Chapter 8: Numb (BPOV)
My body feels heavy when I wake up, as if I weigh a thousand pounds. Moving is like trying to move through pounds and pounds of sand. Even my smallest limbs are stiff and fatigued as I try to stretch out. Edward is silently beside me, helping me sit without a word.
"How did you sleep?" Edward asks me. His voice sounds unnaturally forced. It was strangely familiar.
His question felt strange considering I felt as if I'd not slept at all. My head was pounding worse than it did my first day in the hospital. Was there a threshold of pain for concussions? I'd had plenty in my life, but they never seemed to hurt as much as this one did. I'd never experienced such debilitating nausea or dizziness either.
Carlisle had been promising my pain and aches would ease with time, and they did. After a few short days, slow and deliberate movements did not send spasms of pain through my body the way they did before. My nausea trickled in and out, allowing some time for slow eating and drinking to appease those around me. Though my nightmares hadn't lessened, it was easier to fight the memories in my waking hours when I was not shunned by my pain. But it had all come back. Raging and furious after its short absence.
"Fine." I respond, though my voice is scratchy with exhaustion. Edward didn't need to hear my woes about sleeping. I did enough sleeping for him to understand that it was never satisfying.
"Any dreams?"
My heart stutters under his quiet, patient gaze. Yes, so many dreams. I dreamt of it over and over again. I felt his hands on me. I felt my wrist breaking in his grasp. I felt my legs get pushed apart. I felt his knee on my stomach. I felt the pain in my chest as I begged him not to do it. And each time, I slipped into a strange blackness that never reduced the pain or the awareness of what his hands did to me.
My body shudders without my permission as I remember the horrifying dreams. It was strange that I had not woken up screaming, or even talked at all. Whatever surge of luck I was having now, I hoped it didn't end. No one needed to know what I was dreaming of and how disgusting I felt waking up each morning.
"No."
His dark eyes watch my face carefully, before he finally nods. "Good." His voice was off.
"You didn't eat any dinner last night. How about breakfast?" He offers, sitting up beside me. "There are some pancakes already made downstairs."
He doesn't mention that I missed dinner because of a panic attack. That I screamed so much my throat felt raw now.
I shake my head, instantly regretting it. My few days of rescinding head pain were gone. "I'm not hungry."
Edward doesn't seem to hear me as he helps me up. "Let's go downstairs. Charlie will be coming soon."
I'd heard this tone from him before. I just wasn't sure when.
I sigh, pushing my thick hair away from my face. I reach for a rubber band, then drop it knowing Alice will tie my hair up when we get downstairs. It will hurt my ribs too much to tie my hair back.
Edward eyes me, his lips set in a thin line, but doesn't say a word. Instead, he reaches for the hair tie himself, pulling my hair into a loose ponytail. A shiver slips down my spine as his fingers brush against my neck, but he pulls away quickly. I don't have the confidence to tell him I'm not appalled by his touch – that I miss him. The speed as which he moves on keeps me silent. The weight of my hair tugged at the pain in my head, but I couldn't bring myself to pull my hair loose after Edward had made it.
It's been getting easier to walk, even if I lack the energy to move. Edward seems to always be prepared to carry me, though, insisting that his interference is faster and easier.
He's always right. In less than a second, he's setting me on the couch in the main sitting room. He sits next to me, throwing a blanket over both of us.
I always seemed to be cold.
I pull my legs as close to my chest as possible before it becomes too painful, laying my head against Edward's shoulder. He's gentle as he wraps his hands in mine, but his hesitance to touch me makes my stomach hurt.
"Here you are, dear." Esme comes, bringing a small plate piled with pancakes and syrup. Edward accepts the plate for me despite my earlier objections.
"You're getting too thin." Esme tells me quietly, patting my hand. She disappears upstairs without another word, leaving me and Edward alone with the pancakes.
Edward is quiet as he cuts the food for me, his eyes void of any remotion.
"When will Charlie be here?" I mumble, taking the plate as Edward hands it to me.
