Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, I just play with them. This story is rated M, and is not suitable for younger readers. Story contains violence, coarse language and sexual "situations". Please do not read if any of these things offends you.
Note: [Beta'ed by: adt216]
Chapter 26 – "End"
Isabella Swan
He had grabbed my arm. He had pulled up my sleeve. He had traced my scars with his fingers.
And I let him.
I didn't think he realized what a big deal that was. I actually thought I was going to pass out when I first felt his fingertips grace my skin. Nobody had ever been allowed to even see my scars, let alone touch them. I could hardly touch the scars myself – so to have someone else do it was monumental.
And to have him do it was something else entirely.
Why had I let him do that?
I guess that was why when he asked me if I had his back, I couldn't not say yes.
He had seen a part of me that I had never shown anyone, and he didn't even realized it.
The moment he had grabbed my arm – and I had let him – was the moment I knew that I was already in too deep with this boy. We were so similar, while at the same time, we couldn't be any more different. We had lived such different lives though we had both grown up in boring, old Forks.
We had basically 'known' each other for our whole lives, but it wasn't until today that I think Edward had finally seen me as a human being, and not some waste-of-a-space bird. He had proven that by showing up at my window instead at some friend's house. He said that he had no other place to go, and for some reason, I believed him.
That was another reason why I didn't hesitate to have his back.
How bad had his life become if I was the only one he could turn to? He didn't even like me; he still hated me. He said so himself. I couldn't blame him for that. A normal person would have hated him back, but I wasn't a normal person. I couldn't hate him, because I simply didn't have the energy for it. Besides, there really wasn't any more room left in my body for hate. I was already consumed with hate, and I couldn't add any more to it even if I had wanted to.
Maybe I would feel better if I had someone to like, or at least not hate.
Hating people was tiresome, and even though I was angry with Edward when I had first woken up at the hospital after the accident, I still couldn't find it in me to hate him. There was only one reason for me to hate him – and it had nothing to do with the mean things he'd said and done to me in the past; it wasn't even about the fact that he had hit me. The only reason I would hate him was because he hadn't killed me that night.
Edward was still staring at my arm, even though the sleeve was down and he couldn't see my scars. It was almost as if he was trying to see through the fabric.
"Hasn't your mother taught you that it's impolite to stare?" I asked softly.
He looked up at me and smirked lazily.
"Yeah, but it's like an eclipse… you know your eyes will burn if you look at it, but you can't fucking help it," he replied. I bit my lip as I let my fingers play with the edge of the sleeve. I looked down on my lap as I tried to make sense of the thoughts flying through my head. And the feelings that followed.
"Was it a big deal?" I whispered.
"Was what a big deal?" he asked, puzzled.
"When you… when you came to the hospital…"
"Which time?" he huffed, and I chuckled humorlessly. Touché.
"The time when you realized you weren't constant… was that a big deal for you?"
I turned my head and met his gaze. His eyes were the only way I could tell if his answer was going to be a lie. It's amazing how much you can find out by just looking into someone's eyes, and this was one of those times I really needed to find it all. His answer was important, because it would help me settle a few things.
He rested his head against the wall as he stared back at me calmly.
"What the hell do you think?" he replied coolly.
"I don't know what I think, that's why I'm asking," I replied honestly.
We looked at each other, both daring the other one to break the silence. But I was not going to budge, and I guess Edward realized that.
"Yeah, it was. I usually don't break down in random people's rooms… hell, I usually don't break down. Period." His voice was tired and drained. He wasn't even trying to cover it up. "Why do you ask?"
I swallowed thickly and pulled at my sleeve. He looked down and followed my movements with his eyes. Neither of us said anything as I pulled the sleeve up all the way to my elbow. The scars were screaming at me with their presence, but I knew I had to do this. Again. I had to have him realize what a big deal this was for me.
I squeezed my eyes shut so I didn't have to look at them. I didn't want them. They shouldn't be there. Why was I even doing this?
Trust is something you earn.
It's not easy if the person already hates you.
Why do you need Edward's trust?
Because he asked for mine.
He lifted his hand and once again started to trace the oddly shaped scars on my arm with his finger. I tried to keep my breathing under control by breathing through my nose. I could feel my heartbeat pick up. I was pushing it; I knew I was. I was going into panic mode, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I could feel Edward's eyes on me; he was looking at my face, not my arm, but he kept tracing the scars.
"This is a big fucking deal to you," he said quietly, almost to himself.
"You have no idea," I whisper-hissed through my teeth.
He immediately stopped tracing my scars, and before I had time to react, he pulled my sleeve down roughly.
"No wonder you're fucking suicidal. You're fucking masochistic," he spat, almost as if he was offended by the fact that I had let him touch my scars. This wasn't about me being masochistic; this was about me trying to make him understand. Because how could we trust each other if we didn't understand each other first? You can't trust something or someone you don't understand.
In a way, I guess he was right. Considering I was still breathing, I must have been somewhat masochistic.
"Did you get some kind of sick kick out of that? Did that shit turn you on or something?" he said as he wrinkled his nose in disgust. I felt my throat close up, and I choked on a sob.
I really wanted to hate him in that moment. That would have made things so much easier.
Why was I so desperate to have him understand? Just because he came here crying in the middle of the night? Was I so desperate to have someone to lean on that I didn't even care about who it was? Did I really need someone that badly that I was prepared to settle for the biggest self-centered jerk on the planet just because he had no other place to go but to my window?
