A/N: Bella explains Charlie...

Chapter 45

Crossroads

Bella's POV

I didn't sleep a wink—even if Alice's snoring would have allowed it. I couldn't get her words out of my head, and it presented me with a very obvious, but no less, angst ridden question. Did I even know Edward at all?

I'd spent the last several months of my life trying to work him out, but it seemed all I had really done was refuse to accept him for who he really was. The amazing, selfless person he was during our two weeks in Australia was the same hot-headed, unpredictable person he was tonight.

I'd fully embraced what I loved about him, but had refused to acknowledge what I didn't. Maybe if I had, I could have prevented what had happened with him and my father. I could have intercepted him before it came to this.

I could have made him understand Charlie, even in the barest sense of the word.

Okay, so I'd fucked it up again with my pathological refusal to accept certain brutal truths, but I refused to accept that I couldn't somehow redeem it all.

I had to.

At around 5:00am I realised sleep was futile and got up to caffeinate myself. Besides, Alice was vocalising what I'm sure was an erotic dream about Jazz and I was eager to get away before the details got any more graphic.

She spoke in her sleep more than Edward…

When I shuffled half blind into the kitchen and flipped on the light, I was confronted by Uncle Billy. Sucking in my breath violently, I almost jumped out of my skin. He was sitting at the breakfast table in the dim, predawn light.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he spoke softly, flashing me a warm smile. "I like to watch the sunrise. Come and take a seat." He pulled out the chair beside him.

Releasing my breath, I sat down, clamped my hands in my lap before reluctantly looking up to meet his gaze. My father always made me feel miniscule, even more so after the events of last night, but Uncle Billy always had a calm, sedate air about him. Even still, I feared he was about to reproach me.

"Your father wants me to stop you from seeing Edward after he's gone," he said seriously, gauging me steadily while my heart sank like a rock.

I dropped my head to my hand, sighing heavily and fighting to keep it beneath my breath. "After last night, I can't say I blame him."

"I'm not going to, Bella."

I looked back up at him, taken aback.

He elaborated, "You're almost eighteen; I can't tell you who you can and can't be friends with. And look, while I've seen enough of Edward to want you to stay away from him, I also know he's not a bad kid. He really has to learn some impulse control, but I can't fault him for fighting for you, Bella. Even your father can't."

My chest swelled with an immediate sense of hope. I nodded, unable to speak for a moment as I combated the tears that were steadily welling in my eyes.

I failed.

Billy pulled out a handkerchief from his dressing gown pocket and handed it to me, his smile turning affectionate.

I quickly dried my face, continuing to nod—if only to get control of myself. "He isn't bad, Uncle Billy. I mean, he drives me crazy, but he isn't bad."

"Of course he isn't," he replied gently. "Mrs Cullen called last night—she wanted to get my okay about Alice spending the night initially, but she asked to speak to your father. She apologised for Edward's behaviour and attempted to explain what brought about his outburst," he paused, seeming to gauge my reaction.

I only nodded, afraid suddenly to take a breath.

"It seems Edward was really affected by what he witnessed of your life in Australia, and with the absence of your father for most of your life, he blames him in part for what you went through."

I nodded again, releasing my bated breath into a deep sigh and feeling my shoulders fall in sync with my heart. "I shouldn't have let him go," I mumbled more or less to myself.

"Bella, you needed support, and I was actually quite relieved to know Alice was accompanying you. Edward ... not so much, but no father wants his daughter thousands of miles away in another country with her boyfriend." He threw me a quick grin, while my heart quite literally flooded.

He was referring to me as his daughter...

I only nodded for the third time, quicker this time, and feeling meek and ridiculous as more tears began to build in my throat. I could only smile at him, emotion threatening to get the better of me.

Uncle Billy smiled back, tenderly, before taking a measured breath and continuing, "Edward's huge reaction to your father is proof he has some pretty strong feelings for you, Bella, but he can't possibly understand your father's situation with you. He doesn't realise that people do the best with the circumstances they're handed. Your father was faced with incredible limitations. Something I can tell you has kept him up at night for most of your life."

Again, all I could do was nod, beginning to feel inundated by the honesty of what my uncle was saying to me, and feeling more and more torn over Edward and Charlie.

