It was clear that Charlie hadn't known how to react when he came home. The dinner table was set with two placemats, matching silverware, and his favorite dish steaming on his plate. The smell of freshly baked apple pie still lingered in the room.

He hadn't said much as they went through dinner, but he kept a wary eye on her the entire time, probably wondering who she was.

Now, as they scraped the last bites of pie off of their plates, he said, "Thank you for trying."

Earnestly, she replied, "That's all we can do."

It was something she had to hear herself these days. It was clear that her father was trying to hide that flash of emotion with a casual sip of water.

Charlie helped her wash the dishes, and then gave her a big, long hug. It was long enough that Bella had to bite her lip the entire time to stop from exploding with tears. But when he pulled back, she knew that he saw those unshed tears in her eyes.

He merely planted a kiss on her forehead. "That's all we can do, yes. But maybe we can get some support to help along the way."

"Support?"

He was hesitant. "Maybe we should get you someone to talk to. I've done a little research, and around this age, young women can develop all sorts of things. Troubling thoughts, depression."

She blinked quickly. "You've done research?"

"Your own grandfather had told me to suck it up. I'm thinking maybe that wasn't the right approach."

Up in her bedroom that evening, Bella snuggled deep into her comforter, with a plain t-shirt and shorts, staring distantly at the white wall across from her bed. Her phone was still on the Google search for Therapists near me, with a distinct, and slightly unsettling warning at the top to call the suicide hotline. Part of her found it pretty pointless to address the mental health crisis she was going through. At this stage, it didn't feel like it mattered.

And what would she realistically tell a mental health professional? My "vegetarian" vampire boyfriend—now forcefully turned fiancé—is the reason why I'm dying later this year so that I can join his crazy vampire cult of a family, and I'll be stuck by his side forever as he "unintentionally" murders young human women. Oh, but I'm also in this separate situation with another vampire who is supposed to be in this acting role as my mentor, who drinks my blood on the regular, and has just signed an agreement to be my forever companion to save me from my current fate with my fiancé and his cult family.

She placed tentative fingers on her lips, as if she could still feel that initial ache of when Jasper had used his teeth to scrape against them. His tongue.

That one I just mentioned? He has ruby red eyes to die for. They should be terrifying, but they're the most comforting things I've ever seen.

She stared up at the ceiling with a soft, mesmerized smile.

Before he bites me, he makes sure that I'm healthy enough to give blood. He feels around my skin, looks into my eyes, and questions if I'm taking care of myself. I know he does all that to ensure that the blood loss wouldn't harm me—because, you see, he's also meant to protect me. He serves the crazy vampire cult, and he's stuck serving them for the next almost one-hundred years. If we're mated—or, bound together…I don't want to get into this mating mess with you, because it's truly a mess. But, anyway, if we're mated, I get half of his sentence. So, you see, we help each other out.

And when she turned her head, there he was, right by her window.

But lately, I think he touches me because he wants to. He bites me because he enjoys it more than just a meal.

As he approached her, the moonlight danced over him, and all she could stare at was his face. A single objective in his eyes.

And I kissed him today. On my kitchen counter. Feet dangling and all.

Jasper leaned down, his weight shifting to his hands on the bed as he hovered over her.

Don't look at me like that. I took what I wanted.

And she took it now.

Lips brushed hers, testing, tasting. His breath was so sweet, she suddenly wondered if vampires brushed their teeth. Clutching the fabric of his shirt tightly in one fist, she pressed her mouth more firmly against his, sighing into him, coaxing him into bed. Their legs tangled as Jasper settled between hers.

There was an urgency to his movements as his hands began to roam her body, exploring, squeezing, feeling. They were rough, and demanding, as if time itself was running out, and he needed to commit as much of her to memory as he could. When Bella's lips parted for him, she could feel his smile.

And then, his fingers were at her waist, feeling around the fabric of her shorts that were too short to be decent outside of her home. With a reverent tone, he said, "I love these."

"If you take them off, they're yours."

He rocked against her, against those shorts, as he kissed her, and kissed her, and kissed her. One of his hands ran up her side, taking the hem of her shirt with it, but never quite up and off. His other hand rested against her throat, thumb tapping her skin, as if needing to keep beat with her pulse, with the rhythm of each kiss he planted down her jaw, and her collarbone.