I stab a small piece of pancake with my fork, trying my hardest not to look too nauseated. There's no point in pretending – I can't eat. My stomach is a mess of anxiety and pain. I drop the fork back onto the plate, wanting the whole thing to just disappear.
"In an hour or so." Edward responds. He's clicking the buttons on the remote faster than the TV can react, and I can see the small dents his fingertips are making in the thick plastic. "You should hunt." I mumble after a long moment of silence.
Edward's black eyes flash to mine for just a second before they're back on the TV. The volume is too low for me to hear, and I doubt that Edward was catching anything beyond fragments of words before he switched the channel again. His expression was blank, and his body tense.
"I'm fine, Bella." His voice is tight when he responds. I can feel his hand tightening on mine.
"No, you're not."
"I'm fine." Edward says again, his voice curt.
"I won't call Jacob, if that's what you're worried about." I mutter under my breath, feeling frustrated by his behavior towards me.
Edward doesn't respond, but the remote in his hand cracked into three pieces. I've always known Edward to be controlled around me, but it seemed like he was losing it now. If he just left . . . If he went out to hunt, he'd be able to let some of this anger out. That's probably why he was needing to hunt again even though he had gone just a few days ago – he was angry.
"You're torturing yourself by not hunting." I press. "Your eyes are black . . ." I trail off, my stomach churning as I realize what happened when he recently went hunting.
"You haven't eaten either." Edward responds icily. the plastic remote cracks again in his hand as the channel switches from tennis to an old black-and-white film. I'm surprised it was still working at all.
This Edward – numb and removed – was too familiar to me. It made me feel numb.
"This isn't about me."
This wasn't able me. Not the attack, not his mood, not even our conversation. None of this is about me.
He lets out a hard, cold laugh. "Isn't it?"
"I'm serious, Edward."
"I am, too, Bella!" Edward snaps at me, his face hard. "I won't die if I starve, but you will. And you'll make me watch while you slowly wither away, won't you?"
Edward's hand pulls from mine, and he's gone before I can even blink.
My hand drops heavily to the couch, and the pained feeling of rejecting is a much deeper pit in my stomach now. His sudden disappearance is like a knife through my gut. I can already feel moisture forming in my eyes – misery, anger, and frustration. I wanted the old Edward back – the one who never hesitated to hold my hands, to kiss my neck, to brush his hand through my hair. He was gone now.
A small sound in the corner of my room makes me jump and I looked over to see Carlisle standing patiently in the doorway. That was the noise: he'd turned on a lamp. He moved, placing a book down on the table. My stomach twists as I spy the excess movement, so I turn my eyes to Carlisle's face instead.
"I'm sorry." He offers gently, smiling. "I didn't mean to startle you." He walks towards me. "There's something about Thomas Hobbes that's thought-worthy, even as a vampire my age."
"Who?" I mumble, accepting Carlisle's attempt to ignore Edward's abrupt departure. Carlisle reaches for a white blanket that was folded on the other couch, he walks over to me, laying it across me. I cuddle into it, realizing just how cold I am even with the blanket Edward had given me before.
"He's an English philosopher from the seventeenth century. He died less than two decades before I did." It always shocked me a little just how old Carlisle was, despite his eternally youthful face. This time was no different, and Carlisle smiles softly at my expression. "I was reading one of his many books I've collected. His works were the first I learned about when I went back to study. I studied history and philosophy first, such was the culture at the time."
Carlisle takes the plate of untouched pancakes from my hands, placing it on the coffee table. Then he sits down across from me.
"How many degrees do you have?" I mumble.
Carlisle laughs. "Too many, Bella. But never enough, it seems. The world changes very quickly, doesn't it?"
I don't answer. I didn't know. I had only been alive for eighteen years.
"Tell me why you won't eat." Carlisle says after a long moment of silence. His gaze feels piercing – as if he's wanting to look directly into me.
"I'm nauseous." My voice was always so quiet. So meek. I hated it, but I could never get my voice to cooperate. "I have a migraine."
