DISCLAIMER: Stephenie Mezer owns the characters. Storyline's mine.

RECAP: In the previous chapter from the present, Bella and James finally spent the weekend together; Bella told him she loves him. Now, let's take a look at where she is now.

EdwardsFirstKiss, thanks for your wonderful help :)

Enjoy. R.

10. Adele – Million Years Ago

CHAPTER 9

This Was Supposed to Be a Metaphor, Rose.

"I know I'm not the only one
Who regrets the things they've done
Sometimes I just feel it's only me
Who can't stand the reflection that they see
I wish I could live a little more
Look up to the sky, not just the floor
I feel like my life is flashing by
And all I can do is watch and cry."

Friday, December 14, 2012

"Bartender?"

The guy with almost half of his face pierced and a blond punk hairstyle with pinkish highlights turned to me. I motioned to him with my empty glass. "Another one."

He raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything, just filled the little glass with tequila and put a slice of lime on the bar. I nodded as to say thanks, but my head felt too heavy. Maybe I'd had enough for tonight.

Or… maybe not.

The bar was packed, and the air was heavy, making me a little anxious. Not that I had ever minded before, but there was something about tonight that was pushing me out of my comfort zone. Well, anything over the last month had been pushing me out of it. And as much as I had tried to get back into my old routine from before James, I was failing horribly.

And I had a feeling that I would never get back again.

I swallowed the burning liquor, ignoring its harsh flavor. I hated tequila. Putting a fucking lime and salt into your mouth to eliminate any traces of its taste just proved tequila to be fucking disgusting. So, why was I drinking it again?

Oh, yes. To fucking torture myself. And because I knew tequila made me totally wasted.

I turned around to face the dance floor, squeezing my eyes as if I was looking for someone specific. Well, technically, I was, I just didn't know who that specific someone was yet. I needed mind-blowing sex. And I needed loads of it. I needed to forget, and I needed it as fast as possible. This shit was unbearable; the familiar heavy burden was becoming too much.

I let my eyes slide the crowd, and it didn't take long until they stopped at the sight of a young, dark-haired man who had been checking me out earlier. I smiled internally. He looked like someone who could whip my ass just the way I liked it, cuff me to the headboard and maybe – if he was into that shit – I would introduce him to bondage. I just had to make sure I wouldn't mess with my left wrist too much; I'd been feeling bugs in it lately, strange tingling sensations.

Fuck that shit.

I swallowed hard, stood up and had to grab the stool I had been sitting on to steady myself. God, I was drunk. But it wasn't anything I hadn't experienced before. I tucked my shoulders back and held my head high, making it clumsily across the dance floor towards said man, automatically assessing the situation. I was very good at this – choosing a target, analyzing the situation and slipping into flirty Bella mode. I was rarely rejected. At first, I had always been afraid that I wasn't sexy or attractive enough. Very soon, however, I'd found out it wasn't as much about how you looked, as about how you presented yourself; your level of confidence and the art of flirting itself. If you could articulate your intentions in the way men understood, they were quick to pick up the signs. But more often than not, it was they who approached me, not the other way around.

A situation like this one was rather an exception than a rule.

The young guy was standing on the outside circle of the dancing crowd surrounded by his friends, and seeing there was no woman around him, I knew this was a good opportunity for me to get his attention. Because I knew he was potentially interested, I started to dance rather lasciviously, directly in his field of sight. I wanted him to approach me; to make him think he was the one who was making the first move, not me. It made men turned on even more, because they believed they were the ones who chose me and were, eventually, successful in their conquest. They believed it was all their doing. In the end, it made them more dominant and aggressive in bed. And even though I hated that inequality in relationships, in sex it was exactly that what I needed – pain, aggression, domination. And pain again.

And, as usual, I was successful. Shortly after I had commenced my dance, I felt large hands on my waist, and saw the young man smiling at me widely. He must have been fucking boozed himself, considering he caught my bait so quickly. I was anything but a lascivious and seductive dancer. It was fucking alcohol that made me stoop to this level. But usually it worked. So, who was I to complain? If looking ridiculous would make me get laid tonight, then I didn't give a shit.

