I walk into Garrett Reynolds' office clutching Edward's hand so tightly I honestly think it might break. Apparently, he's a friend of Carlisle's, a psychiatrist who has done studies on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder in adolescents, so he seemed a perfect fit, at least in Carlisle's view. Edward was very iffy about the suggestion that we had PTSD, even when Carlisle showed him a list of symptoms.
I stayed out of their argument, the first to admit that I had no idea what I was talking about when it came to such things.
We walk over to the front desk where a small woman with long acrylic nails and a brightly coloured satin shirt is speaking quickly on the phone.
"No, he did not. And on your chest? I just... that is disgusting! If Bobby ever did anything like that to me he'd be out on his ass before he knew what hit him, I can promise you that... I don't care how big he is, that's not the point!"
Edward clears his throat conspicuously and she looks up, finally having noticed we're here. She rolls her eyes then returns to her conversation.
"Ugh, one second. I'll call you back." She hangs up the phone then looks at us, clearly irritated.
"What can I do for you?" she sneers.
"So sorry to interrupt what sounded like a truly fascinating and I'm sure work-related conversation," Edward replies pleasantly, "but we have an appointment."
He smiles charmingly at her. She looks mortified and buzzes the doctor, informing him that his 2pm appointment has arrived. Edward smiles at her once more and drags us over to take a seat in the waiting room.
"Mr Cullen and Miss Swan I assume," the doctor says in a deep, even voice as he enters the room. I almost giggle at the cliché before me. He's wearing a large sweater, khaki pants and loafers, and sporting a pair of glasses that are on a necklace so they don't fall off his face. He gestures us into the room and takes a seat on a large, wing-backed arm chair.
Edward sits on the couch and I'm quick to follow. I briefly consider climbing into his lap, purely for my own comfort, but realise that it's slightly ridiculous. I settle for clutching onto his hand, wrapping my other one around his forearm. The doctor's eyes flicker to the movement, and then to my face contemplatively. The expression on his face turns my stomach.
He continues looking at us, saying nothing, until Edward clears his throat.
"So," he starts, "tell me why you two are here on my couch today."
"You know exactly why we're here," Edward sneers, and I flex my hand in his nervously. I know nothing of this man, and he has a polite, somewhat distant smile that reminds me of the blonde. It gave away nothing of the horrors he was capable of, just as Dr Reynolds' gives away nothing of his personality.
"I'd like for you to tell me. Isabella," he looks at me now and I lean back into the couch cushion, trying to put as much space between us as possible, "can you tell me?"
I swallow reflexively against the urge to cry, or be sick, at the though of talking about this.
"We were..."
I hesitate, because I don't think I can even frame the words.
"Yes?" he prompts.
"We were taken away," I mumble.
"Where?" he asks with merely polite interest in his tone, as though it's a vacation we're speaking of.
Edward laughs, although there's no humour in the sound.
"How the fuck would we know?" he asks angrily. I shrink into his side, looking down, my eyes flickering to the doctor every few seconds as I try to figure out how he's going to react to Edward's aggression.
"Touche," Dr Reynolds says placidly, then his eyes focus back on me. I look down at Edward and my joined hands as soon as our eyes meet, unable to return his gaze for even a second. The doctor hums thoughtfully.
"How long have you two been together?"
"Who says we are?" Edward asks.
"Honestly, it couldn't be more apparent, to me, at least." He smiles pleasantly, and I can hear Edward's angry exhalation. Dr Reynolds seems completely unaffected by his behaviour, and I wonder how far this will go before he snaps and reacts in some horrible, completely unforseen way. The suspense is driving me out of my mind.
"Why the fuck does it matter, anyway?" Edward snaps. I'm chewing at my lip to the point where it's hurting but I can't stop figdeting, and my hands are wrapped around Edward's arm so it's my only option.
"Because as your doctor, I have to understand the depth of the bond between you, and also differentiate between what is real, and what is simply a manifestation of the trauma you've encountered."
"You can shove that theory up your ass, because what I feel for Bella is 100% real." The confidence in his voice makes my lips turn up a tiny bit with happiness, despite the unbearable tension coursing through me at being in this heated situation.
"Are you sure?"
"I'm fucking positive, you asshole, and none of your psychobabble bullshit can convince me otherwise, so you might as well stop trying. I knew this was a waste of time."
Edward stands up, and I go with him, in the hope that my remaining attached to him prevents him from trying to act out violently. I have no idea how the doctor is going to react to the outburst, and accordingly, I'm terrified.
"Do you really think this aggression is doing you, or Isabella any service, Edward?" the doctor asks from his chair. His calm demeanor is completely at odds with the situation.
