Chapter 3: Nightmare

Edward's POV

The rain fell in sheets against the window, casting silver streaks down the glass. Thunder rolled in the distance, low and unrelenting, filling the quiet room with its heavy presence. The storm had settled over Forks, stretching its limbs across the sky, and for once, I welcomed the darkness it brought.

Bella stirred beside me, shifting in her sleep, a quiet whimper slipping past her lips. Her breathing hitched, her fingers twitching against the blanket. I turned to her immediately, my body going still, listening.

Then—

A sharp inhale. A strangled gasp.

And suddenly, she was awake.

She shot up in bed, her chest rising and falling too fast, panic blooming in her wide, glassy eyes. The blanket tangled around her legs as she struggled against it, her breath coming in shallow, broken pieces.

"Bella," I murmured, reaching for her.

She flinched at first, her mind still trapped in whatever nightmare had stolen her from sleep. But then her gaze found mine in the darkness, and the moment she recognized me, her whole body trembled.

"Edward—" Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper. Then, before I could say a word, she grabbed onto me, her fingers clutching my shirt desperately, as if letting go would mean losing me forever.

"Don't leave me."

It was barely a breath.

But it shattered me.

I wrapped my arms around her without hesitation, pulling her against my chest, feeling the erratic rhythm of her heart against my own stillness. Her hands fisted the fabric of my shirt, holding on with a kind of desperation that made my throat tighten.

"I won't," I swore, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me. "I will never leave you again."

She shuddered, a broken sound leaving her lips, and I felt the damp warmth of tears against my skin.

Thunder rumbled again, shaking the walls, but the storm outside was nothing compared to the one inside her.

"I thought—," she whispered, her breath uneven. "I couldn't find you."

I closed my eyes, swallowing the ache in my chest.

I had done this to her.

I had left her once, and now, even in sleep, she lived in fear of it happening again.

I tightened my hold on her, pressing my lips against her temple. "I'm here," I murmured. "I'm not going anywhere. I swear to you, Bella."

She exhaled shakily, as if testing the weight of my words, trying to believe them.

Outside, the rain continued to fall, drowning the world in its relentless rhythm.

And inside, I held her close, wishing I could drown in her instead—so that maybe, just maybe, she could finally believe that I would never leave her again.

The change was gradual, almost imperceptible at first.

A shift in the way she carried herself, the way her voice steadied when she spoke. The way she met my eyes more often, without the same weight of sadness pulling at her features.

It wasn't a sudden transformation. There were still shadows under her eyes, remnants of too many sleepless nights. Still moments when she pulled at the hem of her sweater, her fingers fidgeting unconsciously, betraying the anxiety she thought she hid so well.

But there were also small victories.

A quiet laugh that wasn't forced. A sigh that wasn't heavy with exhaustion. A glance in the mirror that didn't end in a flinch.

I noticed everything.

And I knew exactly who was to blame for it all.

She hadn't been this way before. I had done this to her. My departure had left her hollow, had broken something in her that she was only now beginning to rebuild.

How could I pretend not to see it? How could I ignore the evidence of the destruction I had caused?

I had thought leaving would save her, but all it had done was dismantle her piece by piece. I had reduced her to a ghost of the girl she once was, leaving her to wander through months of torment with no way out. And even now, even as she began to heal, I could see the permanent marks I had left behind.

She still hesitated before speaking sometimes, as if weighing whether her words were worth saying aloud. Still wrapped her arms around herself when she thought no one was looking. Still seemed to struggle with the idea that she was wanted.

That I wanted her.

More than once, I caught her watching me with a look that almost resembled disbelief. As if she was waiting for me to disappear again. As if she was bracing for the inevitable.

It made me sick.

At school, she laughed with Angela, but her hands never stopped moving, twisting a strand of hair or running over the edge of her notebook. When Mike spoke to her, she tensed, her shoulders curling inward slightly, as if preparing for something unpleasant. And when Jessica made an offhanded comment about Bella's appearance—something about her sweater being too big—Bella only smiled. But later, when she thought no one was watching, she pulled at the fabric, trying to smooth it out, trying to disappear into it.

She had never cared about those things before.

It wasn't vanity—it was doubt. The kind that lingered, silent and insidious.

And I had planted it there.

I had left her vulnerable, left her in the hands of those who had no idea what she had been through. No one had noticed the way she had wasted away in my absence, how she had become a shell of herself. No one except the one person who hated me more than I hated myself.

Charlie.

I had seen the memories in his mind, the images of Bella in those months without me. The empty eyes. The silence. The way she had flinched at the simplest things. The way she had screamed in the night.

I had done that.

I clenched my fists, resisting the urge to tear through the thoughts of those who had made her feel this way. But the truth was, they hadn't made her feel this way.

I had.

Instead, I simply reached for her hand, intertwining our fingers as we walked toward class. Her grip tightened slightly, just enough to tell me she had noticed. Just enough to remind me that she was still here.

Healing.

But not whole.

Not yet.

And if she never truly healed, if the damage I had done was irreversible—I would never forgive myself.