I wake the next morning to a face full of Edward's chest. And then a lot of awkwardness when I get out of the shower to find him still in my room. Breakfast is awkward as well, between Carlisle's strange looks and silence, Edward's weirdness, and Esme's overzealous attempts to diffuse the tense atmosphere with inane chitchat. Emmett and Jasper are conspicuously absent, and I suspect that they have been told not to be here.
I feel awful for what I did last night, but I'm not sure if bringing it up will make things better or worse. Eventually, Carlisle speaks up.
"We need to have a serious discussion. Edward, I need you to be rational about this, because you're not going to curse and yell your way out of anything."
My heart drops into my stomach. Edward's eyes narrow at his father, so I reach out for his hand under the table. It flinches slightly on contact, but he twines our fingers together a second later.
"Ok," Edward says, making no attempt to hide his irritation, "what do you need to talk about?"
"I know that we told you both that we were willing to put off seeking treatment for you until you said you were ready, but after the events of this week, I really don't think we can put it off any longer. It would be irresponsible of me to allow you to avoid your issues, particularly when it seems to be affecting others in a negative light."
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Edward spits. "So we have to go to a fucking shrink because mom's pervy brother tried to touch Bella up and she defended herself? What the fuck is that about?"
"Edward," Carlisle states in the same even, detached voice from before. "I'm not saying that Bella wasn't entitled to defend herself, because she absolutely was."
"Bella," Esme interrupts, putting her hand on my free one. "I can't even begin to tell you how sorry I am for yesterday. My own brother… I never, ever thought he'd do that, or I wouldn't have brought him here, I swear it. I can't apologise to you enough sweetheart, I'm so embarrassed." She looks stricken, and I feel terrible for her.
"It's not your fault, Esme. Please don't feel bad about it."
"So if that's ok, what exactly is the fucking problem?" Edward refuses to be distracted from the topic at hand.
"The way that Bella responded to us after what happened made it abundantly clear that she doesn't feel safe here."
"Carlisle, I -" I start. He cuts me off with a raised hand and a small smile.
"Bella, I'm not condemning you, nor am I offended by what happened in your bedroom last night. It's completely natural, considering what you've been through. But, just as Edward reacted so strongly to Emmett earlier this week, it is apparent that the pair of you have some serious issues, to the point where you don't feel safe in your own homes. I'm sorry, but that's not good for you, and I can't allow it go on, or worse, deteriorate further. You need help."
Edward says nothing, because Carlisle is right. I feel absolutely awful. We're making life so hard for the people we live with, and that thought makes me sick. I hang my head and try to fight back the guilty tears that threaten to spill.
"Bella, honey, don't go crying now. We're not angry at you, we're just real worried." Esme's motherly words, ridiculous accent and reassuring pat of my hand push me over the limit, and I start quietly sobbing. Edward is looking down at the table, his face frozen and completely ambivalent.
"Edward?" Carlisle prompts. He gets no response. "Son, we just want you, and Bella, to be happy and healthy again."
Abruptly, Edward is out of his chair. It falls backwards, hitting the tiled kitchen floor with a sickening crack. He tries to let go of my hand, but I won't let him. Not now. His gaze flicks to me and I stand immediately, letting him drag me from the room. He pulls me up the stairs and back to his room. He slams the door shut and shakes his hand from mine forcefully. It hurts that he shook me off, but I accept it and sit down on the end of his bed. My eyes are locked on him.
He paces around the room, staring at the floor. There's no pattern to his pacing, it's erratic and aggressive, and his fingers tear at his hair. I sit there, crying silently as he walks.
"I don't know what to fucking do," he murmurs. His voice is barely audible, but I focus on his words, even if they are meant only for himself. "I fucked it all up."
"Edward, no -"
He only then seems to realise he's not alone. His eyes snap to mine and he crosses the room, collapsing to his knees before me. He places his hands on my knees, his grip almost uncomfortably firm.
"I don't know what to do here, Bella," he says desperately. "You have to tell me. I hurt my little fucking brother and I couldn't even protect you from Alistair last night. We're not fucking safe anywhere, and even when I try to make you safe, I fuck it up. And I know you don't want to see a shrink - neither do I - but I've fucked it all up and now… you have to help make this right."
