Despite our agreement to go to his place after court, Edward drives us back to mine. I understand why. My house doesn't have the constant stream of people moving about, watching and worrying and trying to make us feel better.
It relieves the pressure on us to pretend that their efforts are working.
As much as I've come to love Edward's family and appreciate how much they truly care for not only his, but my wellbeing, I understand why it is that he's not eager to head straight back to Esme's sad-but-pretending-to-be-nonchalant expression, Jasper's conspicuous silences and Emmett's frenzied, somewhat desperate attempts to relieve any tension. And if the current atmosphere in the car is anything to go by, there would have been alot of tension.
He says absolutely nothing throughout the trip, and for the first time ever, rebuffs my attempts to hold his hand while he drives, keeping it on the gearstick even though his car is an automatic. I keep my hands folded in my lap, trying to fight back the irrational tears at his small rejection. Logically, I know he needs time to process and deal in whatever way is best for him, but I need him to take my hand, not only to make me feel a little better about the whole catastrophe, but also so that I can feel like I'm doing something, anything, to help.
When we pull up at the house he turns off the ignition and places both of his hands on the wheel. His fingers are white with the pressure he's applying to it, almost as if he's trying to snap it into pieces. Just before I make another attempt to distract him, he sighs deeply and removes his hands, then throws open his door and climbs out, walking towards the front door. I sigh myself and then climb out, slowly walking over to where he's waiting.
I unlock the door and he follows me in, pulling the door shut behind us but not following me any further into my house. He turns, and pushes his head into the door, both hands pressed up against the wood. He's shutting me out, keeping his face, and his thoughts, hidden from me, and I can't bear it for another second so I walk over and wrap my arms around his waist, knotting my fingers together against his chest because I need to do something.
He flinches a little bit at the contact, but eventually moves one of his hands and places it over my own, which makes me feel like I might be getting through to him. He lets go a moment later and I'm temporarily disheartened, before he turns around within the confines of my arms so that finally, finally, I can see him.
He looks broken.
Broken, and frightened, and so angry that it almost forms a tangible shell around him that I can't for the life of me figure out how to break through.
"Bella," he sighs, and I step forward, pressing my body to his and wrapping myself around him as best I can. He doesn't move at first, standing stock still and completely ignoring my attempts to get close to him.
I move my head gently, slowing shaking it back and forth so that my hair brushes against his neck a little bit. He sighs again, but his hands move from his sides and around my body, which makes me feel a tiny, tiny bit better. I bury into him further, pushing myself against him when I get that minute amount of positive reinforcement. I feel him shift and then his lips are on the crown of my head, then my forehead, so I tilt my face up to meet his eyes again and then his mouth is on mine.
At first he's gentle, hesitant even, like he's not even sure that I'm real, but soon his kisses become passionate, aggressive to the point of forceful.
"Edward," I murmur against his attack, trying in vain to get his attention. His hands slide from my waist down to the backs of my thighs and then I'm lifted off the floor and have to wrap my legs around his waist to support myself. He shifts me up, grunting a little into my mouth as his tongue pushes forward and twines with my own. I love being with him like this, I always do, but there's something about him that feels absent...
Detached.
Like he's not even in there at the moment.
I move my hands up into his hair to try and pull his face back so I can look in his eyes and be sure that my Edward is still present, but he refuses to budge, groaning as I pull on his hair. I'm distracted by the sound, by the way he's holding me and kissing me, and my worries begin to slip away from me as a whole new need begins to make itself known.
The next thing I know we're moving, lips still joined as he manouvres us across my entryway and slowly up the stairs, my back bumping into the bannister and the wall a few times during his slightly clumsy procession.
Once he reaches the top of the stairs, I'm pressed into the wall by his large body, my legs tightening further around his waist as the need to have him closer overwhelms my mind. His hands leave my butt and stroke up and down my thighs, pushing up the floral, cotton skirt I'd worn to the interview. They move upwards under the skirt, stroking my skin and making me slightly dizzy and complete unable to recall my earlier worries as he clouds over my mind and consumes me entirely.
