it felt like she ignored me, too.

What am I going to do?

Looks like you don't have a choice, Bella.

You have to survive.

A/N Looooong, wasn't it? Any thoughts?

Because Bella is so confused, I AM so confused when I am writing from her perspective. She has no idea what to do whatsoever.

BTW, I am pleased to announce that we will meet Edward around 11th or 12th chapter! Can't wait for it, guys.

Hugs and kisses,

R.