Carlisle nods gently. "Nausea and migraines can be caused by hunger, Bella. You haven't eaten a proper meal in over two weeks."
"I can't."
"Let's start small." Carlisle suggests patiently. He turns to me, his dark golden eyes watching me as he takes the plate of pancakes. "Bone broth or apple sauce? Something to settle your stomach first."
I shake my head slowly. I didn't want anything.
Carlisle offers me a small smile. "You have to eat, Bella. Even if it's just a few bites at a time." Carlisle's tone is firm, though gentle. "We'll start with some warm liquids to get you more hydrated and go from there."
I nod slowly. There wasn't room to argue.
Carlisle doesn't say anything more, but he stays sitting with me. I lower my head against the headrest, my exhausted body feeling the weight of my nightmares. Last night's disturbed sleep was already catching up to me. It's comforting and soon I find myself dipping in between consciousness and unconsciousness.
As I drift, I hear voices. Sometimes they shock me out of sleep only to go quiet enough for me to settle again, and other times they talk so softly, so comfortingly that I lie and listen to the hum of voices with no discernable words. Sometimes, I think I've heard them utter my name. I feel them touch me at times, too. Some adjust the weight of the blanket over my body, some press their lips to my forehead, others brush hair from my face. I know when Carlisle checks on me – he presses cold fingers to the inside of my wrist and slips his hand over my forehead and prods gently at my stomach and ribs. It doesn't hurt, but I still wish he wouldn't do it.
The house seemed much more quiet than normal when I finally fully wake up. Carlisle and I had been alone in the room for far longer than normal with no lingering voices of the others. I lay awake, watching the rain pound against the window. Esme pops in a few times but watching her is dizzying. She doesn't seem to stay in one place for long.
I am just slipping into sleep again when the doorbell rings. Carlisle is off the couch in a second, walking slowly to the door to let my father inside. I snuggle deeper into my blankets, wishing with all my might that I could disappear into them.
I wish harder, squeezing my hands into fists, as heavy footsteps get closer.
"Hey kiddo." Charlie says quietly. He sighs deeply when he sees me, his face full of worry. "You look tired."
"I'm fine." I whisper, trying to sit up. The movement causes excruciating pain in my skull, and I immediately discard the idea of moving at all. Apparently, on top of my exhaustion, the pain would not be subsiding today.
Charlie plops himself down onto the couch across from me, shaking his head. "You look terrible, Bells."
I'm not sure how to respond to Charlie. He's right – I probably do look terrible. I haven't actually seen myself in the mirror in a long time. Since discovering the bruises, I had meticulously avoided the hallways with mirrors until one time, by accident, I looked at a wall and realized the mirror was gone. That's when I noticed they had disappeared from the bathrooms and bedrooms too.
"Are you sleeping at all?" he prods, his eyes narrowing at me. If anything, Charlie probably looked worse than me. He had definitely lost weight and the bags under his eyes alerted me that he was the one unable to sleep at night.
"I'm fine, Dad." I whisper, maybe a bit forcefully. I regret my words as I watch Charlie digest them. "I'm sleeping, I promise." I add, trying to make him feel a bit better.
"Good."
"Are you eating?" I question quietly, tugging the blankets closer towards my body. I was so cold. "You lost weight."
"Yeah. . ." He mumbles, leaning heavily against the sofa. "Sue's been making me food. And Esme, too. Esme sends home so much food." He cracks a small smile then, his eyes crinkling around the edges. "Don't tell her, but I really prefer Sue's food."
I grimace, trying to hold back a smile. Esme was perfectly capable of hearing him no matter where she was in this house.
"I'm just not used to gourmet food, Bells. It's strange."
"Esme does make fancy food." I agree and Charlie laughs at my words. His loud laugh seems out of place in the quiet, empty house.
"Sue's fish is great. You know how I like fish."
"I'm sorry, Dad. I would make you something, if I could."
"Don't do that, kid." Charlie mutters, his shoulders sagging. "Don't try to take care of me right now."