"Hi, I'm Neil," he whispered in my ear, and I felt his beer breath mixed with cigarettes on my face when he pulled away. He was so fucking close.

"Bella," I breathed into his ear and thankful that we were more or less the same height, as I didn't wear heels tonight. Thank god, otherwise I would have been placated unconscious somewhere on the floor right now.

"Sexy name," he purred, moving me closer to him, the tips of his fingers sliding just underneath the top of my jeans at my back and I almost laughed at his forwardness. I liked that. He was already taking my mind off my heavy thoughts.

Enthusiastic, swaying to the rhythm of the music, I pressed my hips into his, rubbing his crotch suggestively. Soon enough, his dick responded, and I smiled at him. Obviously, we both wanted it. Even better. Tonight was not the night for useless drunk conversations. I wanted sex. Desperately.

Shortly, we were openly groping each other, and I felt his lips pressed to my neck, leaving a wet trace as he moved to my jaw and finally to my lips. Our tongues crashed together immediately, and I remember thinking that he wasn't a very good kisser. Definitely not as good as James…

A short-hitched breath escaped my throat at the thought, and to get rid of this betraying feeling, I leaned to his ear. "Wanna get out of here?" I slurred.

"Fuck yeah," he agreed eagerly. Magically, we caught a cab almost at once, and I took him to my place, knowing he probably wouldn't have the proper equipment for what I needed tonight. All the way in the cab I tried to focus on his lips, his skin, on the fact that very soon I would be fucked again, and the pain would go away. That was all I needed.

It might have seemed as if I had won the jackpot - everything went smoothly; he was young, and more than willing to play with me. Although a little uncoordinated at first, he soon became familiar with the techniques of pain infliction and did exactly what I wanted him to do. But as much as I tried to get myself lost in what usually provided me with release and numbness, the boy's inexperience and inadequacy in certain things only emphasized painful reality – he wasn't James.

James wasn't here anymore.

And when the seventh slap of a whip landed on my ass, tears welled in my eyes. Not because of a seething burning pain on my skin, mind you, but because of the one I felt in my chest.

XOXOXOXOXOX

The silence was unbearable, and I silently prayed for him to say something. Anything. As if his sudden coldness and distance wasn't enough. I was even afraid to look into his face, and find what I feared the most – rejection.

Well, by the looks of things it certainly felt like one.

Stupid Bella. Why did you say it? Why?!

We finally arrived back in Seattle after spending the weekend together. We were sitting in the car, in the parking lot behind the block of apartments where I lived, and I felt horrified; afraid, rejected and humiliated. All those feelings were too familiar to me.

Crap. I knew it. I knew he didn't love me back.

But… maybe he needed a little time. I mean, we all needed time in certain situations. And his situation was particularly complicated. He was a married father of three children. And his wife was one scary fucking bitch. Maybe all he needed was time to figure shit out. Definitely, yes. I was patient, I could wait, we would get through it. I mean, I loved him, right? So, that wouldn't be a problem.

Just don't leave me, James. Please, don't leave me.

I swallowed the pool of saliva that had formed in my mouth, and finally found the courage to turn my head left, looking into his face. "James?"

He didn't look at me, didn't even move. He was staring into the dark space in front of him, and I wished I could have a time machine to return back in time. "Will you come? On Wednesday?" I asked.

It felt like two hours until he finally moved – he shrugged his shoulder, still not turning to me, but taking a cigarette out of his pocket and hastily lightning it. He opened the window on his left side and put his arm outside, his elbow resting on the window frame. "I guess not."

Breathe, Bella.

"Saturday, then? I mean, I can cook something. Or you can come on Friday if that's better for you, I have noth-"

"Cut it, Bella. Please," he snapped. "I don't think that's a good idea."

Oh no. "What do you mean?" I piped.

Jeez, Bella. You sound like a teenage girl.

"We shouldn't see each other anymore," he said matter-of-factly, shrugging that fucking shoulder again, puckering his lips around the end of his cigarette.