I'd put too much on Edward's shoulders in Australia; I realised this now. He'd become caught up in the cataclysm that was my life—how did I expect him to react to Charlie? And my father ... I was always made aware that he loved me, but I never knew the heart ache he suffered at the situation he was faced with.

Fresh, silent tears slipped down my cheeks as I brooded over it, searching for a simple answer, while knowing there was only one thing I had to do. I had to go and see Edward today and make him understand my father's perspective, and then I had to do the same with Charlie regarding Edward.

With a sudden growing resolve, I wiped my eyes and looked up into Billy's caring, staid gaze. "What did Charlie say to Mrs Cullen?" I asked.

"She asked him if he would meet with Edward again, but your father isn't terribly keen on it. He's thinking about it, though."

My heart expanded further with growing optimism, until I could feel the warm smile penetrating my face as my shoulders began to relax. "Thank you, Uncle Billy," I said softly.

"You're welcome, sweetheart," he replied gently, before he pulled up, as if suddenly recalling something. "Where did Edward get the idea that there are no baby photos of you?"

I half shrugged in resignation. "There aren't," I mumbled.

"Bella …" his tone was almost surprised, instantly drawing my attention, "of course there is." I only stared at him, when he abruptly stood up, pushing the air roughly through his nose. "Come on, follow me," he instructed.

He led me to the hallway closet where, after ruffling around and beneath various stored objects, he pulled out an old battered looking photo album. Blowing the dust off the cover, he opened it to allow me to see.

On the first page was a hospital photo of a sleeping, dark haired new born baby with the inscription filled in with pen on a pink card below it.

Rocherrie District Hospital

Isabella Marie Swan

September 13th 1995, 2:27 pm

6 pounds 11 ounces.

I drew in my breath, staring down at this photo in absolute disbelief and trying desperately to recognise myself in the face of the baby. I had never seen baby photos of me to compare—to make a connection!

Uncle Billy turned the page, revealing the first photos of Charlie holding a tiny bundle in a pink blanket. Some were at the hospital, with Renee looking sullen in the background, while others were in the drab surroundings of her house, and in all of the photos Charlie gazed down at the baby in his arms with an expression of unfathomable awe.

Page after page, revealed more photos documenting the chubby, dark haired baby's growth. In several, Charlie appeared holding her, but most were of the baby alone; sitting in a bouncing chair, gnawing on her fist with a smile lit up behind it; sitting up on a blanket wearing a pink singlet and cloth nappy, looking like she was laughing at something beyond the photographer; standing up against Renee's ratty looking lounge, beginning to explore her surroundings with a look of stubborn determination on her face; sitting in a stroller eating an ice-cream that covered her face as it dripped down her arm. And the more she grew, the more I recognised myself in her. Photos of first steps, with Santa; birthdays; of her smiling, sleeping, playing. Photos of her first day of school, and school class photos. Photos of her and Charlie at the airport, and sleeping against Charlie's chest on the plane; of her and seven year old Jacob building a snowman; photos of her, Kel, Nummi and Rach; Photos of her and her teddy bear…

There were even photos when I was older, not long before I left for the US; of me sitting at the kitchen table doing my homework; sitting on the front veranda with the sun on my face glancing out into the distance; curled up on my bed reading a book. I had no recollection of Renee or anyone ever taking these photos of me; and in none of them—not one—was there any evidence of the abuse I'd suffered. No cuts or bruises, no marks. It was as if my entire life as I knew it had been erased. As if I had imaged it all, but it was all there, seventeen years of my life documented. A history I had no idea existed.

As I absorbed each and every photo, insatiably almost, I was sobbing, hopelessly, desperately, blurring my vision from a new enlightenment; a new reality. The reality that I had been loved; my life cherished and collected by my father.

"I-I-I have never seen any of these before," I stammered, wiping my face clumsily, unable to tear my eyes from the photos on the pages.

There was a pause, and although I didn't turn in his direction, I felt Billy's demeanour change. I glanced over to him; his expression had gone tense, while his eyes remained sympathetic. "Your … mother used to sell them to Charlie," he explained to me, regrettably.

I froze for a moment allowing myself to absorb his meaning, before I scoffed—almost laughing bitterly. "Of course she did," I muttered.