"It sure as shit makes me feel better. Fuck you very much, Doctor Douchebag," Edward says, his voice loaded with venom. He storms over to the door, pulling me behind him, because there's no way I'm staying here on my own. I look at the doctor over my shoulder as we leave, trying to apologise with my eyes for Edward's behaviour. Dr Reynolds looks completely placid, not at all affected by Edward's reaction to him.
Edward storms though the lobby, me at a slight run behind him. When we reach his car, parked on the street outside his building, he presses my back against the passenger side door, smacks his hands down on the roof of the car, caging me in. He looks at me, holding my eyes in a way that hypnotises me slightly, and then kisses me harshly. While there's no lust in his kiss, it's filled with everything he'd never tell me. He's angry, so angry, and terrified that despite all his protests, Dr Reynolds might be right about us.
I throw my arms around his shoulders and pull him to me, desperate to reassure him that everything we have is real, and that the doctor couldn't be more wrong about us. The lovely, familiar bubble wraps around us, filling me with resolve, and I hope that he can feel it, or even a fraction of the comfort he brings me. His right hand drops from the roof to my waist, pulling me closer as he pushes me into the car's frame. His long, lean body encompasses me completely, and I've never felt safer, or more sure of him.
A loud catcall breaks through our moment, and Edward pulls back, looking around furiously for the source of the sound.
"Aye, man," the leader of a group of what looks to be fourteen year old boys in bandanas, sagging jeans and oversized shirts says with an appreciative smirk. "Mami is fine, you're lucky you get to hit that. I wouldn't say no to a go with her. What do you say, baby?"
"What the fuck did you just say?" Edward spits at the kid, and turns away from me as if he's planning to go over there.
"Edward no," I murmur, grasping his hand. He looks back at me and seeing the look on my face, exhales heavily and stops whatever he was planning to do.
"It's a compliment, bro!" the kid yells, because clearly, he's lacking some mental faculties.
"Shut your fucking mouth, dipshit!" he calls as he unlocks the car and walks around to his side. "You're not even Spanish - you have red hair!"
The boy's friends crow with laughter at him being called out, and he looks mortified. Edward and I get in the car, and he starts the engine in silence. We drive for a few minutes before I dissolve into giggles at what just happened. He looks over at me, confused, but then smiles when he sees my somewhat hysterical laughter. He reaches for my hand and I give it willingly, letting both of ours rest on my thigh for the rest of the trip home.
What happened in the doctor's office looms in my head, but we both do anything we can to avoid it, bickering about music and movies and nothing of substance so we can put it off as long as possible. I'm certainly more than willing to avoid it if he is. We arrive home and I put on Sleepy Hollow, eager to disprove Edward's assertion that it's a shitty horror movie due to the lack of gore. Clearly, that's not why the movie is great, and I'm determined to change his mind.
By the time the credits roll at the end of the film, Edward and I are almost about to come to blows as we argue over the merits of the film.
"Bella, it sucks. The only good part was when the horseman spears that guy because he can't get into the church."
"You neanderthal! You missed the entire point of the movie!" I insist, enraged. He's taunting me now, enjoying my irritation with his ignorance.
"And what, Bella Swan, movie critic extraordinaire, is the point?"
"The point, Edward," I sneer, "is that Johnny Depp is a total babe."
He bursts out laughing and I giggle along with him, enjoying the happiness on his face after what's been a rather unpleasant day. I hear a knock on the door and tense at once, knowing that our afternoon of lighthearted avoidance is about to come to an end.
"Edward? Bella?" Carlisle's voice sounds through the door.
"Yeah?" Edward responds on our behalf.
"Can you both come downstairs? Esme and I would like to speak with you."
"Shit," Edward murmurs, and rubs his neck awkwardly. Despite the completely casual tone his father used, Edward knows he's probably in trouble for what happened today. I tense instinctively, because while I'm fairly confident that Edward could defend himself if he had to, the idea of him ever getting in any kind of altercation makes me sick. He squeezes my hand because he can, as is the trend, tell whenever I'm starting to panic.
"Bella, it's going to be ok," he assures me. "He's going to be pissed, but I'll explain to him that the doctor was a total asshole, and it'll be ok."
I nod hesitantly, because I'm not convinced that's how this is going to play out, but I stand and follow Edward into the kitchen, where Esme has put on a resplendent meal, not at all to my surprise. I smile and wave at Emmett and Jasper, in their usual seats, and Emmett beams back at me with a mouthful of food, only to earn himself a glare from his mother. He looks down, contrite, and I laugh at their cliched, but strangely heartwarming exchange.