A wrecking ball, number one thousand three hundred forty-eight smashed into my chest, sending a wave of uncomfortable pain and anxiety washing over me in an instant. "What?"

"Victoria is getting suspicious. Besides, I am too busy at work to keep seeing you; I can't slice myself in half."

Bullshit.

To preserve my last drop of dignity, I stopped tears from falling over the edge, and instead, I just silently nodded, knowing that the moment I was alone, I would be allowed to crumble. I had a large lump in my throat that prevented me from saying anything.

I gave his profile one last glance and got out of the car, holding myself tightly, praying I would survive.

XOXOXOXOXOX

I wasn't angry. It was as if he had only confirmed my suspicions, something I had known, but didn't want to admit. Alice was right after all. He didn't love me. He didn't want me. And even despite the number of times I heard those two lines, it still hurt as if I had heard it for the first time. Over and over again.

Last month had been terrible. I fell from my little piece of heaven into hell. All my old wounds were opening, and I felt the old Bella returning; heavy sadness, desolation and misery digging their way into my life again, and as much as I tried, I couldn't stop it. I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep. Memories started to creep in, and all I could see when I was lying in bed every night, were the times when I wasn't wanted, accepted, or loved. All the times when I felt like I didn't belong.

I remembered all those times I had been alone.

And then I cried, sometimes even screamed. My chest wasn't there anymore. Instead, there was a deep, black hole that hurt in a way it had never hurt before. Not even when Mom died. Those nights, I felt the heaviness of my life, the pain I suppressed, the hate I carried. Once again, I was breaking apart. I felt the old and new Bella crashing in a hateful dance, fighting over who I was.

But I didn't know.

I didn't know anymore.

I felt like I wasn't anyone.

I had given up everything that made me in an attempt to become someone they wanted me to become.

And then, to torture myself some more, my mind forced me to remember all those times I had placed a knife or a razor on my skin. When I had forced myself not to draw or paint. When I had held the acceptance letter from the Art Institute, knowing I was letting go of the one thing I had been living for. The one thing that had been home for me.

Everything came back.

Everything I tried to hide, everything I tried to run away from.

It came back.

How had I let myself go so far? How could I have been so stupid? How could I have been so blind? Why had I let other people dictate the course of my life? Why hadn't I been strong enough to let go of their acceptance and approval, especially from men? I had wanted them to love me, respect me… but had I loved myself? Had I respected myself enough to recognize what had been good for me? To do what I had wanted?

But the truth is… I hadn't been strong enough. If I had been, things would have played out differently. And if there ever had been strength in me, it was long gone.

I hadn't been good enough. I hadn't been strong enough. If I had been, I would have handled it differently. Now I was no one, nothing. I hated myself for who I had become. Or better said… for whom I had failed to become.

I looked over at the boy snoring silently by my side. Not entirely sober, I could still recognize the severity of the situation. What had I been doing? For these last five years… sleeping with anyone, drinking like a lunatic… But now not even alcohol or sex helped to keep the pain away anymore. Nothing was enough to keep me from it. Nothing.

Or maybe…

It wasn't like I had never thought about suicide before. But this was the first time I was seriously considering it. I didn't feel particularly suicidal right now, at this very moment… But if things became too bad, and the pain too big… How would I do it?

The moment I had thought of the question I had already had an answer. There was one thing that had almost taken my life before. And though it had been an accident, I couldn't see a reason why it wouldn't work this time. The only thing I had to make sure of, was that nobody would find me. So, this meant I would have to make sure Rosalie or Alice wouldn't become suspicious… When would I do it?

A weekday was a no-no. If I tried to cut my veins in the middle of the week, not coming to work the next day… I felt a sting of guilt upon leaving my kids. They were the only thing I would miss. And my two bitches. No, it would have to be either on Friday or Saturday. And that would give me a good amount of time to bleed out properly.

Suddenly, my left wrist burned. Stupid cuffs… which brought me to the fact that my fragile repaired nerves wouldn't survive this time. Not that it mattered, I would be dead anyway.