"Fuck," he mumbled and nudged me. "I'm fucking sorry, alright? I'm not one to judge. What turns you on is your fucking business… if you like pain and suffering then that's your thing, I've experienced worse. You know Tanya? Of course you know Tanya. Anyway, that bitch likes feet… like, reeeeally likes feet. Once she even asked me to-"
"God, Edward, I don't want to hear about that!" I cut him off annoyed. He looked embarrassed for a second, but collected himself quickly.
"My point is, you're free to like what the fuck you want. I guess I'm just fucking surprised you were that… kinky," he chuckled awkwardly. I gaped at him in shock – was he really talking about my sexual preferences? He must have been seriously uncomfortable by my silence, because he kept rambling. "But I guess I can't fucking blame you…I guess everybody likes a good spanking once in a while-"
"I don't get turned on by my pain! What the hell is wrong with you?" I hissed.
"Then what the hell was that with your arm about?" he asked, almost offended. "At the hospital you looked like a turkey caught in the headlights when you saw me noticing your fucking scars… but now you let me trace them? What the fuck is that about?"
I narrowed my eyes at him, not liking his tone one bit.
"Do you want me to close the window?" I asked, knowing he would get the hidden meaning behind my words. His offended expression quickly faded, and for a second there, I was certain that I had seen a flash of panic in his eyes.
"I'm just trying to figure your shit out, alright?" was all he said.
"By talking about my sexual preferences?"
I would have been mortified if it weren't for the fact that I was too shocked to feel anything else. Were we really talking about what turned me on? As if there was anything in the world that would ever turn me on.
Sex was not a good thing in my book. Having sex was something you were to be ashamed of. Sex was bad. So very, very bad. Having sex was dirty – and not in a good way – and it ruined your soul. You could only have sex when you were married – and not for pleasure, only for reproduction.
I didn't even touch myself for 'pleasure' because that was considered bad too.
Sex was not for pleasure. A girl was not supposed to feel pleasure.
Sex is bad.
You had to stay pure for as long as you could, and no one should even come close to my lady parts. Not even myself.
Pleasure is bad.
As the words echoed through my mind, it was as if it wasn't me thinking them. The whole subject of sex always echoed like a robot voice in my head. It wasn't really me thinking them; it was Mom. Mom had told me throughout my entire childhood all about how bad sex was - before she had almost killed me.
"Maybe we should just go to sleep," I suggested in a tired whisper.
"Sounds like a good idea," he agreed, sounding relieved.
The bed was small, and he tried to make himself comfortable by sitting by the foot of the bed while I laid under the covers. He could have slept beside me; there was just enough room for him to do that. But it would also mean that we would have been forced to sleep closer together than either of us was comfortable with. It was one thing to sit beside each other on the bed; it was something else entirely to sleep together in it.
Sleep together… I wondered if Edward had ever slept with a girl without having slept with her first. Edward didn't come off as the type that stayed long enough to cuddle afterwards, let alone fall asleep with the girl.
I tried to make myself as small as possible on the bed, which was nearly impossible with my injured leg.
Edward looked really uncomfortable as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him and over the edge of the bed.
Our eyes met for a brief moment, and I smiled sadly at him.
"Sweet dreams, Edward," I whispered as I remembered how he had talked in his sleep at the hospital, mumbling something about blood. He smiled crookedly and nodded once before closing his eyes. I reached to turn off the lamp before closing my eyes.
I'm already dreading tomorrow.
I was abruptly awakened by someone shaking me. I was already panicking when my eyes flew open and a terrified scream escaped me.
Edward was quicker than the scream. He quickly put a hand over my mouth to muffle the sound.
"Jesus Christ, Swan, it's just me," he said with an annoyed tone. "I just wanted to tell you that I'm leaving." He removed the hand from my mouth, and I could almost taste him on my lips.
"What time is it?" I asked with a hoarse voice.
He glanced down on his cell phone in his hand.
"Barely four thirty… I couldn't fucking fall asleep, and you were right… your dad is going to kill me if he finds me here, and I rather stay alive for while longer than have to die just because I had no other fucking place to go." He smiled darkly as he shook his head to himself. "Some of us don't have a death wish."
I bit my lip and felt oddly offended by his words. He trivialized something that was so very deeply rooted in me and made it out to be some kind of joke.
"Maybe you should find another window… mine might be closing very soon," I whispered, as I bit down on my trembling bottom lip. I looked away, but he grabbed my chin and made me face him.
I was still lying flat on my back on the bed, and he towered over me.
It was an awkward position to be in.
He was frowning as he stared down into my eyes. His intense green gaze was hypnotizing, and I couldn't look away even if I wanted to.
"Swan, I have no fucking idea what the hell you've been through or what the hell is going on in that stupid head of yours… but I know one thing. Nothing is worth taking your own life over. You hear me? Nothing. People suck. We both know that. But don't fucking give them that kind of power over you! By taking your life, you let them win." He was almost snarling at me, and I got confused – as well as annoyed – by his speech.
"You wouldn't know the first thing about that," I replied coolly, trying to ignore the fact that he was still holding my chin. "By killing myself I win. They lose. It's as simple as that."
"No, it's fucking not," he argued. "I know this will sound like a damn Hallmark card, but it's the fucking truth… life is fucking precious, and if you're willing to take your own just because you think life sucks right now, then you clearly didn't deserve to be born in the first place."