Dinner proceeds mostly as normal, Emmett chattering away completely oblivious to the cloud of tension hanging around his brother and myself. We know what's coming, and the anticipation dissolves my apetite. Esme, ever the fretting mother, looks at my plate, and then my face, with a worried frown.
"Is there something wrong with your dinner, pet?" she asks. I'm embarrassed that she thinks my inability to be a normal person is somehow her fault.
"No, no," I shake my head quickly in an attempt to reassure her. "It's fantastic! I'm just feeling a little under the weather today."
I feel Edward's hand settle on my knee and the skin to skin contact helps to calm me slightly.
"Are you sure?" she prods, looking sceptically down at her own plate. "I think I might have oversalted just a little bit."
"Not at all," I disagree, feeling awful that I've made her question herself. "It's great, right Emmett?"
Emmett looks up from his quickly diminishing mound of food, his upper lip covered in sauce.
"Yeah, mom," he agrees, "this is fu- it's great!"
Edward scoffs.
"Oh yeah, because he's the best critic alive. The kid eats ketchup sandwiches, for fucks sakes."
"Language!" Carlisle chides.
"Whatever man," Emmett scoffs, "that shit is awesome."
"Maybe if you want to induce vomiting." Despite the dismissive way they address each other, the brothers both have big smiles on their faces, and Jasper is chuckling quietly in his seat. Clearly, this kind of dispute is normal for them, and that makes me smile too.
"Alright, enough is enough, especially with the cussing," Esme says, "you'd think you three were raised by savages. Emmett and Jasper, you are excused."
"Excused?" Emmett cries. "I'm not finished!"
I'm starting to learn that Emmett seems to be able to consume his bodyweight in food at each meal, and although it's mildly repulsive, it's bizarrely fascinating.
"I'll make you a sandwich later," she dismisses him, and he sighs and leaves the table, Jasper following behind goading him about some videogame they play together. I help Esme clear the table then we sit back down, taking Edward's subtly extended hand because we both need the contact.
A protracted moment passes, the four of us sitting in absolute silence. I stare at my placemat, unmoving.
"So," Carlisle starts, making me flinch slightly. "Obviously, today didn't go so well."
Edward scoffs.
"Honestly, most of what happened today was expected," he continues, and Edward's head snaps up with a glare.
"You sent us in knowing that asshole was going to do that shit?" he spits, and I squeeze his hand tightly, a silent instruction not to do anything too rash.
"Garrett is an expert in his field," Carlisle explains evenly, completely disregarding Edward's antagonism. "He knew that you were not likely to be receptive to him, so he provoked you to see the extent of your... responses to stress. Think of it as something of an icebreaker."
"Fucking douchebag," Edward mutters, and I grimace. The doctor's actions seem so callous, to try and manipulate us like that.
"Eventually, you'll go back and see him again," Carlisle continues.
"Not fucking likely."
"Language," Esme chides weakly. I look at her and smile gently, sensing just how sad and uncomfortable she is. I understand her feelings completely.
"Until then, Garrett has suggested a couple of methods that we can apply to help you until a time comes where you decide that you may want to talk to someone."
"Oh really?" Edward asks, his tone derisive. "And what, exactly, are those?"
"Well, Edward you'll be starting personal training sessions with a friend of Garett's that specializes in people who have... trouble... channeling their aggression."
Edward glares at his father's implication, but Carlisle holds his gaze until he sighs and looks away. There's a resignation about him that is somewhat unfamiliar, but I'm just happy he's chosen not to fight his father on this.
And, if I'm being honest with myself, an opportunity for him to let go of some of his anger might be a good thing, at least for my panicky disposition. I know that Edward feels that his aggression is warranted, but I'm not entirely sure that I can take much more of the adrenalin and fear that consume me everytime he puts himself in a situation where he could end up getting hurt.
"And Bella?" Esme says, contributing to the conversation for the first time since it's started. I look to her, immediately nervous as to what's in store for me. "We have something for you too, but it's outside."
My nerves combine with confusion at her somewhat cryptic statement. She stands, extending a hand to me, but I keep mine firmly in Edward's, pulling at him as I stand with the intention of following her. He squeezes my hand reassuringly, because he knows me too well, and gets up. I walk slowly towards the back door, Esme almost skipping ahead with an excitement that only befuddles me more.
Once we're outside, her walk turns to a run as she darts over to something that I haven't seen in the backyard. I walk over slowly, trying to make sense of the sight before us until we get close enough to see what it actually is. Edward stops dead in his tracks, pulling me to a halt with him.
"What the fuck is this?"