..::.. Chapter 39 - Sorrowful Room ..::..

Young - High School, continued ...

I open my eyes and fluorescence beam down on me, so do worried faces in my periphery. Mom's, Dad's, even Bree sits here to stare at me.

I don't speak, not until a cop steps in and has everyone step out. Then, I have no choice but to. I tell the story. He tells me how brave I was and that I was lucky. I don't say anything to that. This has nothing to do with luck. This has to do with elimination.

Dad is fuming all day. Harry is fired, and now they question his loyalty, his involvement. They try to find him, but he's gone. I know why. I know who made him disappear, because Edward has also disappeared. But most importantly, I know who planned all this. That gleam in Major's eyes still lingers when I close mine.

Everyone has something to say but not to my face. They stand outside my hospital room, door slightly ajar, and I hear what they say. Mom's tears are endless. She said, "I told you, Bella. I told you it would be like this." She cries and cries from the rage she feels. When she's not doing that, she's outside the door talking about me, arguing with Dad and threatening him about taking me away for good.

Bree squeezes my hand. I turn my head enough to keep the pain at bay. Hemorrhaging inside. Broken rib. Broken nose. Black eye. 'You're lucky. You're very lucky,' doctors said. They always say how lucky, and I surely know I'm not.

I'm crawling out of my skin, thinking of Edward's grandfather. Why would he do this and keep it from him and his own sons? There's more there. There's so much more. I have to find out. All I know is he wants me gone, or he wanted to send a message. I fume and fume, all alone in bed as people mill about, not knowing what eats at me inside.

"I'm sorry," Bree says. I look at her, and she looks honest.

"Because you did it and planned it all?" I snarkily ask.

She rolls her eyes. "You know what I mean, asshole." I give her the best, lopsided smirk I can muster. I squeeze her hand back.

"Now they'll just … freak and won't let me breathe," I tell her about Mom and Dad.

She looks over at the door and knows what I mean. "I think that ship sailed. But you're eighteen, so, yeah," she says like that'll fix things.

I'd laugh if it didn't hurt so much. Like my age matters. Mom will glue me to her hip for the rest of her life.

Bree grins. "Spoiled brat. At least you have parents who give a shit." That's a very valid point that guts me. Bree, Vick, Pete, all the high school kids, and even Edward all derive from varied dysfunctional families.

They care. Yes, they do. So, I'll give my mother what she's yearned for the longest. I'll move to Chicago and go by her rules for a change. It'll be better than any rules I've adjusted to recently. All my bad decisions rolled into this single moment.

"So …" Bree begins.

"Don't," I interrupt. I know what she's been itching to ask all day since she came in.

Her shoulders visibly drop. "Oh, come on," she whisper-shouts. "You killed two grown-ass men, practically with your bare hands. Like, who the fuck are you?"

I sigh. "A very scared human with a knife. That's all it was."

"And with a pipe, for crying out loud. I heard the place was a bloodbath. Fuck, 'Don't mess with Bella' is right," she repeats the mantra.

My eyes flicker over to her. "I'm leaving. I'm not coming back," I tell her. Her face crumbles, but she knows it's inevitable.

"Just when I was beginning to tolerate your skinny ass." Her mouth turns up. She sits back in her chair and huffs. "What will you tell Edward?"

I think about this.

"I won't," I say. I can't. His look alone will keep me here, stuck; bolted down at his beck and call. "Tell Vick he's all hers." A pregnant pause. I finally smirk at her. Bree snorts and laughs.

Then, she tenses. She grows quiet. A knock at the open door. A throat clears.

Pete walks in. The hallway outside is vacant. Dad and Mom probably moved to the lobby to yell some more. Pete pushes the door all the way open, and like a quiet mouse, he slowly sneaks in. His eyes on Bree. I do sense him hesitate when he spots her, but he works his way to my side. He moves his gaze from my toes to my black eye, and he says nothing. His fingers gingerly glide over the back of my hand. He pulls away.

"You look like shit," he says. I take a long breath that hurts.

"You should see the other guys," Bree challenges. He grins. Bree relaxes in her chair; the exchange light. I roll my eyes at her comment.

"I always knew it. Tough girl," Pete whispers.

Emotion gets caught in my throat, and it burns. My eyes follow. Fear, anxiety, and anger drain down my temples. Bree stands and holds me together. Pete flicks at a tear with a knuckle. I try to breathe.

"We're working on it, Bella," he says, the insinuation there; the hunt, the revenge.

I shake my head. "No. I didn't ask for that." Pete takes a long pull of air, stuffs his hands in his pockets, and looks out the window.

"Not your call."

I glare at him. I'd ask where Edward went, but what's the point? I gave him up. He'll do what he wants no matter my thoughts.

He makes to leave, but gets a good look at me. "I just came by to see how you were. I'll keep in touch." He pauses, hesitant. "We don't want you to be alone, not for a second. Please."

