DISCLAIMER: Stephenie Meyer owns the characters, the storyline's mine.

Hi, y'all! Do you have your Kleenex tissues ready? 'Cause I sure needed them when I was writing. To enhance the experience I strongly recommend to listen to this chapter's song. It fits PERFECTLY!

EdwardsFirstKiss, thank you for the edit :)

And now... get ready.

Enjoy. R.

18. Katelyn Tarver – You Don't Know

CHAPTER 17

This… I Did Not Expect

"Can't stop these feet from sinking
And it's starting to show on me
You're staring while I'm blinking
But just don't tell me what you see."

"Don't look at me like that
Just like you understand
Don't try to pull me back."

"Let me just give up
Let me just let go
If this isn't good for me
Well, I don't wanna know."

"Let me just stop trying
Let me just stop fighting
I don't want your good advice
Or reasons why I'm alright."

"You don't know what it's like
You don't know what it's like
You don't know, you don't know, you don't know.
You don't know what it's like
You don't know what it's like
You don't know, you don't know."

Friday, March 29, 2013 (13 days later)

Things were getting worse.

I knew it because the days were getting longer, and nights had become never-ending. During the bright light of day, my thoughts were occupied for most of the time. I was at school, and the kids made me smile from time to time, so I was able to push that inevitable weight of my own suffering farther away from my shoulders. It was easy to forget when I was surrounded by youthful happy spirits. The girls were also getting the impression that I was getting better which pleased me; it meant I was getting less meaningless calls and didn't feel like I was constantly being watched from dawn to dusk. There was, however, a part of me that was a little heartbroken because they believed my lie and I didn't want them to. I wanted them to know just how bad I really was.

The nights were the most difficult to conquer. The moment the lights went off, it was like my mind entered a world of its own. Thoughts and worries started to occupy my mind, making me toss around in bed and stare up at the ceiling for hours. I was worried that I wouldn't be able to kill myself anytime soon. I was worried I'd lose my job, that if I were to survive this, I would be alone for the rest of my meaningless life. Everything that crossed my mind seemed to present a problem of its own. The more I thought about everything, the more caught up I became and that made me look like a zombie in the morning because I wasn't sleeping enough. And when I did fall asleep, there was him and his arms around me. Although it was the brightest part of my days and nights combined, it didn't erase the reality I woke up in. Because when I woke up, there was no one holding me, no one to bring the ease and comfort and the knowledge that everything would be okay.

Speaking of Edward, he was the only person I had trouble fooling. Or so I thought. It had been two weeks since Rosalie's dinner and since then; I hadn't seen him relax around me again. It had only been Miss Swan from that time on. He was perfectly in control, impeccably professional and yes, there were times when he would exhale loudly when I pressed his button or clench his sharp jaw when I said something sarcastic or offensive, but he soon composed himself every time. It looked like he was getting to know how my mind operated in his office and this was making me feel vulnerable because nothing seemed to work anymore. With each session, I was getting more and more irritable and sassy, while he was getting more resilient. Sometimes it felt like I was fighting an already lost battle.

The moments spent alone were the hardest. I didn't only feel alone anymore, but I was alone. These void moments I filled with music and books, and watched movies, but remembered nothing of, and doing the exercises Mr. Greene religiously repeated I had to do every day. I didn't know if it was working or not. I guess the mobility had improved since I could move my fingers slightly, but I didn't see it as the big accomplishment that Dr. Angelic and Mr. Greene did. I knew very well it might be the best I could do for months to come.

Yeah… Most of my days were really, really bad days.

"Miss Swan. Welcome back," Edward said when he opened the door to his practice. It was Friday, and I had come directly from school. The waiting room was slowly getting cozier as from the next week he was officially opening his practice. I had seen a young girl here several times; Bree was her name I believed. I think she was supposed to be his receptionist. She was very tiny, maybe even smaller than Alice and had long thick dark hair. A thought appeared in my mind that maybe Edward was sleeping with her but when I had watched them interact with each other the other day, and concluded that it wasn't possible – they were a bit too cold to each other; there was more emotion between Edward and me…

"Hi," I mumbled enthusiastically. He let me in and we moved to his office which I had grown to hate. It had only been once since we had started our meetings that I had seen him in a different habitat – that being Rosalie's dinner – but I knew for sure that being here helped him to keep his Dr. Psycho façade. It was as if he could hold himself back better here.

"How have you been?" he asked his usual opening question once we sat down.

"Marvelous."

"Glad to hear it," he replied, oblivious to my sarcasm. This is what he had been doing in the last sessions – ignoring my sassiness. How dare he?

"How are you?"

"Busy, but good," he said, writing something down. "What do you want to talk about today?"

"Nothing, preferably."

"You might repeat that answer every time I ask you, but we'll always talk about something."

I sighed exasperatedly. "You choose then."

"Why don't you tell me how you have been this week? The truth."

I snorted. "I told you already – I've been wonderful. Living to the fullest, going with the flow, being grateful for every day I have the pleasure to be given… Can it get any better than that?"

"Miss Swan-"

"I bet you have just as lovely and happy a life as I do. Tell me more about yourself, doc. I don't know anything about you."

"I thought we decided to keep this relationship as professional as possible."

I looked at him and couldn't entirely believe what I had just heard. "You must be a really confused individual, Edward."