I narrowed my eyes at him, but he didn't even bat an eye. He thought he had me in a corner, ready to bend to his will. As if he had any power over me or my life or my choice to take it away. It annoyed the hell out of me that he thought he could just come in here and start ordering me around. What gave him the right? A few weeks ago, he was standing on the parking lot threatening me to take my life himself. Was he now angry that I would beat him to the punch?
"Edward, you may think that life is all butterflies and rainbows, but you're wrong. People are evil. People do evil things and they hurt you. They will break you down to the point where you have no reason to continue breathing, even if you want to."
"Oh please, don't give me that shit! People suck, yeah, I know! But high school ends, you know. You will never have to see those people again."
I tilted my head to the side, still with his grip on my chin.
"I couldn't care less about the people at school. This is not about them."
He smirked darkly and he nodded.
"Don't I fucking know it. It's about your mother." My face fell, and his smirk grew. "You talk in your sleep," he explained. I opened my mouth to say something, but no words came out. What had he heard? His smirk faded when he saw my frightened expression, but that did nothing to calm my nerves. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet and almost pleading. "Swan, I'm fucking serious. I swear to fucking God that I will tell my dad, or even your dad, about your plans if you don't…" He trailed off, giving me a pointed look.
"If I don't what?" I croaked.
"You will not kill yourself. It's as simple as that. There's no 'if' in that equation," he replied simply.
I finally felt the hatred I wanted to feel for him. He was standing in the way of my only way out. He wasn't going to let me die, even though he hated me.
He called me a masochist, but he was a sadist.
He knew he was torturing me by threatening to tell our parents about my plans. He knew he would get me in trouble. He knew.
Was this his revenge? Not letting me die?
"Edward…" I pleaded, but he just shook his head.
"I didn't kill you that night, okay?" he said quietly, almost whispering. "I don't know why the hell you told me about your plans, and I honestly don't doubt you for a second that you will actually go through with them. But if you killed yourself, it would be as if I did it myself… since I knew about it and let you go through with it anyway… you make me responsible because I could have fucking prevented it. Is that fair? Making me a killer just because you think your damn life sucks?"
In a weird and twisted way, his words made sense. Of course, that made me hate him even more.
"Trust is something you earn," I whispered in return. A flash of recognition lit up in his eyes. He knew exactly what I meant by that, it answered his question about why I had told him.
"Why are you even bothering with that if you're not gonna live long enough to benefit from that shit, anyway? You're just wasting our fucking time… or is this your last chance at getting back at me for what happened? Pretending like you don't blame me when in reality, you blame me for all of it."
I shook my head, and I guess he finally realized he was gripping my chin. He let go of me and sat down on the edge of the bed instead.
"Damn it, Swan, what the hell do you want from me?"
"Nothing. I want nothing from you."
"Well, there is something I want from you… and that is that you keep on breathing. Is that too much to ask for?" His voice rose in frustration, and I glanced passed him at the door afraid that someone would have heard him. But the house remained silent, and the door remained closed. I turned my eyes back to Edward and gave him a sad smile.
"I can't live just for you, Edward," I sighed.
He smirked at me and leaned forward. Our noses were practically touching, and for a fleeting moment, I almost though he was going to kiss me.
"Yes, you can. I'm not going to be your murderer," he breathed in my face.
"I'm just making some space for the next goose whom you are sure to torment," I replied in a shaky voice.
"Use that fucking word again, and I swear to fucking god that I will kill you myself," he snapped, still with his face so eerily close.
"Is that a promise?" I mumbled.
"Yeah, it's a fucking promise," he spat. I couldn't help but smirk as the next words left my lips.
"I'm the goose, and I'm a waste of space. That is what I will always be. Nothing will ever change that." He narrowed his eyes at me as I mocked him, his nostrils flaring in anger as he stood up abruptly from the bed.
"I'm so fucking done with this shit. Fuck you, Swan. Fuck you."
I could almost see the waves of anger that rolled off of him. He pushed open the window roughly. I almost expected it to break by the force. He didn't glance at me before climbing out without a word and disappearing into the darkness of the early morning.
I sighed deeply as I sat up and reached to push the window down.
It closed with a low thud, and it felt like I was closing more than just a window. Edward would not come back. I had pushed him too far. Trust may be something you earn, but I had pushed it too far by giving him too much. He knew about my plans, and I guess that was wrong.
How could I tell him? It didn't matter if I wanted him to trust me, so I could trust him, or whatever. Trust wasn't the issue here. Telling someone else about your plans to kill yourself had nothing to do with trust. Edward had it right – it was wrong to tell him. When I finally kicked the bucket, he would always have to live with the fact that he had known about my plans, indirectly making him my killer by letting me go through with it.
How could I put him in that position? It was wrong. It was beyond wrong. It was… wrong.
I laid back down on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
I can't do anything right… I keep pushing people away…
I closed my eyes when I felt them well up with tears that would never fall. I was both physically and mentally exhausted, and it didn't take long for me to fall back into a restless slumber.
I awoke a few hours later to the sound of chatter and laughter from the other room. I tried to ignore the feeling of normalcy it brought me. As if everything was exactly like it used to be.
I winced in pain as I sat up in my bed. I must have slept in an awkward position, because it felt like my leg was bent the wrong way or something, which of course only led to more pain. A soft cry escaped me as I carefully tried to slide my legs over the edge, so I could leave the bed.