I sigh. "Is that what he wants? Did he send you to say that?" Pete doesn't react. "Tell him I don't need babysitters. I can take care of myself. And please, tell him not to come." I close my eyes to shut out everyone. If I could, I'd run away right now. Mom at my side, Chicago's 'Welcome' sign on our horizon.

It's silent. Not a joint of a limb groans, not a rustle of fabric, but I can feel Bree's hand perspire. She's nervous, shook, or something. Who cares? I'm tired.

I hear Pete finally move toward the door. "How did you get here?" he asks Bree. His tone is reprimanding.

"Oh. I just … the bus," she stammers.

"I'll take you home," he says. "I don't want you out alone." And she's fumbling to speak and stand, all at the same time. I feel her hand leave mine to grab her jacket and cover her bare shoulders. Her tank top under overalls and Marten boots in apple red on her feet. That delicate locket still hangs around her neck, and I feel it, dancing over me, as she leans in to press her lips to my cheek.

"I'll be back tomorrow. I promise. Sleep."

I take a peek and watch them leave through wet lashes. His palm gently at the small of her back. And just when the door closes in, he cradles her hand. She stares longingly up at him and follows.

Their blooming happiness, forgiveness, and a love I'll never have, walk out of this sorrowful room.

…

.

...

It's dark. The moon sets a glow in the room. Mom is fast asleep on the cot. I watch her when I wake. It took hours for her to finally let it all rest. She's antsy, angry. It radiates, making me suffocate. I go from feeling rage to feeling like we'll never find a way to get out of this hole. Crawling out of this seems impossible.

I struggle to sit. The bathroom a mile away at this point. I swing my legs off the bed, toes to the cold floor. A warm hand catches my elbow.

I startle, looking up.

Edward wordlessly moves to my side and holds me up. I pull away from him. I'm sure as fuck not an invalid, but my head seems to spin without stopping. He insists and holds me close. We reach the bathroom door where he leads me in and gives me space to be. Inside, behind the door, there's my pounding heart.

Maybe I should make noise to wake Mom. She'll have him pushed out in seconds. But his expression when I open the door makes me hold my breath.

He steps in and closes the door behind him. This small bathroom is now crowded.

His lips hover just above my forehead. He leans in, and I move away. He's patient. His hands warm my hips, but nothing else.

Then he's pulling at my hospital gown from the back. He unties the knot and unwraps me to see the beginnings of the dark bruises. The mirror behind me. His eyes there. His fingertips graze skin to feel, as if bruises have thorns or scales. His jaw settles on a firm bite.

I feel his steady breath against my neck as he maneuvers me here or there. My front. My sides. Gauze secures my bare torso. His touch finishes at my cheek.

"I will never forgive myself for letting this happen," he whispers. His mouth dips to my shoulder.

"Where were you? What did you do?" I ask sternly.

He sighs. His hands work on the gown to wrap me back up, but he doesn't speak.

"Where's Harry?" I try again.

He ties the knot and kisses my nape there. Chills make their way down my spine. It warms all of me.

I push him away. "Where is he?"

"I'm so fucking proud of you, you know that?" he continues, not listening. "I got there. I saw them. And I'm so proud."

"That's nothing to be proud of. I killed. I killed two human beings!" Tears slip down my cheeks.

He shakes his head. "You survived. That's what you did."

A sob makes its way up my chest, and it hurts every way. "I can still feel them, hear them," I say.

He nods along and holds a palm to my heart. I finally let it out. The shock and fear. I bury my face against his chest and let go.

How do I even begin to say what I saw, what is just taking up residence behind my lids, my pounding heart? This is so layered, and I have to figure it out. I feel so alone, even when I'm wrapped in his arms.

"We'll find them, baby," he whispers. "I'll make it better." I cry at his words. There are secrets around him, the people he trusts. He doesn't have the slightest idea.

"Let's leave," I whisper. "Far away. You can leave it all behind. You don't need to do any of this."

His brows knit down at me. I ball his sweater in fists. "You don't need this life, you understand? You can have a better one."

He looks down at my lips. His eyes far away, painting the picture.

"Forget your uncles. Your mom, your dad, they're gone. Alice is finally safe. That's all you need. A new life. It's what your Mom wanted. Come with me, Edward."

He gently grins, like it's futile, like I'm the most naive child painting a scribbled picture of a fantasy life. "You should rest," he says.

I press my head against his sternum. And this heavy feeling of loss settles in the pit of my belly. I'll never see him again. I'll live on alone, wondering, thinking of what could've been. Him and me.

He leads me out to the room and helps me to bed. He pulls on the sheets and tucks me in, and I feel like I'm saying goodbye for good.

"Close your eyes. In the morning, I'll be the first you see." He kisses me. His lips linger, and tears flow as I press my lips eagerly to his. He won't be here in the morning. He'll be gone. I know this. I'm sure Mom knows this. She silently sits at her cot watching him from a shadow.

Her glare burns a hole on his back from where she sits. He tucks in by me and holds my hand anyway. He has no shame, no fear—he never has. He's his father's son, his uncles' nephew, and a Cullen to the bone. He does what he wants.

….