He frowned. "Why would you say that?"

"Two weeks ago you called me from my friend's phone to ask why I hadn't come to one of our sessions, you tried to persuade me to come to my other friend's dinner, you started calling me Bella and then ignored me for the majority of the night, only to follow me later to the terrace and offer me a ride home while being a dick and asking me what is the real answer to the question of how my last relationship ended, making me totally uncomfortable. That doesn't seem very professional to me."

He exhaled deeply, closing his eyes for a second. "While I admit that my asking that was quite rude, I think you don't understand the term, Miss Swan. I am your psychiatrist - it is inevitable for you to share your private life with me. Not vice versa."

"I don't want to tell you anything about me."

"Because you don't want to get better."

"I don't trust you!"

He sighed and touched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. "Then, I'm afraid; we no longer have the need to see each other."

Had I heard him correctly? "What?"

"You heard me, Miss Swan," he said, putting his clipboard on the table between us. "You said it yourself – you don't trust me. You don't believe in my abilities to make you feel better. How can we work together if there is no trust? Maybe you should see another psychiatrist if you don't feel like you can trust me."

"But-"Why did I feel like he was giving up on me too soon?

"I have had patients like you before – difficult, challenging, resisting treatment. It is all natural - you feel violated, you feel like I am the bad guy here, and that is okay. But the difference between them and you is that they trusted me. They wanted to get better. They wanted to overcome their problems. Maybe they wouldn't admit it, but they came because they needed it and wanted everything to be okay again. But you fight against everything and everyone that might get you out of your bubble of convenience and ignorance. Why is that?" he asked, his green eyes now blazing. "Who hurt you so much that you would rather close your eyes and pretend like there is no way for you to get better? Why are you giving up before you even try to find a way out of the labyrinth you are in?" He was fuming now. Suddenly I felt small and weak because he had seen into me much more than I had thought.

"You don't know what I've been through."

He sighed loudly. "Tell me then. Tell me so I can understand!"

"But…" I trailed off. Before I could allow the tears to come out, I clenched my jaw, ready to fight back. "But you don't know! You don't know, you have no idea what it is like out there! What do you want me to do? Do you think I haven't tried? Do you think I haven't tried to get better?!"

His eyes lingered on me, beneath the shadow of his thick squeezed eyebrows. He shook his head, and it looked like he didn't want to say what he was about to say, his voice was low and defeated. "Well… to me it looks like you are constantly giving up on yourself. You don't believe you'll improve. You are not giving yourself a chance to get better, instead you just worry the people around you who want to help you, but you won't allow them to do so. You push everyone away."

"I'm not pushing anyone away."

"Then, how do you explain Rosalie crying the other day when you told her to leave her to leave you alone when she brought you dinner?"

A bolt of lightning struck my chest at that moment. "What?"

His face became a little more composed as he probably realized he wasn't supposed to say that. "You heard me, Bella. I went to visit Emmett on Wednesday night and there she was, crying her heart out because you had told her to basically fuck off." Okay, so I might have used different words, but it was true. I was so pissed at everything that night. It wasn't a good night. And all she wanted was to make me talk, and I hated that; I hated it when they wanted to talk to me; when they wanted to help me all the fucking time. I didn't need it. They couldn't possibly know what I felt, they couldn't understand.

"Okay, this is enough. I'm not listening to this," I said and reached for my bag.

"You're doing it again," he said matter-of-factly. "You're running away from the truth again."

"The truth?" I looked at him. "The truth? You're just saying I am ungrateful for my friends!"

"Aren't you?"

I think I was crying at that point. "Leave me alone." And I stood up, starting towards the door. He followed me almost immediately as if he were my shadow.

"You have to make the first step, Bella. I know you are strong enough. You just need to make a decision to get better."

"Why won't you just leave me alone?" I turned to him and I was openly crying. "What has gotten into you? I don't even know you!"

He was no longer composed anymore. How could he? He was standing in front of me, breathing heavily from frustration, running a hand through his messy hair. "Is that it then? Do you feel that uncomfortable around me?"

I laughed dryly and through the tears I bet it must have looked horrendous. "How can you ask me that question, Edward? Of course, I feel uncomfortable around you. You're a shrink! As far as I'm concerned, you're my mortal enemy. And this office? It's like a demon's den I go to twice a week to talk to a man who pretends to be someone else while I know, I know," I beat myself in the chest, and surprised at myself, "that this is not you. And I know you want to keep things professional Edward and there is nothing wrong with that, but you can't pretend like we don't know each other outside of this office."

He watched me for a mere three seconds before he answered. "I have to, Bella! I have to pretend I don't know you, so I don't get personally involved. It is you who can't obviously separate one from the other," he said in his defense. "Why did you choose me, anyway? You knew it was going to become awkward, so why did you choose me? To shout in my face now that I don't act like you expect me to?"

I sobbed loudly now. "No-o," I said. "I cho-ose you-u because I thought I-I would be more comfortable wi-wi-th you, Edward, tha-a-n with someone I kne-ew nothing about. I-I thought that because my-y friends kno-ow you and I know you a-as a normal person, that things wou-wou-ld… I tho-ought that with you things-s wouldn't be so-o hard, that I…" I trailed off because the words were getting slurred together and I felt my body starting to shake from the weight of emotions in the air. "But y-ou-ou are like the-em, Edw-a-ard. I'm just a ca-ase for you, too-o. I don't know why-y I-I chose you, Edward. I do-don't know."

