My days have continued into a long and confusing fluid stream of time, with moments of joy spotted throughout.
Without the routine I was afforded living with my father, I felt unstructured and useless in captivity. However, I had rules to bind me, to give my life order. In the West End house, a palace beyond all imagining, in which I feel decidedly out of place, there is no such order.
If I stir from bed to lend a hand with household tasks, as I ought to be doing, if I were a good girl, I am scolded. If I protest any of the limitless, striking and uncomfortable charity this family gives me, I am scolded.
I am in a space where the rules are that there are no rules, except that I must go against all that is known, comfortable, and familiar.
I am devastatingly grateful to the Cullen family. To Edward, who kept me alive and sane when no one else could have, and who has delivered me from my father and living homeless. Who gave me two beautiful babies, though neither of us knew we wanted them. But I am also so uncomfortable with what they have done for me.
Edward's sister, Alice, is the most overwhelming person I have ever met in my life.
Edward works his fingers methodically over the skin on my arm, the strange and rhythmic feeling easing my mind somewhat. I actually believe that Edward is much more nervous than me. He is on edge, standing, sitting, walking to the bedroom door and turning back to me in the bed.
I am sitting as politely as I can in the bed, watching him for signs of disapproval, but nothing so far. I am not sure how he wants me to behave with this sister of his. I wonder what it is to have a sister. What would it have meant to have a sister while living with Charlie? I shudder.
I suppose I may have been something of a sister to Jacob. Poor Jacob. I push thoughts of him from my mind, unwilling to stray down that mental path. Right now, my focus is maintaining my incredible luck, staying with Edward, and keeping the twins safe.
Edward has warned me about Alice, but everything that he says in warning sounds endearing. He has said that she can be over-the-top generous (seems to be a running trait in this family anyway) and will be over-eager to make friends. But I would not mind having a friend, I think. Edward is my friend now, my second ever, Jacob being first. I wrinkle my nose at the thought though, because how I feel about the two is so different.
Edward momentarily tightens his grip, remembers himself, and loosens it. Alice is here. I can tell by his heightened anxiety. He is almost shaking, trembling and barely holding himself from pacing the room.
I think that Edward has had a very complicated reaction to returning home. I cannot imagine how someone as blessed as he is, as loved as he is, could ever fear the people who give him everything. All of themselves. But then I remember what happened to us, and remember that it happened to Edward for much longer than it happened to me. Perhaps captivity was made all the more terrible for Edward, knowing the dream of a reality that he was missing, was stolen from. For me, I was in my third hell, and it was the best yet. Because it had Edward in it. The voice gave me Edward, and he gave me the twins as well. The outside world is terrifying at the moment, and I don't know how to be good in it, and a major part of me wants to take the twins, beg Edward to come, and hide ourselves away somewhere. Far, far away from all of this… this reality. These strange people that we must meet and spend time with every day.
Edward brings so many people into my life. His family, the staff at the West End house… I trust him completely, but it doesn't stop the fear. Fear so strong that sometimes I must keep from screaming. When I wake up from napping with Kit to find that Ms. Cope has returned her to her room. First, I must endure the panic that comes from not knowing where she is.
My world was one house, with Charlie. It was then one room, with Edward. It has now expanded, and seems to grow every day, and I am at once filled with anticipation and dread.
She steps through the doorway, and my first thought is how pretty she is.
She has short dark hair, very unlike mine, and it frames her little face so perfectly. She has bright eyes that jump from Edward to me and back again in a moment. She has bright red lips that split into a massive, even grin, so unlike Edward's crooked smile. She looks almost nothing like him, but at once, you can feel that they belong to the same class of people.
She is tailored and sharply dressed in crisp tight red pants, with a pretty white blouse. She has kept her shoes on, little soft-looking leather slip ons, which makes me wince. That beautiful blond hardwood in the hall does not deserve shoeprints and dirt from outside. Charlie would be so, so furious. But I push this thought away as hard as I can, and focus on looking at Alice.
She is so, so interesting to look at. So expressive. Her eyes find and hold mine, and I am intimidated by the contact. I duck my head, a lock of hair falling from behind my ear. Edward tightens his grip again, now on my shoulder, then shudders and loosens it.
He traces the shell of my ear with his fingertip, and I shiver. Alice is still smiling bright and now coming our way.
"Hello, Isabella."
I flinch. Edward snaps, "Bella, Alice, Bella."
She cocks her head at me like a little spaniel. "Do you prefer Bella?"
I shrink into Edward, but decide she is likely safe. He would not have brought someone unsafe to me, to this house, to our babies. "Yes."
She moves quickly, too quickly, plopping her bum onto my bed near my leg. It coils back toward me, and I am startled a bit that I do indeed have legs.
"I think that we are going to be great friends."
I dearly hope so.