I look down at him, awed. He looks so defeated, so panicked. Hopeless. His body is trembling and his eyes are wide.
"Edward," I sob, "I don't know what to do. I want to help, but I can't."
"Bella, please," he begs, his grip on my legs tightening to a painful extent. "Tell me how I can fix this. I need to make it better. You have to help me make it better."
I gaze at his face, so innocent as he pleads for help from me. Help that I can't give. I just want to take away his pain. Seeing him like this feels like I'm being burned alive, and my insides are screaming in protest at the pain.
There must be something I can do to make us better.
My body reacts instantly to my desperate internal plea, and I lean forward and press my mouth to Edward's, a completely unplanned action.
He stills completely. I pull back when I get no response, crushed that my only idea to help sooth him failed. Slowly, he lifts his eyes to mine. His face looks dead, completely void of emotion. It's horrifying.
Without warning, he pushes up off his knees and crushes his mouth back to mine. My hands fall to the bed behind me, supporting my torso as we kiss aggressively, all of our stress and fear and despair falling to the wayside. He pushes me backwards and I edge towards his headboard, him following behind me. Our lips remain locked together. My hands are still behind me, holding me in an upright position, until his hands come down on top of them. He links our fingers together and pulls them from under me. My head falls back on the pillow and he follows. Our teeth knock together as my head bounces slightly on the pillow.
My left hand is beside my head, locked tightly with his. My right is free, and roams up his back and locks into his hair. His free hand slides it down my thigh and pulls gently, hitching my leg over his hip. I shudder as his hand trails up and down the skin of my leg, and he groans. His tongue flicks my lip and I open my mouth, willingly inviting him in. My hand is knotted tightly in his hair, fingernails scratching at his scalp in no particular rhythm.
He pulls his mouth from mine, only to drop it to my neck. His breathing is ragged, and matches mine.
"How do you make it all go away?" he asks, his voice husky and desperate and unbelievably alluring. My fingers tighten on his scalp and he hisses. His mouth is drifting up and down my throat and collar bones, pressing down occasionally, small licks and nips in between the feather light brushes. His slight stubble only increases my sensitivity. It's the best sort of agony, him exploring me like this while I'm pinned below him, surrounded completely.
"You make it all fade away, and I don't know how you do it," he growls. "How do you do it?"
"You do it for me too," I choke out, my voice breathy and ragged. "It's all better when you're with me."
"How can I need you so much?" He returns his face to mine, kissing me harshly. He keeps his eyes open and holds eye contact as he speaks and kisses me. "I need you -"
"Like air," I supply for him, leaning my head up to join our mouths.
"Yes," he groans and pushes back against me, forcing my head back into the pillow. His tongue twines with mine and I use my legs to pull him ever closer to me. My dress has ridden up to near my waist, but modesty is completely lost at this point. All I want is for him to consume me, to absorb me into him so that I never feel anything but this ever again.
We're aggressive to the point of violence, grinding against each other as our tongues fight for dominance. I bite his bottom lip roughly and he groans, the round raspy and completely captivating. I moan in response and his hand trails over from my hip to my stomach, tracing the skin there with his fingertips. I can barely think.
He thrusts his hips towards me, his jeans covered crotch rubbing against mine. My legs are locked around his waist, and I'm completely exposed to him like this. I cry out softly into his mouth, and he takes this as positive reinforcement, shifting his lower body against me again.
I tilt myself to maximise the level of contact, moving my pelvis just so that when he pushes against me, it hits me exactly where I need him to. He grunts lowly, his mouth still firmly attached to mine. I'm completely unhinged, dizzied and calmed and lifted by being with him this way. I've never felt anything like this.
"You feel so fucking good under me," he murmurs, pressing kisses all over my jaw and throat as he continues to grind against me. "You make me feel like none of it ever happened, like nothing exists. It's just you and me, and it's fucking perfect."
I moan in agreement as he starts rubbing his body against my panties, prolonging the contact. My eyes roll backwards as the feeling begins to take control.
"Tell me you'll never leave," he growls, his tone both authoritative and pleading.
"Never," I moan, hoping that he believes me.
"Promise me." He nips at my jaw with his teeth.