I can't do anything but bite my lip in response. Charlie falls silent then, his eyes flickering from my face to the TV and then back again. A football game is playing, and it seems to interest him, because he eventually reaches to the turn the volume a bit louder. He lapses into silence, leaning back in his seat as he watches. I'm happy to see that someone replaced the remote Edward broke.
"Have you called Renee?" Charlie slips the words is quietly and slowly, almost as if he wishes I wouldn't hear them.
"No . . . Do I need to call her again?" I turn to look at Charlie, narrowing my eyes at him. He looks a little regretful under my gaze.
Charlie grimaces, scratching his neck slightly. "I know what you said about little being more with Renee, but I do think you should talk to her."
I close my eyes, sighing. Today would just be a miserable day for me.
"I'm serious, Bella. I respected your decision to stay here and to not file a police report – even though I still think you should consider that, there's always time to file still – but not telling about this . . . Doesn't she deserve to know, Bells? You're her kid."
I exhale slowly, trying to find a gentle way to explain that if he hadn't been called to the hospital, I wouldn't have told him either. I can't seem to figure out the right words, though. Which means it's probably a terrible thing to say.
"Dad, you saw how she reacted with my accident in Phoenix." Talking made my head vibrate. "She'll be inconsolable if she knows about this, and you know she won't be able to help at all when she's that emotional."
"I know, I know. But lying to her isn't right." Charlie insists, throwing his hands up in frustration. "She's eventually going to find out."
"No, she won't, Dad." I work to make my voice firm. "You're not going to tell her, are you?"
He hesitates. "I can't not tell her, Bells."
"Well, I'm asking you not to. She'll stay in the dark on this one."
Charlie sighs, leaning back against the couch, admitting defeat. "I'm not with you on that, Bella. . . But call her, okay? She's been calling me asking about you since you've gone radio silent, and I don't know what to tell her anymore."
"I'll call her tonight."
Charlie acknowledges my words with a nod before falling silent. It's not very long before Esme makes her way downstairs, offering Charlie some coffee and breakfast. He accepts Esme's offer and soon, I'm sitting with a bowl of steaming broth in my hands that Esme promises will help me feel better and Charlie is inhaling a large stack of the pancakes I had previously rejected.
Esme sits with us, making polite conversation with Charlie as she sketches in one of her books. Charlie is still under the impression that Jasper, Emmett, and Rosalie are out of town attending college. According to Esme, all three of them are enjoying their time and are planning a trip home very soon. I listen as Esme's lies slip off her tongue as she describes her three college-aged children and the plans Alice is making for her gap year before starting college in New York. I'm so enamored by the way Esme lies that I almost forget that her three children are very much present still.
By lunch time, Charlie and I are both exhausted from his uncharacteristically talkative visit, and he leaves with a promise to visit again tomorrow.
"What will you say to your mother?" Esme asks me lightly. She's been humming over her sketch pad for over an hour now and the sound is quite comforting, not even slightly bothersome to my headache.
I struggle for a response because I'm really not sure what to say. Charlie, thankfully, got me off the hook the first time by telling Renee I'd fallen. He had fielded most of her calls because she was too afraid to bother me – it would interfere with my recovery. But Charlie was right. She deserved more from me, and she deserved to actually hear my voice.
"I'm not sure."
"Hmm." Esme offers me a smile, putting her sketchbook down. "Maybe you can offer to go visit her when you're done with finals. Then, maybe, she might not be so persistent about coming here to visit."
"Maybe." I take a sip of my tea that Esme had given me.
"There isn't much that can sway a mother's love, Bella. And not much more that can get by their intuition." Esme continues gently. "Renee is just trying to take care of you in any way she can. . . We all are."
I feel as if I've only closed my eyes for a moment as Esme's talking. When I open my eyes, the room is black except for a single lamp lit in the corner. Esme is not sitting on the chair across from me with her sketchbook anymore. I know, then, that I had fallen asleep.
"Drink some water, Bella." Edward's voice is close to my ear, and I jump at the sudden suggestion. He's sitting beside the couch, holding a small glass of water. I obliged hesitantly, sucking cool water through the straw until the raw taste in my mouth is gone and my throat is less dry.