No wonder there wasn't a single bruise that covered my body in any of the photos. Renee had been orchestrating it all for profit. She hadn't been taking photos of me in the sense that a normal parent would, but to make money from them, and the child in the photos had eagerly gone a long with it, unwittingly, never knowing, but needing and craving attention from her mother nevertheless. Even if it was all an act.

I was suddenly recalling a memory when I was around six or seven. Renee had bought me a new dress, which she put on me before roughly combing my knotted and wayward hair into two pony tails. She'd then dragged me into the back yard where she ordered me to smile, telling me my father wanted photos of me. She knew at any mention of Charlie my face would light up, and she took full advantage of it.

I never saw the dress again after that day.

I closed my eyes as tears continued to spill from beneath my lashes, feeling completely flooded by the existence of these photos, while the bitter truth of my mother tainting them was a constant reminder.

I felt Billy's hand come to a rest on my shoulder and squeeze gently. "Your father would have paid anything to have these, Bella. To have that connection with you when you were so far away."

I nodded, while his gentle reassuring words made my face crumble further from the continued realisation that was threatening to overwhelm me. The realisation—the validation of how important I was in my father's life, despite his absence from mine. That I was loved in a way that I never believed was possible for me.

Billy had closed the album and placed it in my arms. "Take this and keep it in your room, and when you're reminded of your old life, look at the photos inside and know that while your mother might not have loved you, your father always has."

I nodded, looking up at him again. "Uncle Billy?" I breached, taking a long wavering breath. When he nodded once, I continued, "I told Edward there were no photos of me."

He only nodded again in resignation. "It isn't your fault, Bella. I had no idea that you had no idea this album existed."

With the photo album secured in my arm, I threw my other around the neck of my uncle, placing a clumsy kiss on his cheek. "Thank you, Uncle Billy," I whispered, allowing him to squeeze me in response before I released myself.

. . .

When Billy left to get ready for work, I made my way back to my bedroom. Crawling into bed beside a still mumbling Alice, I opened the album and poured over each and every photo. I found the picture from the memory I'd had; of me wearing the blue sailor dress and smiling widely for my father.

I released my breath into a huge gush that caused Alice to stir. It was as if I was looking at an alternate universe of my life, but I was soon brought back down to earth by my baby photos. They were real. I'd been a chubby, happy baby, and it made me consider the very real idea that maybe Renee, once upon a time, had loved me.

I went back to studying the photos, almost becoming obsessed with finding evidence of when my life had changed, when my mother had abandoned me to resentment and alcohol. It was around the age of three or four when I began noticing a trend in the photos, that in spite of the smile on my face, my eyes had begun to appear withdrawn and detached. I also began noticing the almost healed cuts and bruises that aligned my body in several photos. I doubted Charlie would have even noticed; after all, what kid doesn't get bumps and scrapes…?

Amongst the collection of baby photos were two nearly identical poses of me sitting outside, smiling widely and wearing a pink polka dot sunhat. Carefully pealing the plastic back, I removed one of the photos, then crept out of bed and placed it in a compartment in my bag. When I turned back around, Alice was awake and staring down at the photo album with a sleepy kind of confusion, rubbing her eyes. "Is this ... you ... Bella?"

I nodded and sat back down on the bed. "Yeah," I replied, motioning for her to look through them.

When she was finished, the smile she'd had on her face as she'd inspected every photo, soon gave way to confusion again. "I-I thought … I mean Edward said … and."

I nodded quickly in understanding. "I know. I had no idea this album even existed until an hour ago."

Her confusion only seemed to increase. "But … how…?" she began delicately, but seemed to let it go.

I elaborated, feeling my face prickle with a sense of shame. "My mother took all these ... to sell to my father. She never kept any herself."

Alice immediately balked, her eyes widening. "Oh my God…" she whispered, more in resignation than in disbelief, shaking her head softly to herself.

I half shrugged, awkwardly, and dropped my gaze to the album; it was left open on the last page. I was sitting on top of Kel's horse, half smiling, where the shadow cast from the helmet I was wearing stealthily hid the bruise on my cheekbone.

"Are you going to show Edward?" Alice asked me, tactfully, after a moment.

I released my breath before turning to her. "I don't know, but I'm going to see him and talk to him today."