She hadn't even felt his hand roam lower before the snap against her skin. The tear seemed to echo throughout the room. Bye bye, shorts.

"You owe me," she teased, his fingers ghosting over her hip, leaving chills in their wake.

"You said they were mine if I took them off."

"You shouldn't ruin things that belong to you."

The lips on her shoulder turned to teeth. The scrape of them was unexpected, and part of her wondered if he had broken skin, but she couldn't focus on that thought for too long, because his fingers found her underwear, and they pressed down on her clit directly. No more teasing. No more bullshit.

Jasper kissed her again, swallowing the curse on her lips as he slid the fabric to the side.

She couldn't ignore that ping at the back of her brain that asked, Isn't this moving too fast? Does this make sense?

There was no such questioning on Jasper's part, it seemed, because a finger easily slid into her. Maybe two. Bella couldn't really tell. She was too wet, too wanting. The pleasure threatened to wrap her in this cocoon where nothing else mattered. She basked in the feeling of those fingers—teasing, and working, and filling. Divine. Her hips moved with his hand, eager, aware, and demanding for more. If he fucked her right then and there, she would let him. Because what did she have to lose? What part of her was left to give?

But a sound outside of her door instantly had her legs jerking to a close, knees banging against each other. Jasper's fingers still moved, languidly in and out, seemingly not even bothered by the potential intrusion.

Her fingers came down on his wrist with a sharp whisper, "My dad."

"So?"

So?

She watched him. No. This was too careless. Too reckless. Irresponsible.

I'd barely hear him. Not when you're wrapped around me with my teeth in your neck.

Jasper would never risk it.

His fingers stilled as he looked at her, an amused, almost knowing expression. As if he could sense her thoughts and taste her worries.

"This is not you," she told him, and he only smiled in return, taking his time to retract his fingers.

"No?" He considered, seemingly in awe by her wetness that glistened on his skin. "Who am I, then?" His hands lovingly traced her thighs, attempting to pry them open. "Who am I to the wonderful Isabella Swan? A friend? A companion? Or maybe just a distraction. A convenient release."

Now there was pounding on the door. Bella scrambled, her legs pushing at the sheets, bringing her upright against the headboard. Jasper was beside her, watching her closely, the amusement gone.

Her dad called for her, and the doorknob rattled.

"You need to leave," she whispered harshly.

But he didn't whisper. Nothing about him was quiet. "No, Bella. Not when she's here."

The pounding turned frantic, rattling the hinges. Bella was certain the door would blow any second. Her father's voice came in pants. Frantic, scared. He called out for her again.

She needed to go. She needed to help him. But Jasper kept her on the bed, a hand on her thigh, so strong she could barely move. He grabbed her chin, demanding her attention. "Look at me. This is what you wanted. To ignore the world, and everything else in it. To drink, to forget, to be ignorant." His fingers dug into her skin. "So, let me distract you."

Tears filled her eyes when he kissed her, the sound of the door pounding in her skull. The haze was returning—the one that held her in its grip and refused to let go. She could barely hear him when his lips trailed off to her cheek, whispering something. She could barely hear him over the sounds of breaking bones and tearing skin. The door groaned with the weight of whoever was held against it.

Cold lips were now on her ear, nibbling, caressing. Finally, she heard him ask, "Who are you?" His thumb prodded at her lip. "Who are you when no one sees? Do you even want to find out?"

The screams from the hall grew louder. It wasn't just her father anymore. She couldn't tell who was out there, but it was a massacre. Jasper's hand cupped her face sweetly, as if he couldn't hear a single thing—as if they were perfectly safe in that little bed, in that little world.

But there was no ignoring the blood as it began to pool beneath the door like thick syrup, sliding against the hardwood and staining the rug by the bed. An intruder tainting their moment. Jasper's head snapped in attention to it.

Eyes wide, Bella fought to get out of bed, the clawing on the door too close, and too real. A groan. Her father. Charlie. She cried, "We need to help him!"

"No."

"Jasper," she pleaded.

"I don't protect him. I protect you. He dies. You live."