"I apologize for leaving, Bella. I realize I hurt you in the way I acted, and my intentions were not to do that."
"It's fine." I mumble self-consciously, wishing I could hide from his intense gaze. His eyes were remorseful, matching his tone exactly. It was an interesting change from his emotion-less expression and blank tone earlier. I'm also grateful to see his eyes are much lighter than they were this morning – he had hunted.
"No, it's not." Edward's jaw is stiff, and his voice is hard. "I have no right to disregard you like that. I won't do it again."
I nod slowly, accepting his apology. Just then, Emmett strolls in, grinning widely.
"Did he apologize like a gentleman, Bella?" He asks heartily, his voice booming and make me wince slightly. I had only been around Emmett a few times in the past two weeks and in those instances, he was focused on other things. I had forgotten how loud Emmett was, and how big he looked while standing.
I stare curiously at Emmett, then, wondering what he meant by his words. "He did." I respond confused.
Emmett grins wider. "Good. Otherwise, Jasper and I would've had to drag him outside and beat the shit out of him. Again."
"What?" I gasp, shock coursing through me. "What did you and Jasper do?"
Did they attack him? I knew Edward was strong. I'd seen the way he pulled James off of me in the ballet studio. He also had an advantage with his mind-reading abilities. But could he take on both Jasper and Emmett? Emmett was so big compared to Edward. . .
Emmett laughs loudly at my reaction, bending over in his fit and Edward growls at him menacingly, his grip on my hand tightening slightly.
"Relax, Bella." He breathes, plopping down onto the couch. "We didn't rough him up too bad. I think Rosalie might have, though. But he's back in one piece, isn't he?"
"Rosalie?" I squeak, even more shocked. Rosalie defended me? Why?
"Emmett, enough." Edward barks stiffly. His face had gone from remorseful to hard, and suddenly I wished Emmett hadn't said anything either. My Edward, the one who didn't always mask his emotions, had retreated. I am not surprised by the sure movements of Edward as his hand pulls away from mine, but that doesn't stop the pain through shoots through my body as he does so. I missed my Edward.
Emmett laughs again at Edward's reaction, shaking his head as he reaches for the remote – a new one had replaced the cracked one – and flips the TV. The channel that pops up is a news channel and I roll gently to my side so I can see the TV more easily. There's no point in staring at Edward's blank face when I can feel less pain staring at the TV.
"Investigators are considering gang activity, at this point." The news anchor was saying, her hands fluttering nervously around her. "With two more bodies found this afternoon. . ."
"Nomads." Emmett grumbles, glaring at the TV. "Need to clean up their own fucking messes."
"Emmett." Edward snarls. I jump uneasily at his tone, and Edward turns to me quickly, apologetically.
"What?" I whisper at Edward, trying to relax the sudden sprint my heart had decided to go on. It was literally trying to jump out of my chest, perhaps through my throat.
"Edward doesn't want you to know, it'll worry you." Emmett rolls his eyes at Edward, throwing his arm over the couch. "Some vampires passing through have decided to hit up Seattle as a massacre site. Possibly newborns vamps. . . So far, a bunch of people have gone missing."
"Charlie told me about that." I mumble, biting my lip. "I didn't realize it was vampires. That's so close."
As I speak, I feel the familiar ache in my head worsening.
"You're safe, Bella." Edward tells me firmly. "Don't worry about it."
He had told me that before. He told me that before James attacked me. He told me that before he left me in the forest. He told me that when we got back from Italy. But, despite all myprotections, we were still in this situation.
"When did they start?" I ask Emmett, knowing that nomads didn't stay in a particular area for very long.
Red static covers my vision in pulses. Pulses perfectly coinciding with the pounding at the back of my head.
"Three weeks ago." Emmett answers coolly, switching the channels as a police officer comes into view to explain more about the murders. "They should leave soon."
"We'll take of it, Bella." Edward promises confidently.