"I promise - ah!" I cry out as he hits a particularly lovely place. My hand tightens in his hair, scratching patterns and trailing over his scalp.
My body begins to tighten and it curves towards him involuntarily. I feel like his hand locked with mine and his body hovering over me are the only things holding me to the earth.
Then, the only thing that could possibly break through our bubble strides into the room.
"Hey Edward, I heard things went pretty badly with the - holy mother of fuck."
Both of our heads snap to the doorway, where Jasper is standing with his hands locked firmly over her eyes.
"I'm sorry!" he says quickly, and backs out of the doorway. "I won't say shit, I promise."
Edward climbs off me, sitting back on his heels, his legs between mine. He runs his hands through his hair and down his face, sighing heavily. I'm still on my back, panting a little and completely shell-shocked.
"Shit."
His curse hangs in the air.
Neither of us say anything for the longest time, and I'm in agony. I pull my body up so that I'm leaning against the headboard, and pull down my dress then comb at my hair, trying to right myself.
"We should talk," I finally murmur. He meets my eyes, finally, but doesn't respond. I immediately lose my resolve and change the subject, although it's not much better. Honestly, I haven't begun to process what has just passed between us, and I'm in no state to discuss it until I've thought it through.
"What are we going to do about the counselling?" I ask him. For a second, he looks confused, clearly surprised by the topic.
"What option do we have?" he questions morosely.
"I don't know. I'm so sorry, Edward."
His eyebrow curves questioningly.
"What are you sorry for?"
"If I'd behaved like a normal person yesterday, none of this would be happening." This is my fault.
He leans into me, placing his hands on my knees and forces me to look into his green eyes.
"Don't you apologise to me. This is not you're fucking fault. How you reacted yesterday was completely fucking normal, so stop that now. I damn near strangled my 14 year old brother, and that's why this is happening."
I don't want to bring that back up, because honestly, he would never have done had I not run into his room panicking about a supposed intruder.
"It doesn't matter now," I say softly. "We're out of options."
He sighs and leans away from me, but I grab his hands to hold them in my own. A tingle radiates up my arm, something more than the normal comfort he provides with me. I look at our joined hands curiously, as if I can somehow see whatever it is that's making me feel this way. Needless to say, I can't.
"Well," he sighs, "at the very least we can make sure we can do this our way. For example, I'm not fucking doing it without you."
I nod in fervent agreement, because the idea of rehashing it all on my own makes me feel sick.
"And if the doctor is a douche bag or a fucking hippie, we're out of there."
I giggle quietly at his words. I feel a little better already.
"Agreed," I say seriously, and a smirk lights his face. It's a little bizarre how us having a few minutes alone can restore us from the point of a complete breakdown back to normal. Bizarre, but at the same time, completely natural.
And the kissing… when we were together like that, it felt like nothing fucked up had ever happened to us, like we were normal again. I'm starting to realise that the closer we're linked together, the more comfort we get. The compulsions I have towards him seem to be deepening, because rather than just being contented with holding his hands now, all I can think about is how much better I felt with his body hovering over mine, and his lips trailing up and down my skin.
I'm like a heroin addict who is trying to replace the rush of a hit with a sugar high.
Abruptly, I feel awful. I'm shamelessly using him, this boy who's given me so much, taken so much pain so that I might be spared, brought me and my bag of crazy into his home with his family. I'm mercilessly exploiting his generosity, and what's worse, with everything he gives me, I want more from him.
I'm a parasite, draining everything he has to offer for my own selfish ends.
My face falls, my chin meeting my chest and I try to stave off more tears. He lets go of one of my hands and places it on my jaw, pushing gently in an effort to regain eye contact. I won't allow it.
"Hey," he says quietly, "what's wrong?"
I hear and feel the bed move as he comes closer to me. The hand on my face is now wrapped around my shoulders, and I can feel the heat of his body ensconcing my left side. Without realising it, I lean into him.
"Talk to me, Bella."
His tone is laced with so much concern, and I'm powerless to deny him.
"I'm frightened," I confess. He tenses slightly in response to my fear, because all he wants to do is protect me.
He's my hero.
"What are you frightened of?"
Reluctantly, I meet his eyes. I'm frightened in an entirely unfamiliar way.
"How much I need you."