The chatter from the other room quieted immediately, and I heard someone near the room. A soft knock on the door was followed by it swinging open.
"Sweetie, you okay?" Mom asked softly as she entered the room. She raised her hand to stroke my hair, but I flinched and leaned back so her hand was touching nothing but air. She frowned and shook her head disapprovingly. "Are you in pain? Where do you keep your medication?" she asked, and I quirked an eyebrow at her. Was I in pain? Was she freaking kidding me?
"I'm fine," I replied through clenched teeth. "Leave me alone."
"Let me help you to the bathroom. I figure you might want to take a shower," she said, still with that disapproving frown on her face.
"I can help myself, thank you," I muttered.
"Oh, Bella, always so stubborn." She laughed and waved dismissively at me as she left the room. I almost growled as I watched her retreating back.
I grabbed my crutches, which were leaning against the foot of the bed, and wobbled my way out.
Mom had joined the others in the living room. I threw a glance at the clock above the fireplace – which we hadn't used in years – and noticed it was barely after ten. No wonder I felt drained, I hadn't gotten much sleep at all, and the sleep I did get was mostly restless and uncomfortable.
"Morning, Bells, you're just in time for brunch," Dad said with a smile. I pretended as if I hadn't heard him as I made my way towards the stairs. "I thought we agreed that you wouldn't go upstairs," he argued when he realized where I was going. I sighed deeply and turned to him.
"I need to take a shower. As far as I know, we have only one shower, and it's upstairs. So excuse me for not wanting to take a bath in the kitchen sink!" I snapped in annoyance.
"I'll help you!" Jacob said, jumping up from his place on the couch. He was by my side in an instant. I gave him an incredulous look.
"If you think I'm going to let you help my daughter take a shower, then you have another thing coming," Dad said to Jacob, but I saw in his eyes that the situation amused him.
"Of course, Chief, I would never take advantage of your daughter until we're married," Jacob replied with a wink. Everybody laughed, thinking it was funny.
But I didn't.
I glared at Jacob with narrowed eyes, and he smiled as he looked back at me, as if he thought I was joking and was not really annoyed by his stupid remark.
"Let's get one thing straight, Jacob, you and I will never ever be together," I said, barely able to keep my voice level and calm. There was no limit to the anger that surged through me at that moment.
"Oh, Bella, don't be ridiculous. You guys were made for each other," Mom laughed from the couch, and I didn't even bother to glare at her too. I turned around and made my way upstairs instead. I ignored Jacob when he asked me if I needed help, and luckily for me, he took the hint and let me be.
Taking a shower isn't the easiest thing when you almost pass out from the pain of undressing. And when you're undressed, it's a whole different pain - trying to wash yourself clean without getting the cast wet. Even if I had covered it with a plastic bag or something there was still a risk it would have gotten wet.
I still felt an odd attachment to the pretty flowers and my Brother Bear, and I didn't want to get water on them and risk the drawings being ruined.
It took me forever, but I finally managed to get cleaned up. I put on my bathrobe and put my pajamas in the hamper before leaving and wobbling over to my room.
I tried not to wrinkle my nose when I saw my unmade bed. There was a distinct smell of… guy in the room. My room was not big by any means, so of course the smell of Jacob would linger in my room after he spent the night sleeping in my bed.
I made a mental note to burn the sheets later.
I dug out a few pieces of clothing to wear and went back to the bathroom to get dressed. By now I had become somewhat of an expert at pulling on my pants without causing too much distress to my leg. But I guess it was easier now – since I had found that Mom had taken it upon herself to cut several pairs of my pants. I guess the crazy woman didn't realize that this cast was going to come off eventually, and I would be forced to buy new pants because she thought it was a good idea to cut the leg off of almost all of them.
By the time I 'finally' made it back downstairs, it was already past noon.
Taking a shower in my condition may have taken forever, but I didn't mind at all. It just meant I didn't have to spend as much time with the lunatics downstairs. But I also knew I couldn't stay hidden forever.
What was supposed to be the brunch became my lunch. The kitchen table was overflowing with food, even more so than it had been during dinner last night. Mom heard me come down the stairs, and she ushered me to a seat before I had even stepped off the last step.
She pushed me down on the chair, without much consideration for my leg, before she began shoveling food onto my plate.
"Where are the others?" I asked confused as I looked around. The house was quiet except from the sounds of her shoveling food around. She turned to me, and I looked up to meet her gaze.
I stopped breathing.
Her eyes were empty, and the pupils were dilated.
"Oh, sweetie," she cooed and stroked my hair. "You are so beautiful… but why do you keep insisting on making things so difficult?"
I swallowed thickly, my mind going a million miles a minute as I tried to figure out what I had done wrong now. What had I done to upset her? What had I done to make things 'difficult'? What had I done?
"Billy mentioned he heard that you had company last night… he said he heard a boy. Who is this boy, sweetie? And why does he visit you in the middle of the night?" she asked, her voice was a weird mix of love and menace. As if she was asking because she was concerned about me, but also as if this was something really bad.
I felt all blood rush from my face when I realized that Edward's visit hadn't gone unnoticed after all. He was going to get into so much trouble.
"Well? Who was it?" she asked again, her face and eyes totally void of all emotion. It was like talking to a robot. The only thing giving her away was the scary tone in her voice.