I couldn't see his eyes properly because mine were overflowing with water and I felt so defeated and weak that there was no embarrassment anymore. I just wanted to crumble down and get sucked in by that water I saw in my dreams every night and wiggle out of his arms that were holding me above it because I didn't… I didn't want him anymore. I didn't know what to do anymore. I didn't know if trying to get well even had any meaning… I wasn't anyone worthy of life. I was a lost cause. I had to go… I had to disappear.

"Bella, "and the way he said my name sent a wave of shivers down my spine. It looked like he was in pain himself, his voice coated in what sounded almost like a whimper. He made a careful step toward me and reached out his hand. I frowned, not knowing what he was about to do, but when he tried to touch my arm and pull me towards him, and I stepped away like I had been burned by a jellyfish. Because he was trying to do it again, he was trying to get me out of the water I was sinking into and I couldn't allow him to do so. Not again. I burned for his touch, I needed it but I couldn't allow myself to make the same mistake again. Not again. Not ever.

"Don't to-ouch me! Don't!"

He stepped away immediately, bringing his hands up in the air, palms facing me. "I'm sorry, I'm not touching you."

I felt a big lump in my throat, my body a complete mess as I was shaking, trying to catch my breath. He was there, close, and I knew I needed to crumble because I couldn't do it in front of him. "Goodbye, Edward."

"You're not going, are you?" There was panic in his voice that was certain.

"I-I have to," I mumbled, crossing arms around my torso.

"Let me drive you home."

My eyes widened. "No!"

"At least, let me hail you a cab." His voice was insistent, and I could see how he was fighting to keep himself from moving towards me.

"No. I-I'll be alright-t." And I turned around and disappeared from his office as fast as I could. I heard him call my name once more, but he didn't follow. Honestly? I didn't know how I got home. I don't remember. I was a wreck. The moment the door to my bedroom closed behind me, I walked up to the long mirror in the corner of the room and upon seeing myself I burst into a loud cry, falling down on my knees because… Who was that woman I saw in the mirror? A shell of a woman who I could be; a woman who had given up on herself. At that moment I was empty but full of agony at the same time. I didn't see anything anymore. I didn't have a purpose, I was no one… I didn't see meaning in anything. And all of them… all of them, they tried to help me, but they couldn't. It wasn't their battle to fight. One thing Edward was right about was that it had to be me who had to make the first step. There was no one who would be able to save me except for myself. But I… I couldn't. I was so afraid. The pain had become a part of me. What would happen if I let go of it? It had been a part of me for such a long time that I had forgotten who I was without it. Who would I be without the pain?

That was one of the reasons why I had tried to kill myself… Because there was no one underneath the pain I felt. I had already died inside. It was as if I was like an abandoned shipwreck at the bottom of the ocean. There was nothing inside, and my outsides were ruined too. I was covered in scars, and one of my hands was practically dead… I was ugly and just…

I cried in front of a mirror for a long time, watching my face, being ashamed of who I had become, and remembering Edward's words. He was right about me. I was pushing everyone away, I was giving up on myself because I didn't believe I deserved any of this. I knew people would leave me sooner or later. They always did. So why would I try to get better in the first place? Who would I become without the pain? I didn't know who I was anymore. What if I would never find out?

I slowly took my coat off, my sweater, my jeans and my socks, looking at myself only in my underwear to remind myself who I really was, who I had lost all those years ago when I had decided to become who I am now - this shell of a woman who – ironically - was battling pain while being afraid to get rid of it. Because it was the only identity she knew now. She was no longer a painter, she was no longer her mother's daughter. She was no longer a good friend, let alone a girlfriend. She wasn't a good teacher and besides being with children, she never enjoyed the job, anyway. She had buried her dreams, her canvases and her authentic true self in order to escape the pain. She had become someone else – she had started to live a lie, thinking the pain would go away. But pain is a strange thing. She thought she ran away from it by living this weird life of someone else. But it was only a question of time until the pain started to eat her from the inside out, leaving her with nothing – only the desire to die. Because… what is the life without passion? What is the life without being able to live authentically and truthfully according to your own book? Who are you bound to become if you compromise your own dreams only to be loved by people around you? However… love is something we all need and she wouldn't have made a different decision had she been in the same situation again. Because love was something she had felt in her heart but had never felt from other people – except for her mother – she had felt it from her.

I instinctively started to look for something sharp. When I spotted the scissors on my bedtable, I had them in my hands in a matter of three seconds. I returned to the mirror, sank down on my knees, my butt on my heels. My eyes were bloodshot red, my cheeks almost identical in color, and looking startlingly awful in comparison to my pale body. I could see ribs poking out, the scars scattered all over. My hair was long, falling down to my waist. It used to be thick, but I had lost a lot of hair lately along with the weight that I was losing almost uncontrollably. I was pretty skilled in covering myself in many layers, not showing just how much weight I had really lost. I reached for my hair, silent tears making their way down my cheeks, burning upon contact with my skin because I kept brushing them away from my cheeks and that had left my skin irritated. My left hand was lying helplessly by my one side while I put all of my hair over my chest in two long strands. I grabbed the scissors I had put on the floor and with a shaking hand I cut as much hair as I could, to just below my chin. And then I did it again. And again. I kept cutting, dark hair falling all around me until all of my hair was short, looking spiky as a few strands were longer than the others.