Alice spent the day with me, although Edward got so overwhelmed and anxious that he had to leave us to be alone. He felt so, so guilty to leave me be, lingering though he was jittering around and pressing bruises into my skin with his tight hands. Using me like a crutch. Wound up and bound to snap. I asked him to leave.
I have trouble trusting Mrs. Cope and the household staff because they are doing the jobs that I ought to do. I wonder what about them is so bad, that they have been so bad, and must care for a house as I once did. I know this is a silly thought, and the rest of the world does not work the way mine once did. But it doesn't make me think any differently. My first thought will always be the one that was drilled into my young head, over and over and over.
I have trouble trusting Esme because I never had a mother like her. She seems to care so much for Edward that it fills me with a lonely sharp ache. I soothe it by loving the twins. She loves them with her whole heart, because they come from her son and her love has been multiplied. She can hardly stand to leave them with me sometimes. I am wary of her because I would not trust myself with two babies, if I were not myself. She has seen my panics and she has seen when I become a creature. When I am being so, so bad.
Esme has been reassuring in some ways, since she has set a boundary for me (thank God). She does not care for me to be naked. She had a vast collection of clothing arranged for me by the time we got home from the hospital. I did not mean to spurn it, but when it was all shown to me, it made me sick. The money that had been spent on me, and the fine materials that were meant to be sentenced to lie against my skin… no. I could hardly bear it. I wanted, like the worst kind of evil girl, to be naked like I was in captivity.
I wanted to be naked to see my own body, to always be able to keep track of my injuries. To know exactly my behavior and its consequences.
More than this, I wanted to be naked with Edward. Not in a naughty way. But when we were in captivity together… everything was so different, so easy. There were no lies, no secrets between us. Of course, Edward would not lie to me. I would never want to lie to him, but Charlie would always be furious with me for lying. So maybe I cannot be trusted. But when we were so bare to one another, we were so close.
It only took Esme finding me naked twice or thrice before she moved all of the fine clothing away. She bought me five cotton t-shirts and five "joggers" and instructed me to wear them in a specific order. I love this. On the first day, I wore the black shirt and the ivory pants. I have my order now, and I know what she expects of me. Routine.
The shirts mark the days. I have only to look down at my own dress and know exactly the passage of time.
I do favor Esme. She seems to trust me exactly as much as I should be trusted, which is very little. And she seems to know how to provide edges to my anxiety.
I am threading my fingers through strands of brilliant copper hair. It fights back with me, lying all manners of askew. I smile down at his hair. I do miss when it was such a long, wild mane. But it has retained its mustang character even now that it has been corralled.
He turns his head up to me from where it lies in my lap. He yawns slow and soft, like a sweet-mouthed puppy. He blinks his lovely eyes up at me. My heart is in my throat with love for him, before I begin to worry absent-mindedly. I hope he is a good mood. I hope I did not wake him. I hope that he slept easy. I suppose a normal girl would ask him these things, but I just continue to gaze down at him.
He brings his hand up to my face, thimbling his thumb at my lower lip. "What's in your head today, sweetheart?"
A direct question, but unfortunately abstract. I make an effort to answer. "I am thinking about living here."
He smiles, pleased. Good. "What about?"
"I am very grateful for your mother."
"Oh yeah?" He huffs a laugh to himself.
What a strange picture we must make. I am lounging on the bed as I always do these days, propped up by a few decadently overstuffed pillows. He has laid himself out across the bed, lying like a cat, lazy and near purring. I see how beautiful he is, and wonder at it.
He tenses, the ties under his skin growing taunt and drawn. "Where is Kit?"
She was here when he fell asleep. "In the nursery," I answer with nervousness, worried that he meant for her to be kept here. Will he be angry?
He draws himself up quickly, and is on his feet and out the bedroom door before I can think. He returns with her, her sweet-smelling head held close to his heart. His massive hands cradle her like the most delicate treasure. Which she is.
I feel sick, often, when I look at my daughter. When I look at her perfect soft skin and imagine someone striking her, or holding her so hard she bruises. She is a little girl. The world is so cruel to little girls. If everything that happened me up to this point could happen to me in her stead, I would live it over and over again into eternity.
I need Edward, and the twins need him. But sometimes, when I see him with her, I wonder about him in fear. This is a terrible thought, since the babies are his more than mine (everything is). But sometimes, I want to protect my daughter from her father. I worry. Because there were girls before me, and he has not told me how they each met their end. He has hurt me (at the voice's direction, but he has been taught how to punish and when to punish). What if sweet Kit grows older and does something bad? I cannot imagine it, in her sweetness, but if she is a bad girl… will someone teach her how to be good? The way that I was taught?
He smiles sweetly at her and bounces her a bit, so gently. She is so fragile. In a way, I never stopped being that fragile. I want her to grow big and strong and know how to be good so that she is never punished, not ever.