I felt an odd sense of relief when I heard her ask again, and it took me a moment before I realized why. It was because she didn't know who had visited me, and that meant I could lie. Edward didn't need to get into trouble for this after all. I could still save him. He might have been an ass before he left, but he had every right to be. And keeping his visit a secret from my mother was the least I could for him in return, especially if I was going to make a killer out of him soon.
"It was just… a friend," I croaked.
"Tsk tsk, Bella. It was a boy, and a boy is never just a friend," she chided, her voice still not matching the emotionless pools that were her eyes. "Are you not pure, Bella?" She had been stroking my hair, and when her hands reached the back of my head, she grabbed my neck tightly. "We will have to make arrangements if you're not pure. You know this, Bella, you need to be pure!"
Her grip on my neck tightened and I felt panic surge through me like a wildfire.
Please, just kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me.
I had always wanted the ending of my life to be my choice.
I wanted to decide when and where and how.
And I had decided.
This was when. This was where. This was how.
"Please, just kill me already," I whispered, the words barely audible to my own ears.
Her grip tightened again, and I could feel her sharp nails dig into my flesh. She would once again draw my blood if she just squeezed a little tighter, piercing my skin with her nails.
"Bella, you know what's been decided, so why are you making this so difficult? You know the rules," she chastised. She removed her hand from my neck - I could still feel her fingers and nails digging into my skin – and gripped my chin instead. She turned my head roughly so I had no other choice but to meet her empty gaze. "You are to stay away from that boy. You hear me?"
If she had been a normal mother, I would have ignored her order. I would have nodded and agreed just to get her off my back, and then I would have seen the boy behind her back instead. Because what was the worst thing she could do to me if I didn't do as she told me? Ground me?
Yeah, a normal mother would have. But I didn't have a normal mother, and I knew all too well what she was capable of.
"I hear you," I whispered in agreement.
"Good, why don't you eat something," she said with a wide smile that didn't reach her empty eyes, as she pushed the overflowing plate of food in front of me. She stepped away and towards the sink. I didn't let my eyes waver from her for a second; I was too scared about what she would do if I didn't pay attention. She turned slowly towards me with an innocent smile on her lips. "Oh, I almost forgot. You need to take your medication. Where is it? I can go get it for you."
"I've already… erm…taken it," I mumbled, even though it was a blatant lie.
"But where do you keep it? I think it's for the best if I keep an eye on it for you since the pills that Dr. Jenks prescribed for you are pretty strong. You need to be careful with those," she continued.
Careful. Yes.
I had to be careful not to take them until I had enough of them to kill myself.
"Don't worry, I got it," I replied with a forced smile as I tried to appease her. It would not end well if she had access to my pills, and I had to get her mind off of them. "This smells… delicious." I nodded towards the food, without tearing my eyes off of her, and she smiled at me.
"You are so sweet," she cooed and stepped over to me. She pulled out the chair next to mine and sat down. She smiled in anticipation, but her eyes were still dead. "Eat. You are too skinny; you need to eat and get more meat on your bones. Nobody wants a skeleton."
I ignored the urge to roll my eyes at her. Two minutes ago she had told me that I was not to hang out with any boys, and now she was telling me that nobody would want me if I was too skinny?
But I knew who she was talking about when she said "nobody". And he wasn't just anybody.
He was Jacob Black.
I made no motion to pick up the fork. Just the thought of eating something she had made had my stomach turning. And the thought of eating anything with her sitting next to me wasn't appealing either.
Mom sighed and picked up the fork. She stabbed a few pieces of food on my plate before raising the fork to my mouth.
"Eat!" she demanded.
My mouth opened automatically, and she shoved the food into my mouth so quickly I almost choked. I tried to chew, but she was already waiting with another fork full of food. I swallowed thickly, and I coughed when a too big piece stuck in my throat. Mom looked annoyed, but waited patiently with the fork. She didn't even pat my back or anything to help me out.
She just waited.
I opened my mouth, and she shoved in another mouthful.
Choking didn't sound like such a bad way to go anymore…
Mom kept feeding me until there was no food left on the plate. As soon as she left the kitchen and gone upstairs, I rushed as fast as my legs could carry me to the toilet downstairs and proceeded with puking my guts out.
She had forced so much food down my throat that it was nothing short of a miracle that my stomach hadn't exploded. And it was nothing short of a curse that I hadn't choked. I should have, considering the amount of food she managed to cram into my mouth in such short amount of time.
I was drained, and it felt like every inch of my body was on fire. I was in excruciating pain, and I barely made it back to "my" room before I collapsed in the bed. I was sobbing as I tried to breathe through the pain, and I knew this was one of those moments where a pill would have made a difference.
One pill. Then it would all be gone.
But what if I would be one pill short of having a lethal dose when that day arrived?
The day when I would need everything to be gone.
I put my pillow over my face, and it muffled the sound of my anguished cry.
Between the shovels of food that she crammed into my mouth, she had been muttering incoherently. I couldn't make out most of it, but I did hear her mention the word "pure" more than once. And once or twice I heard her say "it's almost time." But what she meant by that, I had no idea.
I never saw any life in her eyes, and her movements were almost robotic.
I managed to ask her again where Dad was, and much to my surprise, she was coherent enough to actually respond. He was in La Push with Billy and Jacob; they had left when I was in the shower. She didn't tell me why they left, and I had a feeling I might have been better off not knowing anyway.
I stayed in my room for the remainder of the day, and Dad came home when it was almost dark out. I heard him talk to Mom for a bit in the kitchen. There was a rustling noise, and I heard him huff as he neared my room.