Dr. Angelic. Oh. I would miss him, too. I had stopped seeing him three years ago, but sometimes I wished I wasn't a coward and still visited him. It wasn't really an argument we'd had at the time… Dr. Angelic had just very clearly expressed his worry when I had admitted that I hadn't been seeing a mental health specialist for quite some time. And I, stubborn as I am, got angry and concluded that I didn't need any doctor. Not even him.

I shook off the memory. Another reason why I hated myself. I was terrible with people. Constantly failing in relationships. Any relationships. Another reason to end it all.

I felt an oddly satisfying feeling upon thinking about my plan. Yes, this would work.

I snapped back from my bubble of thoughts, when the boy turned onto his belly, kicking me in the process. I watched him in the dark, disgust growing in me. I had never felt repulsed by myself and my whore-like ways, but this was the first time when I felt like I needed to stop them. I mean… I loved sex, and I loved pain and domination in bed, but recently I hadn't felt better after any of it, only worse. It didn't help anymore. I had to stop it. At least for a while. No sex. No men. No relationships.

Especially with married men.

Any men.

Last thing I needed was to fall in love again…

…and be left alone again.

I was going to die, anyway. Soon. I could, at least, try to pull myself together enough to make people around me think I was alright. Rosalie and Alice both knew too much already.

Yes, this I could do. But I needed a clear head, and after the fiasco with James, men were the last thing I needed. Sex… Well. I would have to endure without it.

Wednesday, January 16, 2013

Never in my life had I thought one could have withdrawal symptoms because of a lack of sex.

But when you start thinking of a penis even when you had absent-mindedly put a pencil in between your lips – and you are not sixteen - it might mean you have underlying issues.

"Bella?"

Frustrated, I turned to the door of the class. Kids had already gone home, but I still needed to fill out paperwork, and bring it to the headmaster's office. "Rose."

"Will you come tonight? To dinner?"

Ahhh, Wednesday dinners. Since I had stopped talking to Alice, we had stopped having our dinners. But Rosalie was fed up with us and decided she was going to make dinner herself tonight and invite us both.

"I told you, Rose, I am not going if Alice is going to be there."

She sighed, rolling her eyes. "It's been two months, Bella, stop being stubborn. You're not even with James anymore, so why does it matter?"

Sting. Thanks, Rose, for a reminder.

"I'm not going to look at Alice's victorious face expression all night long."

"Bella, stop being a child," Rosalie scolded me again, closing the door behind her. "You know how sorry I am that it didn't work out. Alice was right this time, so what? We've all been in love once and blind and we are entitled to make mistakes. But she is sorry. You know that."

Yes, I knew. All three times she had tried to talk to me she hadn't forgotten to say it. But it didn't excuse her accusations and how they had made me feel – like I had been inadequate enough to assess the situation and make a right decision.

And maybe it hurt so much because it was true.

"Rose, I need time."

She rolled her eyes. "You've had enough time," she said, coming to me, kneeling beside me. She took my hands into hers. "Look at me, Bella." And I looked at her. She smiled. "You are young and hot and intelligent, so stop obsessing over James. You have to admit that a married man was a long shot, but it doesn't mean you won't find anyone else. Just give it time. You know how it is. You might have missed something good, but only because something life-changing is waiting for you just around the corner."

I huffed. "Yeah. I walk out of school and bump right into him, right?"

She rolled her eyes. "It was a metaphor. And what do you know? Weirder things have happened."

"I don't want anyone," I concluded. "I am done with men."

She laughed. "And what about monopoly?"

Now it was me who rolled her eyes frustratingly. Sex again. "Don't remind me."

"You're doing good, hun. So, will you come?"

I sighed. I did miss that Alice bitch. "Fine," I said. "But if she is going to make jokes or be all smug, I'm leaving."

Her smile widened. "Fantastic! And don't worry. It's gonna be alright," she said, kissing me on the cheek. "Okay, I'm going home. See you at seven."

"At seven," I echoed, smiling weakly as I watched her leave the classroom.

I finished the papers and when I looked outside, the sun was already setting and if it was only shortly after four.