Suddenly, I felt cold air on the skin of my back and instinctively looked in the upper corner of the mirror where I could see the reflection of my bedroom door. I didn't expect anyone to come because I remembered I had locked the door to my apartment, so when I saw Edward standing on my doorstep, looking at me from the mirror, my heart stopped for a second.

"Bella?"

I was already pretty messed up by this point, so there was no immediate response to what he saw. I probably didn't even realize it myself. There was panic in his face as he was looking at the mirror, seeing the scissors in my hand, my almost naked body and my new haircut I had just given myself. I don't remember what I felt, but upon seeing him, I only burst into tears again, starting to shake uncontrollably. He kept repeating my name in that same way he had said it in his office just a few hours ago, sounding like he was in pain. He slowly approached me and kneeled down behind me, the dark room swallowing us both. I could feel him, see his reflection, as he slowly reached for the scissors in my hands, his eyes never leaving my face in the mirror. He didn't touch my skin, only slowly dragging the scissors out of my hand. The moment he was in the full possession of them, he sighed deeply in relief. I kept crying, shaking, crumbling more and more, and wishing I could die. "Bella," he kept saying, watching me, apparently not knowing what to do. I saw his hands in the mirror going slowly up in the air, until they reached the sides of my arms. He slowly grabbed them, anticipating my reaction, but I only kept watching his face in the mirror through the ongoing, non-stop waterfall of tears falling down my face. The moment his flesh touched mine, it was like a blessing and a curse all at once. I started to sob loudly, shaking even more, but as much as I wanted to wiggle out and not let him pull me above the water again, I couldn't. Because that was how it was when he touched me. Once I was in his arms, I couldn't, I didn't want to keep sinking. This whole bizarre, surreal situation was like my dream. The room was dark, it was late in the evening and twilight had fallen. My dreams were like that, too. I was sinking, deeper and deeper until he came and grabbed me, pulling me towards the surface. Only now it wasn't a dream. I knew that much, and the pain was too real.

When the last drop of my self-control had evaporated into thin air and I indeed crumbled , and he pulled my back against his chest while I cried continuously, sobbing loudly, not wanting him to be here, but so… content that he was here that I stayed paralyzed and let him hold me, his strong arms snaking around my torso as he was holding me tightly against him. He watched me in the mirror while I cried my heart out, his face hiding something unfathomable.

"Shhh," he whispered. "I know, I know."

Did he? Could he really know? "I do-on't want to be in pa-ain, Edward. I-I don't wa-ant to be in pain any-anymore."

"I know," he said, his voice like a melted gold. He turned me sideways to him and by pure instinct I crawled into his lap and put my arms around him, burying my face in the crook of his neck, his scent sending my nervous system into an immediate state of relaxation.

"I-I don't, I-I don't wa-ant to die-e, but I-I… I-I don't know ho-ow to go o-on anymo-ore," I kept sobbing. "I don't kno-ow what to do-o anymo-ore. I-I don't…"

"Shhh," he kept repeating, rocking us from side to side. "It's okay not to know. I'm here. We'll figure it out, okay?"

I nodded, holding onto him as if he was the last bottle of water in the world and he was squeezing me to him equally tightly. I don't remember how long we sat there, sitting on the floor, but when my sobs started to quiet down, and my chest stopped heaving, he pulled me away a bit and when I didn't want to comply, he chuckled silently. But he was strong and did what he wanted, anyway. He pulled me away a little but didn't let go, only moved his right hand underneath my knees and his left one underneath my back, picking me up swiftly. He stood up and put me down on my bed. He let go of me completely then and walked towards my chest of drawers, going through a few of them, pulling something out. He came back, and I felt relief rise almost instantly.

"You should put on some clothes, Bella. It's getting cold in here." And he handed me a white t-shirt and checked PJ pants. Only then did I realize that I was almost naked in front of him and quickly reached for the clothes, putting them on.

"You're not going away, are you?" I asked, now fully clothed.

"No." He was sitting at the edge of the bed, watching me. It was hard to see his face because the room was quite dark, only the moon that had risen provided a source of silver light.

"Okay."

"Okay."

"You promise?"

I think he smiled. "I promise."

We were looking at each other until I felt the heaviness of the dark on my eyelids. I fell asleep in a few seconds.

When I woke up, it was even darker in the room, but the moon was higher in the sky, so there was much more silver light coming in through the window. The curtains were open and when my eyes came into focus, I saw a tall, dark figure standing in front of the window, looking up at the sky. Soon, both my brain and memories had caught up with me and I whimpered in the realization of what had happened. Edward turned upon hearing me moan but I couldn't see his face, the moonlight coming from behind him.

"You should go back to sleep," he said.

I pushed myself up and leaned back against the headboard, brushing my eyes with the back of my right hand. He slowly walked back to my bed, sitting down on the other end. I saw how he had made sure he didn't touch me and upon detecting this, I moved away from him too, giving him more space. Now, I could see his face because the light fell at such an angle that the right half of his face was illuminated. "You could've gone home, you know."