But there was no protecting her. The door burst open, chopped in half, and chipped in many other places. Alice Volturi, with fury in her red, murderous eyes, locked in on Bella. Blood dribbled down the side of her lips, and she licked them clean with a simple swipe of her tongue.

Her tone was sickly sweet—mocking, as she took in the sight of them in bed. "How could you do this to Edward? Don't you know that you belong to him? To me?" And then, as if entirely bored with the dramatics, her gaze simply flicked to Jasper. "Hold her down."

Bella fought. She struggled and squirmed, but Jasper held onto her shoulders. He was seated right behind her, and Bella couldn't even find the strength to twist back to him. And when Alice stepped out of the way, Carlisle Cullen was there. He had ended a phone call, casually sauntering over to her bedside. Those angelic, golden eyes were filled with purpose. He took one more step, and bent over her.

She tried to back away, but she was locked in by the firm hands on her body. One of them released, grabbing her hair instead. Jasper tugged her head to the side, running a finger down her throat adoringly.

"You will make a fine mate to my son, Isabella Swan," Carlisle whispered with allure.

And Bella screamed as his teeth pierced her neck.

Heart pounding, Bella covered a hand over her lips before she could make a single sound. Panting against her palm, she looked around the room, and only when she knew she was safe and alone in her bed did she slowly let her hand fall. Her eyes darted to the door, ensuring that it was solid, and intact, with no blood seeping from the bottom.

The clock by the bedside read 3 AM.

She got out of bed, feeling twitchy and unwell. The first thing she did was pad over to her dad's room and confirm that he was still alive and breathing. The soft snoring she heard before she even approached his door was enough to give her comfort.

Her heart rate had calmed by the time she made it downstairs. But when she found herself in the kitchen, opening up the pantry door, she knew she was making a mistake. The bottle shook in her hands, and when she poured some of it in a glass, she knew she needed help. This wasn't a casual drink. This wasn't a regular, harmless glass of wine.

She was pouring because she was losing her mind, and her sanity was crumbling to bits.

When had she let it get so bad? She took a sip, and immediately resented herself for it.

Her phone was on the counter, and she finally picked it up to go through her messages. A few from Edward planning their movie outing, one from Monica, who refused to stop sending her notes from class, and one from Jasper.

He had texted her four hours ago. How was dinner?

She had already been asleep. She texted back now, Fine.

And the moment she hit send, she knew she had made another mistake.

She winced when the phone vibrated with a response that came back entirely too quickly. Why are you awake?

Bella chewed her lip, and took another sip. The reds were her favorite. Full-bodied, they left a sizzle on her tongue with the aftertaste.

She squeezed her eyes shut when the phone vibrated in her hand with another text. Persistent. Bella.

"Bella," she whispered bitterly. "Unstable, unreliable Bella. With a drinking problem? What a fucking twist."

Couldn't sleep, she replied, hoping he would just stop responding. Stop pestering. He'd ask her why, and she'd tell him it had been a bad dream. He'd ask about the dream, and she'd tell him…

She shook her head, and took another sip, the wine glass making too much noise as she placed it on the counter.

Buzz. Company?

She wanted no one to see her like this. Maybe you shouldn't. I'm exhausted.

And a little scared, and a little too sober.

The response came back slower than normal. What if I want to come over, and I'm exhausted, too?

She asked in return, How are you exhausted?

He didn't respond until two minutes later: Open the door.

Shit. Bella took a big gulp from her glass and dumped the rest down the sink. As if he wouldn't be able to smell the evidence. As if her breath wouldn't give her away.

Running a hand through her hair, she stepped up to the door and cracked it open. The sight of him froze her in place, and there was a sudden flash of him in her bed, in-between her legs, his fingers digging inside of her.

Who are you when no one sees?

She almost slammed the door in his face. And Jasper might have seen something in her expression that kicked him into gear.

"Bella," he said gently. "Can I come in?"

No words, just action. When she let go of the door, it slowly swung open, as if the house wanted him there too. She retreated inside and caught sight of the open wine bottle tucked away by the fridge. It made her sick.

She sat on the couch, her gaze averted. She didn't want to watch as he looked around the kitchen, sniffing out the source of the poison. He would assess the stained wine glass in the sink, and the trembling hands in her lap.