He opened the door and gave me a timid smile as he walked up to the window.
I noticed he didn't come empty-handed. In his hands he had a hammer and a few nails. The rustling sound I had heard must have been from him looking through his toolbox.
I was confused about what he was going to do, until he put a nail down against the frame of the window and hammered it down. I gaped at him as realization shot through me.
He was nailing the window down, so it would be impossible to open.
"No more boys," he said as he noticed me staring at him in bewilderment. He hammered down a few more nails before he made sure that it was enough by trying to open the window. It wouldn't budge. He looked pleased with his work, but I was not. "This way you can still sleep downstairs, and your mother can rest peacefully." He smiled in amusement as he put the remaining nails in his pocket and left the room.
So she could rest peacefully? Was he kidding me?
I looked at the window longingly, as if I could will it to open.
It was just a window. Why did it matter if it couldn't be open? What difference did it make to me? Yeah, I added to the feeling of being trapped in my own house – but it wasn't like I was ever going to climb out of it and run away anyway. I couldn't climb out a damn window with my leg.
But if the window is closed, Edward can't climb in…
I shook my head at myself. Edward wouldn't come back considering the way we had left things.
He would never come back.
I was all alone again.
I had been right. Edward didn't come back. The nails had been unnecessary. Mom would not have needed them to sleep peacefully. Her daughter was not going to have any more nightly visits by some boy. The boy had abandoned me now, and I didn't know why that hurt.
Of course he didn't come back. Why would he? I was the Goose, after all. He probably thought he had done enough to get rid of the guilt now. Maybe he figured that my will to kill myself was enough reason for him not to try anymore? Why would he bother trying to make up for his guilt, if I would die in the end anyway? Why waste his breath?
Why waste his breath on a waste of space bird…
On Sunday, Billy and Jacob returned. We were back to having our Sunday night dinners with them. Apparently it was now four months ago – at least that's the impression I got by the way they all behaved.
I watched them interact with each other during dinner, and I didn't know what to make of it. It was as if I was looking into a mirror that showed me the past. Because how could they all act the same after everything that happened?
Yes, I had accepted the fact that Mom was clearly insane; she had every right to act like the loon that she was. But what about Billy and Jacob? Okay, maybe Billy was insane too… but Jacob?
When dinner was over Mom told Jacob and me to sit down in the living room, and she would bring us ice cream for dessert. I was sitting down on the small loveseat, and Jacob didn't even bat an eye at the other places to sit before he sat down beside me. He smiled widely at me and rested his large arm on the back of the couch.
"Ever heard of personal space?" I hissed at him.
"Yes, but your personal space is my space too." He grinned. "Remember when we were kids and we used to take one of my dad's shirts and put it on together and pretend we were Siamese twins? You had no issues with personal space then," he rambled without even taking a breath, "… and if I remember correctly you didn't have any issues with personal space last New Year's either…" he trailed off suggestively. I gave him an incredulous look.
"Are you kidding me?" was all I managed to come up with in response to that.
"Oh c'mon, why are you so bitchy? We haven't seen each other in months, and now you're all high and mighty? What the hell?" he said with a frown. He really looked like a kid at that moment. A kid throwing a tantrum because he couldn't have his toy back. Me being his toy. "Is this about that guy?"
"What guy?" I echoed with an innocent expression.
"That guy my dad said he heard visit you, who is he? Are you dating him?" He lowered his voice and threw a glance over his shoulder before looking back at me and continuing in a low voice. "Are you sleeping with him?"
"So what if I am?" I challenged him, crossing my arms over my chest and leaning back on the couch. "So what if I am sleeping with him? What's it to you?"
He looked frightened as he threw another glance over his shoulder. He leaned closer to me, and I could feel his breath on my face.
"Bella, c'mon, you know you're not supposed to do that," he said with a shaky voice. "The legends say-"
"I don't care what your stupid legends say! I'm not a Quileute!" I snapped. "And if you want to believe that crap, that's up to you. It was fun when we were kids, but not anymore. Don't involve me. I'm done."
"But we're supposed to be together!" he argued. I looked away and shook my head.
"No, Jacob, we're not. Once it might have been a possibility, but not anymore. Not after what you did," I said quietly.
He didn't have a chance to respond, because Mom entered with two bowls of ice cream that she handed to us. She smiled, her eyes shining with excitement when she noticed the arm Jacob had on the back on the couch – and indirectly around me. Her eyes were not empty today; she almost looked like my mother.
"Have you drawn something on Bella's cast yet, Jacob? You better hurry up or all the good spots will be taken," she smiled. "I'll go get some markers…"
Jacob glanced down on my cast, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the pictures that I had grown so attached to.
"Who the hell drew that crap?" he said disapprovingly. "Did your boyfriend do it?" He said the word as if it was diseased and contagious, and I almost wanted to say yes to his accusations. Just so I could see his face when I did. But of course, I knew that the satisfactory feeling wouldn't last, and I would get into even more trouble if I did.
"A couple of friends did," I mumbled in response. I played with the spoon in the bowl. The ice cream was already melting. That didn't matter though, since I was not going to eat it anyway.
Mom came back with markers and put them on the table.
"Make it permanent," she winked at Jacob, and he chuckled in response, as if they were sharing some inside joke. Jacob nodded towards my leg as he looked back at me.
"Mind resting your foot on the table? It will make it easier for me to draw," he said, as he put the bowl down.