He nodded, smiling lightly. "Yeah, I guess I could've."

I didn't reply but sat there, feeling terribly awkward. I didn't know for how long I had slept but I felt much better. I felt… lighter. "What's the time?"

"Around midnight."

There was silence, and I didn't know what to say. It was almost as if we were our old selves again, but at the same time it felt like nothing was the same, because he had just seen me at my worst and that puts a person in a completely different perspective. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

I shrugged, looking down. "For…" I motioned towards the mirror. "This. I…"

"Don't apologize. There's nothing to apologize for," he said, his voice serious, but not aloof.

I nodded silently. "You should go home, Edward."

He shook his head slowly. "I'm alright, thanks."

I smiled, rolling my eyes. "I won't hurt myself if you're afraid of that."

He pondered his answer for a while. "I know."

"Do you?"

He nodded.

I smiled again at him and it was strange by how at ease I felt now. We sat there for a long time again, in silence, minding our own business. Given the circumstances, it was the strangest thing to feel right now, but… Finally, I felt comfortable with him. Finally, it felt right. It was like he belonged here, like we were both in the same boat now… Like there was something connecting us. Maybe that realization made me change my mind.

"So, are you ready then?" I asked.

He frowned in confusion. "Ready for what?"

I smiled but didn't answer. I threw a pillow in his direction and moved away from him as much as I could while he made himself comfortable by leaning back against it. I looked away from him and focused on the full moon outside, inhaling deeply. "I was born in Washington, in a little town called Forks. It's about a four-hour drive northwest from Seattle. My parents' marriage was failed from the beginning. I never believed my dad loved my mom. When she became pregnant, my dad gave her money for an abortion. By the time I was born, they had split up and my mom and I had moved to Phoenix to live with my grandmother. Dad told my mom that… he would pay child support, but he didn't want to have anything to do with me," I said, my voice slightly cracking at the end.

One would have thought I had already forgotten about the past, but it is hard to forget the things that have shaped you. "With mom, I had a nice childhood," I smiled at the thought of her. I didn't think of her often, but when I did, it was hard not to smile. "She was amazing. She was my true hero. Only now do I realize how hard it must have been for her - taking care of me and working at the same time, trying to pay the bills and make sure I had everything I needed. One day, it was shortly before Christmas, I remember my mom and me going into the hospital to visit my grandmother. I was maybe four or five, I don't remember exactly. Grandma had cancer, but mom had never told me that, only that she was very sick. I wanted to… I wanted to make her feel better so badly. I remember that day like it was yesterday because it was the day I started to draw," I said, smiling at the thought of that old man who gave me my first box of crayons - conté crayons. "It was a good day."

I watched the moon and its surface, its light illuminating my room and started to search for more memories. "My grandma died that same year after Christmas and things… things became bad. Mom had no one to look after me and… it was difficult, but she always made sure I had a block of papers, crayons and paints I could use. Later, she bought me first canvas, and it was one of the happiest days of my life," I smiled and looked at Edward for the first time since I had started talking. His eyes were on me and he was intently listening to every word. "I started to experiment with all sorts of paints and crayons and paintbrushes, sometimes painting with my fingers and nose and ears… driving my mom crazy. But… I was happy, and I knew she would never, never take those things away from me. Soon, things began to get a little better and when I was ten, she arranged painting lessons for me with my Art teacher from school," I laughed silently when I remembered Mrs. Cope and her ancient approach to painting. "It was horrible. I was so bored all the time. The woman didn't know what she was doing. I was way, way ahead of her in terms of technique and the whole approach to painting as art. I had known so much from doing research myself, visiting Phoenix galleries, reading books, experimenting… And she forced me to 'tame my spirit' as she said, saying that some of my paintings were like a bad joke, and it hurt my feelings. I loved painting like that. My paintings were me. They were who I was."

I was silent then for a couple of seconds and appreciated that Edward let me process things before I could continue. "Soon, the kids in school started to bully me for being a painter. They said that I was a freak because I painted and attended lessons with crazy Mrs. Cope… It was hard. I think it was the first time I experienced rejection based on who I truly was. And the more they made fun of me, the more it hurt. The more Mrs. Cope said that some of my paintings were awful, the less I painted… The more rejection I experienced, the more closed off I became. I tried to keep it from mom, but I guess she knew something was not okay."

I felt the first tear drop down, but I didn't bother with wiping it away. I took a deep breath and continued. "You know, I guess a different type of child would face things differently. But I was always like that – feeling everything a bit too intensely. It was always as if all my emotions were like waves, rising and rising until they broke and flooded me without warning. It was nice to feel happiness in every bone of my body, but when it came to pain and rejection and the fear of failure… it struck me deeply. I guess you could've said that I was an ambitious child, having big dreams of my paintings being exhibited at galleries all around the world," I smiled sadly. "But the bullying, the rejection… what I experienced at that time was the first seed of doubt – the doubt of me not being good enough.

"But you know, I was okay, because I still had my mom. And she loved me and loved what I did and even though we sometimes didn't have enough food in the fridge, she always made sure I had at least crayons to play with. Then, I turned fourteen and my world… collapsed in a few months. Mom was diagnosed with the same type of cancer as my grandma. She told me in July, in the presence of my dad who told her he wasn't going to take care of me after she died. In December, six days before Christmas… she passed away…" I trailed off and started crying silently. "She died and… and the only person, who loved me despite being a freak, was gone."