"I hope you make him suffer, Bella," Alice said wryly. "No falling for his charms."

I smiled ironically, scoffing the air through my nose. "Easier said than done," I muttered only half beneath my breath.

. . .

Alice left at midday to meet Jazz, and I followed her as far as the turn off to the street the Hales lived on before I continued out of Forks. I hadn't contacted Edward to let him know I was coming, but since Alice had told me that Esme had grounded him for the rest of his natural life, I was fairly confident he wouldn't be out. I had planned on texting him, but as soon as I switched my phone on this morning I was bombarded by twenty seven more missed messages, eight voice messages and fourteen missed phone calls. It had upset me so much that it almost broke my resolve, though Alice insisted that it was good that I made him stew on the consequences of his actions.

I knew I was partially responsible, despite Alice's impatient assurances that it was all Edward. I had allowed Edward into my life; I'd let him see all my demons, all without ever fully explaining a thing to him. On numerous occasions in Australia—and before—he'd tried to bring up my father, but I had always swayed the topic away. What other conclusion did I expect him to make?

My pride had led to this.

With my stomach a mass of nervous energy, I knocked on the Cullens' front door. It opened a moment later by Esme, who smiled at me with a sedate expression on her face.

"Hello, Bella," she said softly with a small sigh, opening the door for me.

"Hi, Mrs Cullen," I replied, before she took me warmly but briefly into her arms. I tensed, I couldn't prevent it; it was still an inherent reflex with me, despite how much it frustrated me.

"Edward is in his room," she spoke gently, and when I met her eyes they appeared to be swimming with a sense of weariness.

I was positive she must have thought I was a terrible influence on him.

I only flashed her an awkward kind of smile before nodding.

With my heart thudding loudly and sluggishly with each step I took, I scaled the stairs on shaky legs to Edward's room. Stopping outside his door to collect myself, I took a huge breath before knocking.

It swung open a fraction of a second later, and clearly by the look on Edward's face he'd been expecting anyone but me. His expression immediately smoothed out with surprise, turning almost beseeching. "B-Bella..."

"Can we talk?" I asked softly, feeling myself almost instantaneously weaken under his gaze. As usual he looked like he was being assaulted by several emotions at once; the primary one being hope.

He nodded quickly, moving aside for me to enter his room, his hand running back over his head to the nape of his neck.

When he closed the door he turned toward me, but he didn't speak a word; instead with his hand still remaining at the back of his head, he bit down on the inside of his bottom lip, sucking in his cheeks as his gaze locked to the floor.

"Edward..." I gauged him, only to fight the urge to smile when his eyes met mine. "You're doing that face again."

A smile immediately lit up across his face, all askew and toothy, before his breath gushed from him. He closed the distance between us in two steps before, almost roughly, pulling me against him. "I'm sorry, baby," he whispered, wrapping his arms tighter around me.

I nodded before pressing my face against his chest, inhaling him in as I steeled myself for what I needed to say to him. "I know. I am too," I whispered.

I felt his lips drop to the top of my head, and his breath wash over me before he spoke, "You've got nothing to be sorry about, Bella. I'm just a fucking prick. I should never have put you in the middle like that."

I pulled from his arms, feeling the warmth of his skin immediately leave mine, and shook my head. "No, Edward. I should have explained Charlie to you before this had a chance of happening."

He notably tensed, his brow puckering into a frown, but he didn't reply; instead, he shrugged.

I knew he wasn't going to be very receptive towards it—he was possibly the most stubborn person I knew—but I had to make him see, to understand; even to empathise with my father.

"Edward, what you believe about my father, it isn't accurate—at all." I wanted to sound confident and assertive but all I managed to come across as was desperate—desperate for him to believe me.

And of course Edward's only response was to scoff.

I immediately huffed, becoming impatient. "Are you going to listen, or are you going to be your usual arrogant self?"

I half expected him to smirk—that was his usual response whenever I was pissed off—but this time he didn't. He seemed frustrated, almost irritated. "I can't stand here, Bella, while you defend him."

I felt my expression darken. "Like you wouldn't let me defend myself that day after condom testing in Bio?"

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, like that was the same thing."

"It's exactly the same thing. You thinking you know everything when in reality you know NOTHING!" I burst, fighting to keep my sudden anger under control.

