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BPOV

Blowing air out in a huff of frustration, I squeeze my eyes together. I can do this, it's the simplest thing… I place my hands on either side of my thighs, on the bed, and push. I heave myself upwards, onto wobbling knees and feel like a newborn foal. I breathe as calmly as I can and plant my hand solidly on the mirrored wall. My other hand goes to my stomach, smoothing along the side.

Breathe, Bella, breathe.

I keep my left hand on the wall, and turn ever so slightly towards the wall opposite my bed. One foot in front of the other… My hair wisps down into my eyes and I pout by bottom lip and puff up air. The strands don't lift out of my face, they stick to the sweat on my forehead.

I grow weaker every moment, it seems. I am trying to keep my strength up by moving around instead of just lying about in bed. But each time I rise it seems harder and harder.

There is a plate across the room that cradles my most precious gift, most recently. The voice must have slipped it to me at some point while I slept. I have never seen either door open, but Edward says he has. Only once, but the ever-so slight seams in the wall across from our beds betray them. He said it slid open so silently he thought he was dreaming. He faded back out of consciousness before he could see our captor. And the wall was as before, a maddening mirror reflecting your own face at you in an endless taunt.

I manage to make it to the plate.

There is a peanut butter sandwich on it that I have divided into eighths. I have caved already and eaten one, and my stomach begs and pleads for another. But I know eating too much too fast after so long (at least, I think it has been ages) will only make me sick and keep what my baby needs from her.

The bread is so perfect. Lovely and soft, airy and inviting looking. I should love to bury my face in it like a pillow fresh from the wash. It is a little stiffer now for having sat in the air, but I do not mind. I am just happy to have more than water, or little crackers.

I take the smallest nibble I can of the piece, and it is ecstasy. I hum in delight, and eat the rest too quickly. And another piece… but I feel as though my stomach can handle it! I vow to myself to keep it down.

The wall is up but Edward is elsewhere.

Not that there is much place else for him to be, but he is doing something on the far side of our space, between the bed and the wall so I cannot see what he is up to.

I tap the ground next to me as loudly as I dare, lest I draw the voice's attention. I try to be quiet in case he is not watching us actively, so that he does not start.

Edward's head of touseled hair swivels in my direction, and he peers over at me from under his long hair. We look so shaggy, as it has been God knows how long since either of us have gotten a haircut. I love it, to be truthful. Edward looks like he is some sort of man from the wilderness and it allows me to imagine we live off in the woods somewhere, secluded by choice. Rather than in this sterile, sleek fishbowl of a room.

He walks over to me, his legs strong and true with muscle. Edward has been kept hale and hearty for a long time now, and I cannot help but resent him for it. He sits next to me on the ground.

The nakedness factors so little into our time here now, but it still seems to strike me for a moment every now and then. The human body is so strange, and being naked constantly just adds a whole other level to interaction. My whole body seems to stir to attention when I am close to him.

Edward takes my hands in his and traces my wrists lightly so that he tickles me. I smile and close my eyes. His fingers ghost over my skin and make it rough as it pebbles. His touch is cool and like a breeze… to have a breeze whisper over my skin again!

I open my eyes and look into his.

We spend a lot of time like this, sitting together in silence. Silence always meant safety for me, and I have no desire to draw any undue attention to myself here. Looking into his eyes I imagine what he would say to me, if he could. Beyond our furtive whispering here and there, and limited lip reading, we can communicate no other way. But I would challenge anyone to look into someone's eyes for an extended period of time and not know them in some sort of primal way.

Doing this is what first led me to trust Edward. It was hard in the beginning, especially when the voice made him do very bad things because I had been a bad girl. When he cut me, I felt as though I could never look him in the eye again. There is something far more naked about the spilling of blood than the lack of clothes we live with every day. It was as though I was being incredibly lewd.

But time does heal some wounds and most of my cuts and things have faded to scars. The voice has played only hunger games with me for a long while now… and nothing with Edward. The wall has remained mostly up… we are enjoying some period of peacetime at the moment. So I am happy to have bits of cloud-bread in my stomach and this man before me.

I look into his eyes and know that I may trust him. I see only affection there, and kindness. He cares for me so… he looks at me like Jake does. I know this, though I cannot fathom it.

Charlie always told me that I was not meant to be loved.

I know neither of these men love me, but I cannot help but dream. I cannot keep Jake from my mind and I cannot help my feeling that Edward could love me one day… if I were so good he had to.

I shift my eyes away from his after I am not sure how long, and try to stand. He lets me attempt it, though I almost plow him over with my belly when I turn to find my footing. His hands and shoulders guide me up, providing a stable place to set my hand.

I am gasping by the time I am up, clenching his hand in both of mine.

Edward looks at me, worried. He opens his mouth to speak, mouths something at me, but I am just too tired to try and puzzle it out. I read his concern through the energy that flows between us, and squeeze his hand.

He picks me up and sets me on the bed, impatient with my dizziness and weakness. I know that I ought to try harder, but I am truly making a very sincere effort. I reach for his eyes to explain his, cupping his cheek with one freed hand.

He nods in understanding to me, his curls bobbing lightly in their own assent.

I feel like I flop in slow motion down onto my side, sighing with the effort of it all. He has gone from me, then he is back with my plate. He hands me another bite of sandwich but I feel the nausea rising and push it away.

The door opens, and I see the virgin wall broken for the first time with my own eyes. I see who steps through.