"Bella…" Edward said silently, and I saw him wanting to say something.

"Let me finish, Edward," I said, looking away from him at the moon. "She died, and my dad decided he would take me with him back to Washington. I don't know why he changed his mind but what I thought was a blessing, turned out to be the worst thing that could've happened to me," I said, my voice cracking. "I remember standing in front my dad's house, clutching my bag close to my chest. It was full of crayons and paintbrushes and… I remember feeling that it was the only thing I knew. Like it was the only home I had left.

"Dad lived with his girlfriend, Sue. She never liked me, but in the beginning, she tried to hide it. I didn't feel comfortable there. My mom thought I was given another home, but… I felt like I was constantly being watched, trying not to mess with things, like I could be kicked out for doing something wrong. And all of those emotions I felt… the only way for me to stay sane was to paint and draw and sketch and it was the way I was taking the pain away. Soon, I started to have nightmares – spirals, dragons… attacking me every night, not letting me sleep. I missed mom," I said and sobbed, wiping my cheek. "My sketches started to become very dark. They were ugly, but I was drawing my pain and, in a way, it helped. But… Dad never liked my sketches, he never liked the fact that I was artistic. He made fun of me, only confirming that I was in fact, a freak. So I thought… Mom must have been mistaken about me. Then, Sue found them, and she said that I wasn't allowed to sketch anymore. And I wanted… I wanted them to like me," I laughed dryly. "Stupid girl… So, I stopped. Because I believed it was the only way to make them like me, to make my dad love me. But the pain didn't go away, it only became worse… One night… One night after a dream I woke up, I went down into the kitchen because I was thirsty. I poured myself a glass of water and in the sink, there was a knife… I took the knife," I said, and my voice started shaking. "I took the knife to my bedroom… and put the blade against my thigh, cutting myself for the first time. And it helped, the pain went away, but when I stopped, it got even worse." I was now sobbing loudly and reached for the napkins from my bedtable and sighed loudly. "It went on and on for four years. Knives, razors, even pencil sharpeners. I managed to hide it, only cutting myself in the places people didn't see." I sobbed now, and looked at Edward, seeing his eyes glisten with liquid. He was hugging his knees, holding his forearms tightly as if he was trying to keep himself from moving.

After a few minutes, I calmed myself down and continued. "In school, no one knew about my being a painter because I was afraid they would make fun of me like the kids in Phoenix. Soon, I made friends with the kids from the nearby reservation La Push. I became a part of the group… for a while I felt like I belonged somewhere. I was so afraid they would leave me be if I showed them what a freak I was that I started to be like them and less and less like me. One of the boys – Jacob – later became my boyfriend."

"One night – I had just turned eighteen – I cut myself again. It was my thing I wasn't able to resist anymore. I had urges. I knew it was wrong, I hated myself for it, but I couldn't stop. That night… that night it went horribly wrong. Up until then, I had only cut my belly and my thighs, but I guess the pain got the best of me and I cut my hips and my wrists, going way too deep. My dad found me later unconscious in my bed, covered in a pool of blood.

My breath hitched, and I had to wait a few seconds before I could continue. "I woke up five days later in Seattle, and I don't remember what happened during those five days. It was the first time I met your dad," I smiled at the memory. "I thought he was an angel. So beautiful… I wanted to paint his face," I kept smiling, seeing Edward's lips twitching now in a smile, too. "He was kind and caring and… it felt like he knew what was going on, but I was too afraid to tell him just how bad it was at home. I was afraid of what my dad would do to me, I was eighteen, he could've kicked me out had he wanted to. And I didn't like doctors… The white coats. Your dad was different, he is different, but how could I trust him?" I shook my head. "No, I had to pretend that I was fine… to as much extent as possible.

"I messed up my left hand that night pretty badly. Your dad repaired it and I couldn't feel anything for a few months afterward, but it soon became better and more or less functioned normally. It was when I was in the hospital, that I had my first experience with shrinks. It was horrible… They pushed and pushed, asking me questions I didn't know how to answer, blaming me and telling me I was trying to kill myself, but I wasn't," I said, tears escaping my eyes again. "I wasn't. I wanted to live. I didn't want to die. They thought I was lying, and, that I was crazy. And who was I to object? I was a freak. You know what they wrote down…" I trailed off because he did know. He had read my file. "My dad was furious, I thought he stopped loving me completely. I was discharged from the hospital, but we had to find a psychiatrist, so I could enter therapy. It was one of the worst times of my life. In the period of a few months, I had seven different shrinks, and all of them were the same. The more of them I had, the worse I grew, the more paranoid I became. I was afraid that Jacob would break up with me, too, but he stayed. It was obvious he didn't know how to approach me anymore; he became very careful around me, not knowing what to say… I was in a bad, bad place at that time. Subsequently, the situation at home had become worse, too. My friends from school and I were about to go to the college and Jacob wanted us to go to UW, but…" I stopped, remembering what I had given up. "I had always wanted to go to Chicago to study at the Art Institute. Secretly, I applied and sent a portfolio full of my paintings." Then I remembered a package I had received a few months ago from Seth and stood up from the bed, starting towards the closet. I reached for the box and came back, setting it down on the bed. I sat down and opened the box, pushing it towards Edward. "They replied within a few weeks and offered me a place and a scholarship. I could've gone to Chicago. I could've painted as much as I wanted. I had thought there was no way for me to be happy again, but then the letter came, and I felt like I was wanted, that someone out there thought I was good enough."