How the hell could I love someone who made me so mad?

Again he didn't smirk, or give me the amused-by-my-accent smile; he folded his arms across his chest snorting to himself cynically. "Bella, Rach told me you used to do this your entire life—defend your mother, despite everything she did to you."

This jolted me, and I froze, suddenly so angry I began shaking. Taking an unsteady breath, I began, my tone low and trembling, "Just because you spent two weeks in Australia with my friends, and witnessed ten minutes of my mother doesn't mean you know FUCK ALL ABOUT MY LIFE!" I yelled, before turning swiftly away from him, my chest tight and heaving as I angrily swatted the tears from my eyes. "Fuck you, Edward."

"Great," was all I heard him mutter from behind me.

I turned back to him, rigid and rapidly losing my composure. "I never asked you to be my knight in shining armour!"

For the briefest moment his expression bunched in evident confusion before it immediately hardened. "What the hell do you want from me, Bella? Not to give a shit about you? No one has ever been your knight in shining armour—that's your whole problem."

I paused, gauging him for a moment before shaking my head. "The only problem I have is YOU. I don't know you, at all, and now it's abundantly clear to me why I NEVER WANTED TO!" I was yelling again, completely losing control, while angry tears continued to well in my eyes. I took two steps toward the door, ready to push past him, when he reached out and grabbed me, stopping me from taking a further step.

I tried to shrug him off, but he held me tighter. "Okay, fine, Bella. Tell me exactly how I've got it wrong with your father. I want to hear it." His tone was seeped with sarcasm.

"Let me go!" I demanded, struggling further against him.

He did, before he burst, "Just FUCKING TELL ME!"

"Why? So you can ridicule me—patronise me?" I attempted to elbow him out of the way, but he seemed to anticipate me.

Stepping away from me, he leaned up against his door folding his arms again, cockily, completely blocking me from leaving. "You came here to explain your father, so do it already! I'm not letting you leave until you do."

"You are such an asshole!" I huffed.

This time he did smirk, putting some of that damn bloody charm into it for good measure.

I felt myself waver, my anger instantly threatening to dissolve. It aggravated the hell out of me—knowing I was so bloody impressionable around him. I spun around with my back facing him, raging to myself as I began to pace back and forth.

How could I make him see…?

Then it came to me.

Turning back to him, I began, my anger and sudden determination helping to embolden me this time. "Imagine you played for the major leagues—"

He interjected, snorting his breath arrogantly through his nose. "I've donated my bone marrow, I have half a spleen. There's no chance that will ever happen."

"Hypothetically!" I snapped. "You play for the major leagues, and your team won the championships and you all went to—New Zealand for a trip to celebrate. Then one night, Rob was throwing a party in his hotel room and you met Jessica Stanley. You were drunk and the two of you had sex—"

For the second time he interrupted me. "I never did anything with Jessica Stanley." Though, he wasn't being arrogant this time.

"HYPOTHETICALLY!" I screeched out, making him flinch. "You have sex with Jessica Stanley, and then two weeks later, before you're about to return home to America, Jessica tells you she's pregnant," I paused, raising an eyebrow and gauging his reaction.

Recognition had taken hold of his expression. He was realising where I was going.

I continued before he could interrupt again. "What would you do, Edward?" I demanded, my tone becoming sarcastic. "Would you marry her—a person you couldn't stand—and play happy families with her for the sake of a child that you never wanted? Would you give up your life, playing baseball, your family, your country for Jessica Stanley—a complete stranger—and the baby you created? Huh? Tell me! What would you do?"

By his expression, he seemed to be conceding. He didn't answer; he only seemed to contemplate my words.

I placed my hands on my hips, feeling empowered by his reaction. I was getting through to him. "This was the situation my father was placed in. He paid for me—he sent cheques to Renee every month; he wrote me letters—that she never gave me. He sent me presents—that she never gave me. Christmas cards—birthday cards. All that I never got until I was older and could intercept the mail man. Charlie came and visited me whenever the Navy allowed him to. It wasn't very often but he still came all the way to Australia to see me when he got breaks." My voice began wavering, but I pushed through it stubbornly, "He t-took me home to Forks for a month over Christmas when I was eight—paying Renee a lot of money to allow me to go. He—" my voice finally broke and again tears rose to threaten my determination, "he bought every single photo Renee had ever taken of me and kept them all." The tears overflowed until I dropped my head into my hands and let them free for a moment.