"You're not defiling my cast," I warned him.
"You want me to tell our parents about your boyfriend?" he replied casually as he picked up a pen and played with it mindlessly with his thick fingers.
"He's not my boyfriend!" I hissed, feeling the panic grow. I knew he wasn't playing me; he was really going to tell them if I didn't do what I was told.
"Who are they going to believe? Me or the girl who tried to off herself?" he mocked.
My jaw went slack as I stared at him in shock. He did not just go there. He smirked a little at my reaction, before looking down at my cast. His smirk wasn't even half as charming as it was on Edward. Jacob just looked ridiculous, like a kid who thought he was so cool and bad-ass. Yeah, Jacob might have the physique of a twenty year old. But he was still just fifteen at heart.
He pulled of the cap of the pen with his teeth and leaned forward.
"This is not going to hurt," he joked as he put the pen to the cast.
I squeezed my eyes shut, preparing myself for the pain. It felt as if I was preparing myself for a tattoo. As if his drawing on my cast would be permanent on my skin. I couldn't see what he was drawing, but it was almost as if I could feel the pen through the cast, piercing my skin, inch by inch.
I was in pain. Not physical pain. But pain nonetheless.
I wanted to cry when I opened my eyes and saw the picture he had drawn.
"Now it's permanent." He smiled. "Nothing can break us apart."
I met his gaze and did my best to keep my face void of all emotion. His entire face was smiling; his eyes were lit up like a child's at Christmas. He looked like a puppy-dog waiting for approval from his master, telling him that he had done well.
But he had not done well. Not even close.
"I'm tired… I think I'm going to bed now." My voice betrayed my emotionless mask, and it cracked in the most humiliating way. I stood up and steadied my shaking body on the crutches.
I walked away, and I could feel his eyes follow me.
"I love you, Bella; we'll be together forever," he said in a soft and adoring tone.
My only response was the slamming of the door behind me.
I grabbed the small pin chair, which I had brought into the room to have something to keep my clothes on, and put it against the door so nobody could come in. I made it over to the bed and plopped down. The pain that shot through my leg by the motion was easy to ignore.
I stared at the small drawer in the nightstand, almost as if I could see through it with my imaginary ex-ray vision. That particular drawer held my pills. The pills.
Maybe they were enough… maybe…
I opened the drawer and picked up the orange colored container. I leaned back against the wall, and stared at the container as I played with it in my hand. I knew what kind of relief one single pill gave me, maybe it would be enough to kill me if I took them all?
Was it worth a try?
There was a knock on the door; my eyes didn't even waver from the container.
My life and death was in that container.
"Jacob and Billy are leaving now. You don't want to come out and say goodbye?" Dad asked through the door. I was glad he had the decency not to try to open the door.
"I'm already in bed, I'm tired," I replied, without raising my voice.
"Alright then, night, Bells," he said softly. I heard him walk away, and my body relaxed immediately.
Maybe it's worth it…
I must have dozed off at some point, because when I opened my eyes the house was quiet – apart from Dad's snoring. My body was stiff from falling asleep sitting like that, and my hand was cramping. When I looked down I saw why.
I was still holding on to the container as if my life depended on it.
And I guess, in a way, it was.
I removed the lid and shook out the pills in my hand. I counted them silently in my head.
There were fifteen of them left. There used to be twenty.
Fifteen should be enough…
I inhaled deeply and breathed out slowly.
Fifteen had to be enough.
I was not taking this crap anymore.
I didn't have any water, and I didn't have the energy to go get any either. So I knew I had to take the pills slowly, just a couple at the time. I smiled sadly, silently hoping that this would be the last thing I would ever experience. This was my last day on this earth.
I raised my hand and was just about to throw three of the pills into my mouth when a sudden noise scared the crap out of me. I looked at the door on instinct, but I recognized the noise. It wasn't a knock on the door. It was a knock on the… window.
I slowly turned my head and saw a very upset Edward staring back at me.
"Swallow those pills and I swear to fucking God I will kick this window in and stick my arm down your throat and pull them back up myself!" His angry voice was barely muffled by the glass. The snoring upstairs never skipped a beat, so I guess his voice hadn't carried far.
"I can't open the window," I said to him, and he rolled his eyes.
"I fucking know that already. Those fucking nails speak loud and clear, thank you. Now, tell me how the fuck I can get inside."
"You're signing your own death sentence," I warned him.
"Yeah, and by not coming in, I'm signing yours. So, let me the fuck in already," he replied calmly.
"There's a turtle by the backdoor to the kitchen," I said, and he nodded once before disappearing out of sight. He didn't need me to elaborate.
I strained my ears as I tried to hear him get into the house. But there was no sound whatsoever. I frowned as I wondered if he had changed his mind and maybe gone home.
"Open the door…"
His voice was barely audible – and it was behind the door. I looked at it in surprise, before I finally got my senses together and made my way over to the door, removing the chair and opening it.
He gave the chair a curious look as I walked back to the bed. He closed the door behind him and put the chair back. He gave me a crooked smile as he noticed me looking.
"You seem paranoid," he mused. "Nailing down the windows and barricading the door like this." He glanced at the pills that were now spread out on the bed. "I guess you didn't want to get interrupted."
"What do you want, Edward?" I asked with a tired sigh as I collected the pills and put them back in their container. "I thought you were done with this… with me…whatever…"
He plopped down on the bed and leaned back casually against the wall as if it was the most natural thing in the world for him to be there. He almost looked comfortable. I put the container back in the drawer before sitting down on the bed. I was careful to keep my distance this time.