I was watching Edward touching my old paintings, his eyes wide as he went through the box. It was so strange seeing him touching such intimate things of mine, things no one had seen for the last ten years. But after holding my almost naked scarred body against his, it didn't seem so strange anymore. I sighed and looked out of the window again. "But my dad had a different plan. You would think he would have been ecstatic by the idea of me going as far away from Washington as possible… but no. He decided to ruin my life by forcing me to go to Seattle with Jacob. And before you ask… Yes, I guess, I could've left after everything I'd been through there, and never look back, leaving everyone… But I was stupid and naïve. I felt that by listening to my father, I could make him love me again. Furthermore, there was still a little, small part of me that didn't believe I deserved my dream. So, I stayed in Washington and let the vision of my lost dream bury my passion alive.

"Slowly, gradually, I stopped painting completely. I stopped drawing, I stopped sketching. I was getting deeper and deeper into something I didn't know what to call. By that time, I gave up on shrinks and psychologists and any help I was told I would get by going into therapy. It was the first time I felt truly, completely lost and hopeless. Things got a little bit better when I moved to Seattle with Jake and our friend, Seth. Or so I thought. I fell into a routine and I was comfortable. Sad, but… content, I guess. I wasn't cutting myself anymore as I wouldn't be able to get away with it… and I loved Jacob. I guess, the only thing that kept me going was the knowledge of someone loving me back. Only now I realize that… what was between us was pure dependency. I had no one to lean on. He was there and as much as he ignored me sometimes and as much as I could see that he wasn't comfortable with me and my depression, I wasn't able to let him go… Until I found him in our bed with one of our best friends."

I chuckled dryly. "I was such an idiot. Leah was from La Push as well. She was Seth's sister and a really good friend. She was a year older than us. Seth lived with her, while I shared an apartment with Jacob. Funny enough, the day I found them, I had an appointment with your dad because my wrist had been acting weird. Maybe it was some kind of psychic premonition of sorts… When I returned home from the hospital, I opened the door to our bedroom and what I saw was a scene from a very, very bad movie.

"I had a panic attack… or whatever it was, packing my bag, telling Jacob it was over. I felt so betrayed. I left immediately, spending the night at a hotel, not wanting to bother Seth because that boy was the only true friend I had at the time. The next day, I took a bus to Forks, because I didn't have a car. It was a way my dad had tied me to Jacob even more, making me completely dependent on him. When I told him what happened, being Jake's vivid fan, he started to blame me, and said that I was making up stories, that Jake would never do such a thing… To be honest, I wasn't surprised. I was the last on his list of people that were important to him. The following day, someone knocked on my door and it was Seth with a worried expression on his face. He said he couldn't believe his sister had betrayed me in such a way. He said Jake was an asshole, and that it wasn't my fault. It was the summer before our last year in college, and he stayed in Forks for two weeks. He said that Leah was going to New York in September, and I could move in with him. You can imagine I wasn't a big fan of the idea, but… I had nowhere else to go. I didn't want to live with Jacob that was for sure. So, Seth took his sister's room, and I took Seth's. He was very nice to me. I even showed him the paintings," I motioned to the pictures now scattered all over the bed. "He said I should I try to apply to the Art Institute again after I graduated. And… for a while I pondered the idea, but I grew afraid again. I had already given up on myself. It was silly, but I thought I didn't know how to paint anymore.

"The last time I was in Forks was on Christmas during our break during the last year of college. Seth basically forced to me go, begging me. And because I didn't know how to say no to him, I agreed. Sue didn't want me there, and she wasn't shy in showing her disagreement with me being home. Did I mention that Seth and Leah were her niece and nephew? So, naturally, to piss me off, Sue invited Leah into my dad's house, but Seth had promised me that I wouldn't have to meet her. I knew it wasn't his fault. Sue was a bitch, but… We had a short, but pretty bad fight and I told my dad that I didn't want to see him again. I packed my bag – most of my things were in Seattle anyway – and dragged Seth with me because I still didn't have a car.

"Things changed after that. I felt… pretty much like shit all the time. I didn't know what to do, I didn't know anything… I was sad, disappointed in life and I could feel it in my bones that Seth was about to leave soon, just like everyone else had. I started to drink, I started to sleep around with random guys, something I had never done before. I started to feel the release. You know, it was an irony. When I slept with Jacob, I was so self-conscious about my scars and about how my naked body looked. But when it came to those men whose names I didn't remember, I could have cared less… After graduation, Seth left to travel for a while before settling down. He insisted on keeping in touch, but after I drove him to the airport, I hadn't talked to him until a few months ago when I bumped into him on the street. He said to call him, but I can't. He reminds me too much of the past to invite him into my life again."