Twilight. Hm. I never liked that time of day. The light was retreating, giving place to the dark. And it was always at night that I felt the worst.

I walked into the headmaster's wing, seeing that Rosalie indeed had gone home as her desk was empty. I placed the paperwork on her desk, and when I was about to leave, I heard voices coming from Newton's office. Why was he still here? It was unusual for the headmaster to be at school so late. Curious, I stepped closer to the door, recognizing not only Newton's voice, but also the one of Aro Volturi.

I rolled my eyes, and turned to leave, not really interested in meeting any of those two.

I left the school, seeing a few kids and parents standing in front of the entrance. I turned around the corner, feeling rather well, and thinking of the upcoming dinner when it happened.

It was in a matter of a few seconds. My eyes fixated automatically on the kid running across the street like an arrow. He had appeared out of nowhere. Suddenly, a loud screech of brakes made my head spin and the next thing I saw was a little boy hitting the hood of a black Nissan Sentra with a loud thud, which had sent him up in the air, right onto the windshield. The car stopped abruptly, and the limp body slid down on the ground. I heard nothing but a loud scream coming from my chest when I realized it wasn't just a boy.

It was Marcus. My kid.

I think only adrenaline prevented me from fainting and losing my footing. In my peripheral view I saw people grouping around, a few of them turning their heads in my direction, but my primary focus was on Marcus' frighteningly still body. A tall figure in black appeared out of nowhere, and knelt beside him, and before I knew it, I was on Marcus' other side.

"Marcus! Marcus, can you hear me?!" I was screaming. Or so it seemed; I heard my voice like it was under water. I was terrified to death. Never in my life had I felt such fright and desperation. Blood was everywhere, he was on his belly, and the right half of his face was barely recognizable under the stream of red liquid rushing from a deep wound just above his ear. His left arm and leg were bent in weird angles, and the picture must have been horrifying to someone not affected by adrenaline as much as I was. I realized there was the person in black who I had completely forgotten about, his white hands rummaging over Marcus' body in calm and careful movements, a contrast to my shaky touches fearful of causing any further damage. My hearing was back slowly, and I heard the chaos around me, people screaming to call an ambulance and the police. Suddenly, the white hands disappeared. I was tempted to look up to find out where they had gone, but Marcus was all I could focus on.

"Marcus, Marcus, can you hear me?" I was whispering, my voice trembling.

"…the corner of the 5th Ave and Olive Way. A child was hit by a car and suffered heavy injuries to his head and has most likely broken the bones in his left arm and left leg. He is unconscious, his breathing is slow, and his pulse is weak, and I suspect heavy internal bleeding…"

The person in black was a man, and he was talking on the phone in a very calm and composed voice what reminded me of his hands as they were touching Marcus' body in the same way. It seemed like he knew what he was doing. He must have been a doctor. And as much as I hated them, there wasn't a doctor in this world I was grateful for more than him at this moment. Not even Dr. Angelic.

"Marcus, please, wake up," I was whispering, still feeling my body shaking a little, but the doctor's words had calmed me down a little - he wasn't dead, he was still breathing.

"…hear me, Mrs.? Mrs.?" That same calm voice reached my ears, and the moment the white hand touched mine, the one that had rested on Marcus' back, I felt only a fraction of what was about to come. Reluctantly, I looked up, and even though the oddest feeling of familiarity and an inexplicable recognition disappeared sooner than I was able to realize it fully, I never doubted its presence. I never doubted that he felt it, too.

Some people come into your life to make you suffer and show you how sadness, betrayal, humiliation and dishonesty feel. Some people come into your life to restore your faith in humanity when they offer their kind support, their loving embrace and a shoulder to cry on. But some people come into your life and change you in the rawest, most fundamental way.

They change who you are.

I wonder if I would have looked up if I had known that Edward was here to be that kind of person. If I had known what I was going to feel upon looking into his eyes that were a shade of green and the first color I had ever failed to identify. But there was no going back.

I did look up.

Only after years I realize that Rosalie had been right. Something life-changing might indeed wait for you just around the corner.

And it doesn't have to be a metaphor.