Edward was silent, still, and when I finally looked back up at him through my tears, he appeared to be struggling.

Wiping my eyes dry, I waited for him to answer.

He began shaking his head, more forcefully as he weighed everything I'd said, until he snapped, still unconvinced. "Bella—the photos I saw of you, it was blatant that you were abused and underfed—are you telling me that your father never knew?"

I scoffed bitterly. "You think for a moment that my mother wasn't cunning enough to hide it from him? She managed to hide it from the entire town for most of my life."

He opened his mouth to reply, but I continued, "I think he suspected. He used to ask me constantly, over and over if everything at home was okay, and every single time I told him it was. Rach is right about me—I used to defend my mother. Out of fear or some sick and twisted sense of loyalty I don't know, but I did. I told my father repeatedly that everything was fine. So much so that when I finally told him the truth I don't think he knew what to make of it."

Placing his hands on his hips, Edward looked down and released what appeared to be every molecule of air from his lungs. He didn't meet my gaze; instead, he raised his hand and rubbed at his forehead roughly, squeezing his eyes shut. "Fuck," he muttered.

"Edward," I breached him gently, taking a single step toward him, "you know me ... I don't like to accept certain realities, so I vault them away. I could have told you about Charlie in Australia—you asked me so many times about him—but instead I let you come to your own conclusions."

He looked up and met my eyes; his were stricken. "I didn't want you to get anymore hurt than what you already were. I figured your father had hurt you as well. Jesus—fuck, baby. I've really fucked it up."

I broke into an impulsive smile, feeling an overwhelming sensation of relief wash over me. "You fuck up a lot—it's one of your most endearing qualities," I teased him.

He grinned, exhaling past it, before his expression hedged more seriously again. "So, does your father still want to kill me?"

"Yep," I said matter-of-factly, as a small smile twitched at his lips.

"I guess I can't blame him," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his head again.

"Edward, I don't want you to feel guilty—" I began before he cut me off by quite literally yanking me into my arms, making a reflexive "oomph" kind of sound burst from me.

He wrapped his arms tightly around me, engulfing me to him. I only clung to him, overcome by this sudden shift in him and feeding directly from these heightened emotions of his. They completely dominated him, and in turn they compromised me, completely overwhelmed me, until every single one of my senses were centred on only him.

"I really suck at this, baby. I'm probably going to fuck it up so many more times, but I'm going through it with you completely fucking blind," he said to me with an impassioned, husky tone that immediately affected me.

Merging myself further against the heated warmth of his skin, I buried my face into his chest in an attempt to push back the flood of emotion that was looming down on me. "It's not only you, Edward. I'm new at this, too," I insisted with a trembling voice.

"No more holding back on me—promise me, Bella!"

His voice was too strained, too overwrought, that even as I nodded emphatically, yes, tears were erupting down my face, and soaking his t-shirt.

And then he was kissing me, his hands about my tear streaked face, tangled with my hair that was plastered against my damp skin, as he took me deep down with him. I fast found myself completely overwhelmed and being suddenly controlled only by the constant yearning I struggled with on a daily basis; to lose myself in him; to feel, to know, that intimacy with him.

I wasn't my mother; it wasn't just about having sex with him. It went beyond that but inevitably led directly to it. Edward held so much power over me, but it was a power I wanted to give him, and right now, with the heat of his skin seeping into me, I knew I had already surrendered myself to it—to that all-consuming intensity within him.

We were both bare-chested, with Edward's jeans around his ankles when he pulled out of it; I had shamefully and completely submitted to it.

"Fuck…" he barely managed, fighting against his rapid breath. "My mother is likely to walk in on us."

With the reality of his words, I was immediately rational.

I was only three days into the month's cycle of birth control pills. We had to wait a full month.

Did I want to get myself pregnant?

It was a horrifying thought.

I wasn't my mother!

Letting go of my breath, I rested my forehead against his silken chest, allowing myself to calm.

"Besides," he murmured, momentarily pressing his face into the top of my head before continuing, "I have to apologise to your father first."

A/N: These pair are gonna kill me...