I sighed and looked back at Edward who – surprise, surprise – hadn't fallen asleep yet. "So, I was alone. For the first time in my life, I was truly alone. I didn't cut myself anymore, but now I didn't have a way to filter my pain, to forget it, to suppress it. So," I took a deep breath because this was something I had never shared with anyone, "I let go of myself completely and enjoyed my new-found freedom. I think I became addicted to sex, to sadism, masochism… by letting men hurt me, I felt the same rush of physical pain that I had felt when I had cut myself. It was liberating, it made me feel like someone wanted me. I found a job at the school, I met Alice, and later Rose and it felt nice not to have to tell them anything about myself. Before I knew it, I had become someone else, someone I didn't know. I started to live a lie."

I smiled sadly. "Years passed, and things didn't change. Did I feel miserable? Occasionally. I was good at telling myself I was alright. The kids at school kept me sane during the weekdays, then Friday came, and I would get wasted and sleep with someone who I could get a nice spanking from," I said, sarcasm licking my tongue. "It was a cycle I didn't want to stop. But then… I woke up one night – it was almost a year ago – and a guy I was with looked like Jake. He was his complete replica. I don't remember how the hell I ended up in bed with him, but that was the deal when you were drunk as a sailor. I panicked. I might have still been slightly drunk. I had a panic attack after a long, long time of not having them, and I remembered everything. It was like it struck me again – Jacob's betrayal and his lies. I kicked the boy out, but it didn't help. I felt like I was a dormant volcano that had erupted again, as if that guy had been the catalyst, making me burst. I couldn't calm myself down. I drank all the alcohol I had at home, and not going to work for a few days. Then Alice found me in bed, hugging a bottle of vodka. It was one of the most embarrassing experiences of my life.

"So," I sighed, "obviously, I couldn't keep the truth from them anymore. But I only told them that I used to struggle with depression many years ago and that I was fine now. And you might laugh at me, but I really believed I was. What I didn't realize was that… the volcano had erupted and as much as I tried I couldn't go back. My past was starting to catch up with me. Shortly after that, I met James."

I smiled at the thought. "Another stupid adventure, what can I say? I know now that I became involved with him because of the pain I was starting to feel again. He was there. He was handsome, strong, and controlling. Sex was amazing, He was forbidden. Married. Father of three… His eldest daughter is in my class. There wasn't anyone more out of the question for me than him. But he brought me physical pain so strong that for a while I forgot about everything again. I thought he was my ticket to blissful ignorance. And then, after months and months of sneaking around, having sex in cars and in bathrooms and god knows where else… I imagined myself to be in love."

I laughed dryly. "Could a twenty-eight-year-old woman be any more stupid? No, I don't think so." I focused on Edward's face. "So, here comes the answer your question, Edward. I thought he felt the same and when I told him that I loved him, he disappeared, getting rid of a woman who was pathetic to think that there could be something more. I knew he was an asshole, but that I had lowered myself so far that I had slept with a man who was married?!" I asked out loud. "You know what is ironic about the situation? That Leah had a boyfriend who had cheated on her. Then she slept with my boyfriend, cheating with him on me. And I, thinking of what a hypocrite she was, did the very same thing. It doesn't matter that he was an asshole and barely spent any time with his wife. It was the fact that I was the same as she was.

"I tried to get back and into the same old regime I had before him, but something wasn't right. I was broken. Betrayed yet again and… then Marcus had his accident and I got into a fight with his father and now I might lose my job and things just… got bad. In the meantime, I have been called a whore and while it has never stopped me before, something changed that night and I couldn't… couldn't return back to who I was anymore. The pain has accumulated, and I don't know what to do," my voice cracked and I looked into Edward's eyes. "I don't know who I am. I am afraid, Edward. I am afraid because I don't want to be like that. I know I am not like that. I know that's not me… But I just… I don't know where to start and how not to be in pain. I don't want to die. I didn't want to die…" And before I knew it, I was sobbing again, feeling my shoulders shaking. "I am so ashamed of myself now. And you might want to leave, and I wouldn't hold it against you. Because I know I am a horrible person."

"Why are you saying that?" he asked, scooting over closer to me, his voice hoarse form being quiet for so long. "Bella, you've been through a lot, how can you say something like that?"

"Because I should've handled it better, Edward. I shouldn't have become this," I said and motioned to my body. "I should've been stronger."

"That's nonsense," he said and reached out for me and I was stupid enough to crawl to him again, finding that peace he had so generously offered earlier. "You are strong, and you were strong. But you can be strong for only so long without the support of a family and the people around you. Of course, you would look for something to ease the pain, that is absolutely natural."

"But I shouldn't have, Edward. I shouldn't have."

"Shhh," he whispered, his hand running up and down my spine. "It's going to be fine."

I nodded, but I wasn't sure I believed him. I had just bared my soul in front of this stranger and while it felt weird that I had done it without more or less any second thought, it only felt like I had given him power over me – the power to hurt me.

So, we sat there, me crying again, sobbing into the crook of his neck, and him listening to my quiet sobs. I told him several times to go home, but he didn't move an inch. When he finally let go of me and basically ordered me to lie down, he put the canvases and sketches and drawings back in the box, placing it on the floor. When I thought he was going to leave, I felt the bed on the other side move. He didn't touch me anymore, and I exhaled in relief. It was pretty awkward as it was, and while I wanted him gone, there was a part of me that was glad he had stayed. I had my back turned, and didn't dare look at him, but my whole body could feel his presence, I could smell him on me and the knowledge that he was looking after me tonight, put me into a dreamless deep sleep.