I moan a little at the feeling of his hands on me, and he returns that sound when I wrap my fingers tighter in his hair and shift my hips against his, urging him on. He thrusts against me once, twice, the denim scratching my skin in the most lovely way and then we're moving again. My door is kicked open and then I'm tossed onto my bed and forced to break contact from him.
Before I can even make a sound of protest he's back on me, covering me completely and I wrap myself around him once more, hands back in his hair and my legs twined with his. He reaches back and pulls my hands from his hair, locking our fingers together and pushing them into the bed on either side of my head, resting on his elbows and pressing us together even more.
When his hips begin to move against mine, I whimper and he groans deeply, and animalistic sound that I'm not sure I've heard from him before. He pushes against me again, harder this time, and one of his hands releases mine, fumbling with the buttons of my shirt before, with a jarring sound, he tears the entire thing open down to my belly button.
In that moment, everything comes crashing back to me. I pull my face from his and he moves to my throat, kissing and nipping and he's harsher than he ever has been, hips grinding against mine in an almost painful way. The hand that ripped my shirt open slides down to my leg and pulls it up over his hip, giving him better access.
Wrong.
"Edward," I breathe, but he just moans against my neck and bites down on my collar bone in a way that doesn't seem loving, it seems almost malicious.
"Edward, please," I repeat louder this time, trying to get him to release the hand he has trapped above my head, but he won't. My skirt is around my waist now, his fingers digging into the skin of my thigh roughly and this isn't right at all. I use my one free hand to push at his chest, but he misunderstands, releasing my thigh and snatching it up once more to place it with my other hand, incapacitating me.
At this moment, the panic sets in.
"Edward, please!"
"I know baby, I know," he groans as his lips move lower and he doesn't understand but I can't seem to make the words come out of my mouth. My body's starting to tremble with distress and he's reading it all wrong because he's not in there - it's not him and I'm terrified. He releases one hand to fumble clumsily with his belt and I snatch up my opportunity.
"Edward, get off me!"
It comes out as a scream, and he jumps back as though he's been tased, completely off of my body and scrambling back to the end of the bed.
"What the fuck, Bella?"
He looks confused.
He doesn't get it.
He's not in there.
"Get out," I murmur, my voice low and even.
"What?"
"GET OUT!"
And I'm screaming again.
He climbs off the bed, looking hurt and confused but I can't even bear to look in his eyes because for the first time ever, I don't know what I'll see there. I push myself up the mattress, yanking my skirt down as I press my back into the headboard and pull my legs up to cover my exposed chest.
"Bella, what's going on?"
He walks slowly around the side of the bed, and I move myself further away with every step he takes closer.
"Bella, please, you're scaring me."
I almost laugh at the unintentional irony.
"You need to leave."
"Talk to me."
"Just go. I can't... you wouldn't stop and I just... I can't right now."
His face falls, and I look away because I can't see it right now. I'm so angry and frightened and I just need him to leave so that I can break down and try to process a part of him that I've never seen before.
"Bella... I'm sorry. About your shirt, and all of it. You know I'd never hurt you, I just... I didn't -"
"Leave, please."
I don't look back but I hear his quiet footfalls and then the sound of my front door opening and closing. It's at the moment, when I know I'm alone, that I slide down, push my head into my pillow, the tears come.
A short while later, I hear the door opening again, and I sit bolt upright.
"Bella?"
I relax slightly when it's not Edward's voice, but Charlie's. I hate myself for doing it, and the sobs pick up again, my chest heaving up and down unevenly as I sputter for air. I hear my father plodding up the stairs and try to calm myself, with little success.
"Bella? Bella, are you - Oh, my girl."
He pauses in the door when he sees me, and rubs his hand over his face as he takes in the sight before him. His voice is much quieter, almost fearful, when he speaks again.
"I heard about what happened, are you ok?"
Slowly, I shake my head. Clearly, I am not ok.
He moves across the room and sits down on the edge of my bed, not sure what to do so I take the initiative. Hesitantly, I move myself until my head is resting in his lap, and the feeling of his fingers stroking gently across the top of my hair is the last thing I feel before the exhaustion of my crying jag sucks me under completely.