He sat at the armchair to her diagonal, giving her plenty of space. She could feel his gaze as it raked over her, and she instantly felt cold in those shorts. But he didn't tell her that he loved them. He wasn't even touching her.

Then why was she still shaking?

"This has just been a gradual downfall into hell, hasn't it?" She asked, perhaps to no one in particular.

Jasper took his sweet time to respond. He seemed to settle with a diplomatic, "I think your father is rightfully concerned."

She didn't want to talk about this. She felt weak, and stupid, and helpless, the alcohol dampening her responses, smoothing out her words. "Your shirt is ripped."

He glanced down at himself.

"Nomads?" She asked.

"Just two."

"Has Carlisle ever just considered making friends?"

"No."

Carlisle was the type to squash a bug than carry it outside. He was also the type to kill her, but not really. Only in the sense that it would imprison her for eternity.

She pulled her knees into her chest, resting her head on them. "Is that why you're exhausted? Are you hurt?"

"This isn't about me."

Her eyes squeezed shut at the dizziness that came. Her tolerance was still shit. "Just a bad dream."

"Bella, look at me."

Look at me. This is what you wanted. To ignore the world, and everything else in it. To drink, to forget, to be ignorant.

She couldn't look at him, not when he evaluated her with that unreadable expression. He approached, but not with the speed he usually did. He usually never cared what his vampirism looked like to her, except for now. Slow, human steps. Cautious, as if he might scare away an animal.

She flinched before he ever touched her, and that seemed to keep him from doing so.

"It's times like these," he said, "where I wish your shield didn't matter. Because I could come in there, and fix it. I could mess with those chemicals in your brain that are causing this, and bring you relief. I could release you from this."

Who am I to the wonderful Isabella Swan? A friend? A companion? Or maybe just a distraction. A convenient release.

She dug the heels of her hands into her eyes, pushing dark spots into her vision.

"I wanted to do the same at the cabin. When you told me to drink, but you were far away. You had receded so deeply into yourself that you were merely a vessel. You dissociate regularly, Bella."

He was going to mention the alcohol, but she wouldn't let him. Her voice small, and thick with tears, she said, "I think I should see my mom."

The momentary silence made it clear that he hadn't expected that. "I think you should, too."

"We could meet in Seattle."

"Why Seattle?" He questioned.

"It's the only city my mom is willing to step foot in within Washington."

"You should be going south. Miami, Austin, L.A. Enjoy the sun with normalcy."

Bella paused, her eyes searching his with a little smile.

But he only scowled, reading her easily. "Don't stay in Washington because of me."

Instantly, her smile faded. "I don't think you understand how much I rely on you."

"I rely on you, too."

Bella looked down at his torn shirt, and at the mud at the hem of his dark jeans. "That sounds like a terrible idea. I can't protect you."

I don't protect him. I protect you. He dies. You live.

Jasper's voice cut in before she could lose her mind. "I don't need protection."

"Blood?"

He shook her head, as if she was being ridiculous. "Bella, we agreed on a contract for companionship. We have a baseline compatibility that neither of us can deny."

Baseline compatibility. She sniffled. "Why do you always talk like a lawyer?"

"I don't. But I'm arguing that I see this potential in us to harbor a strong partnership."

Her tone was dead. "I'm sorry—is this the part where you get down on your knees and declare your love for me? It sure doesn't sound like it." And then, she held up her hands, as if needing to deter him from that idea completely. "Please don't do that. That's nothing I deserve right now. I mean, look at me."

"I am."

"Okay, don't look at me. I'm a fucking mess, and I need a therapist."

"What you need is some water, and maybe some food." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, watching her from beside her. "You need to lessen your evening intake of alcohol."

Please, stop this. "But mornings are fair game?"

He definitely sensed the pain in her voice. The humor was a mask that didn't fit. "Take it one step at a time."

A/N: This chapter: A nightmare, plainly. The severity of Bella's mental health catching up to her.

I also hate when authors do this, and I have now become the very thing I despise. We all grow into our monsters.

But I'm curious—when did you realize it was a dream?

Thanks, as always, to TheMrsH, and triinityz for pre-reading.

A little taste for what's coming up:

"I shouldn't be this spoiled," he said.

"Why not?"

"You're going to die, and my feedings will be back to carefully planned intervals."

See you next time.