"So, Swan, what brought you over the edge tonight?" he asked, clasping his hands in his lap. "Why tonight? Why not Thanksgiving? Why not yesterday? Why not this afternoon? Why fucking now?" He sounded so clinical when he spoke, as if he was a doctor asking a patient where she was hurting.
I looked up at him, feeling defeated. His gaze was hard, but the cold melted away almost instantly as he met my gaze. My desolation must have been plain on my face. "C'mon, Swan, what the fuck?" he almost groaned as he leaned his head back against the wall.
"I could ask you the very same thing," I sighed. "You said you were done, why did you come back? Why tonight?"
"I asked first." He smirked sadly. "C'mon, Swan, what do you got to lose? Your heartbeat is all you got left to lose… right?" He had a point. "Trust, remember? I got your back…"
I smiled sadly at him. I wanted to believe him so badly, but I was so unsure. How could I trust him? He had said such horrible things. He had said he was done.
Does it matter? He came back.
How could I trust him not to abandon me again?
Does it matter? You got your pills.
"Jacob drew on my cast," I replied with a quiet voice. "I guess I just didn't agree with what he drew."
He frowned and looked down on my cast. He leaned forward to get a better look, and he was quiet for a moment before looking back up at me.
"Okaaay," he said, dragging the word out slowly. "What the hell was he thinking? Was it supposed to be a fucking joke or some shit? Because I can't see the punchline. It's not fucking funny." He spoke the words I was already thinking, and I bit my lip as I fought the tears I knew damn well would never fall anyway. He sighed deeply and looked back down. "This shit won't fucking do. This shit is fucked up."
"There is nothing I can do about it now anyway, is there? It's not like I can wash it all away and pretend it never was there in the first place. It's permanent."
He took a deep breath and breathed out slowly.
"I'm a fucking douche," he mumbled, almost to himself. I couldn't help but chuckle humorlessly at that.
"Don't I know it," I replied honestly. He smirked darkly at me and chuckled as he shook his head.
"I guess there is fucking more to some people than I thought," he said, almost as if he had just found that particular thing out. "All people aren't shallow fucking pools, like Tanya or Lauren or anyone else in the Skank Pack."
"You have been living in a bubble, Edward. A bubble made of titanium or something," I said with a half-smile. "You never had a reason to see past the looks of people; you never needed to really get to know anyone. You are popular. People love you. They let you get away with your douchy ways because they love you. I would never have gotten away with behaving like you do."
"And that's what's fucked up," he muttered. "Some things wouldn't have happened if some people had some fucking backup." I met his intense green eyes. There was so much conflict in there. He had so much stuff to figure out, and he had no idea where to start.
"And by some people you mean me," I sighed. He gazed back at me for a long moment before answering.
"That's exactly what I mean."
We both looked down on the cast. Jacob's drawing didn't fit with the others. Not even a little bit.
"Did he used to be your boyfriend or some shit?" he asked, with a weird tone that I didn't understand.
"No… we used to be best friends… then he did some things that… well… things that friends just don't do. I haven't spoken to him in months… and now he waltzes into my life, acting like everything is alright and that nothing ever happened." I sighed and shook my head. "I hate that guy. I loathe him with every fiber of my being."
"He must have really fucked up," he noted, and I snorted quietly.
"You have no idea," I whispered.
"But if you guys were only friends, why the hell would he draw something like that on your cast?" Edward asked confused and gestured towards the drawing.
I looked down on the cast, and I squeezed my eyes shut almost immediately. I couldn't even look at it.
It was a simple drawing, but it stood out like no other. It was a picture of two rings joined together, with 'B + J' written inside one of them and 'Forever' written inside the other. Jacob had really taken my mom's words literally – to draw something "permanent." And what was more permanent than forever?
"You wouldn't understand," I whispered.
"Try me," he said, crossing his arms over his chest.
I shook my head and smiled sadly at him.
"No."
"Trust me."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because you left. You said you were done."
"I came back."
We stared at each other in silence, and he smiled his crooked smile. It was a genuine smile.
"Edward… why do you even care?" I sighed. "Why tonight?"
He frowned a little and looked down. Ever so slowly he put his hand between us, palm up. He was looking down at it still with that crooked smile in place. I didn't even think as I put my hand in his. Our hands fit together perfectly.
"I was supposed to drive to the store today to pick some shit up… I… I didn't even make it down the driveway," he mumbled. "My dad thinks I need help… professional help. He thinks I'm suffering from post traumatic stress disorder… he doesn't know how to help me, because I'm his son and it's not his area of expertise." He swallowed thickly before looking back up at me, and meeting my gaze. "He thinks I've gone insane or some shit…"
"Have you?" I asked softly, silently hoping he wouldn't take it the wrong way. He sighed and nodded.
"I think I have. I keep coming back here, for crying out loud… how is that not fucking insane?" he asked with a humorless chuckle.
"Billy Black, who was sleeping on the couch when you were here the last time, heard you. He told my parents that you had been here, that's why my dad nailed down the window," I told him quietly. "I didn't tell them it was you, though. I figured it was the least I could do if I was going to make you a killer…"
"You're not going to make me a killer," he replied calmly, sounding so sure of himself.
"How can you be so sure?" I asked, almost getting lost in his green eyes in the process.
"Because you let me in."