29. Old Memories And Old Friends

EPOV

She finally opened her eyes at 8:49 in the morning. I smiled at her, then lightly kissed her eyelids as they lazily slid closed again. When she opened them back up a second later, she smiled back at me.


“Morning, beautiful,” I said softly into the quiet of the room.


“Mornin, handsome,” she responded.


I hummed against her forehead, satisfied to find that she still did not have a fever.


She scrunched up her nose. “My nose is kinda stuffy.”


I nodded. “You can take some cold medicine after breakfast, love.”


She was silent for a minute and blushed. “Edward…where did you learn how to do that?” she asked while trying to suppress a smile.


I chuckled at her shyness. “Do what?” I asked, deciding to tease her.


She giggled. “You know…”


“Say it, baby,” I requested before giving her lips a soft, good morning kiss.


She blushed and shook her head.


I sighed and brought my mouth to her ear, “You want to know how I knew what to do to make you cum for me, sweetheart?” I asked innocently.


“Mm-hmmm…” she nodded.


“Bella, I’m a mind reader. I’ve seen and heard many, many techniques. Some of which are very interesting…” I trailed off suggestively.


She smiled through her blush. “Kay…” she whispered.


I chuckled, amazed that she could cum on my face, then turn around and be shy about it. “You’re fucking precious.”


She laughed and lightly slapped my chest. “I love you…“ she trailed off before saying cheekily, “and your sexpertise.”


I kissed her button nose, keeping the smile on my face. “Love you, too.”


Her stomach growled at us then, notifying me and the entire house that she was hungry. I gave her one last kiss before taking the covers off of us so that we could get out of bed.


She rolled over to the edge of the bed, then hopped down onto the floor. She smiled at me as she passed by me, heading for the bathroom. While she was in there, I dressed in jeans and a light short-sleeved t-shirt. Esme notified me that she was making some bacon, eggs and fruit for Bella while I started making the bed.


A few minutes later, Bella came out of the bathroom, her hair and teeth brushed. She came up to me and stood on her tippy-toes, silently asking for a kiss. I smiled down at her and obliged. When we broke apart, she gave me a bright smile, before going over to the closet to pick out some clothes for the day.


It was nice and sunny outside today, so she picked out a little yellow sundress with thin spaghetti shoulder straps. It looked beautiful on her, and hugged her small curves nicely. She put some lotion on her face, because of her slightly chapped nose, then turned to me with a shy smile.


“Do I look pretty?” she asked while looking up at me through her eyelashes.


“Gorgeous, baby,” I assured her, then pulled her into my arms.


I softly gripped her delectable little bottom, then placed a soft kiss to her neck before letting her go.


“It’s time for breakfast, love.”


She nodded and we started making our way downstairs.


“What time is therapy, Edward?” she asked hesitantly while we walked down the steps.


“Ten…in about half an hour, so right after breakfast, sweetheart,” I gently informed her.


She nodded, and smiled at me but it didn’t reach her eyes.


I squeezed her hand in reassurance.


I knew she didn’t want to go. I didn’t want her to go into that room without me. I didn’t want to hear anymore tales of her horror. It hurt me a lot, knowing that I wasn’t around to protect her when she was a child.


We were in the dining room now, and I slipped into the chair next to my Bella. She smiled and thanked Esme for breakfast, before she started taking small, delicate little bites of her meal. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear she was trying to stall for time. She would stop eating, and take a long drink. Then she would talk to me for a few minutes, before taking a couple more bites of her food.


She asked how the girls were getting along with the family. She asked how Isabella responded to Jacob. She asked if I was too stressed out by it all. Then she asked if Isabella was in trouble.


I smiled, recognizing the frequent question out of my little girl‘s mouth. “No,” I assured her with a shake of my head.


She nodded, “Okay…she thinks that she is, so I just wanted to make sure for her. I mean, it’s fine if she is-”


“She’s not,” I repeated.


“Yeah…yeah, okay,” she nodded.


All too soon, her plate was cleared of food…aka stall material, and it was time for therapy. After she took a measured dose of her cold medicine, we both gave a collective sigh before she stood from her seat at the table. I stood with her and walked by her side all the way up the stairs to the second floor, then down the hall to Carlisle’s study.

BPOV

Don’t wanna go… Isabella whined.


Fucking hell, my Bell! When are we gonna feel better? Marie asked.


I don’t know…


Well, what do you know? I know that sniffly noses are some bullshit. This is getting old Marie continued to complain in my head.


Bella! I don’t wanna see his ugly yellow hair…


Will you two just, please…shut the fuck up? Jesus! Give a girl some peace and quiet every once in a while.


They were silent in my head then, as we arrived in front of the door to Carlisle’s study. Edward leaned down to give me a kiss as Carlisle opened the door for me. He smiled at me and I smiled back.


“Good morning, Bella,” he greeted me pleasantly.


“Morning,” I said as I walked passed him, into the room.


I went straight for the chair that I had been in yesterday, and sat down. Edward came up behind me and dropped a cool kiss to the top of my head.


“I’ll be here when you’re done, sweetheart,” he assured me softly.


I nodded but kept my gaze forward. “Okay, honey.”


Edward I miss you Isabella said.


Edward’s got a fuckin wicked tongue Marie said in amusement.


“Oh, God…” I whispered.


“What?” Edward asked, slightly alarmed.


Why did Edward do that, Bella? Isabella asked me curiously.


I didn’t answer her. I just tried to give Edward a reassuring smile through my blush, but I’m not sure how well that worked out. “Nothing,” I murmured.


Holy shit.


He gazed at me curiously before he hesitantly nodded.


“Edward, she’ll be fine,” Carlisle told him as he took his seat behind his desk.


“Okay, yeah. I love you, Bella,” he said before running a cool hand over my hair.


“I love you, too.”


Edward walked out of the room then, softly clicking the door shut behind him. Carlisle’s leather bound journal made an appearance on top of his dean-desk. His motions were fluid and precise as he opened it, and wrote a few things on a new, clean page. He looked at me and gave me a reassuring smile.


“Bella, what would you like to talk about today?”


I sighed, steeling myself against therapy and it‘s ridiculous repercussions. I‘ve been dealing with it all my life. It always affects me, and my alternates, in this case, in various different ways.


“How about we just start where we left off?” I suggested, unsure of whether that was alright, or not.


Carlisle nodded, glad with my cooperation.


“Actually, Bella…would you please tell me about one of those pictures? How about the one that you had an initial reaction to. I believe it is the photo where you are a small girl, in a pink swim suit, and you are sitting on top of Jim’s shoulders. It appears that you were at some kind of family gathering…” he trailed off.


“Um, yeah…sure. Just don’t show it to me,” I cautioned him seriously.


He nodded. “Of course not,” he agreed.


That’s fuckin right, doc Marie piped up.


I crossed my arms over my chest, lightly hugging myself as I began to speak. “Um…I was five and it was the Fourth of July. Also, known as the occasion when Jim had first fucked my mouth. It took the abuse to a whole ‘nother level…” I trailed off, focusing on my old friend on Carlisle‘s desk: Mr. Squiggly Line.


There is always music playing when we go to the Jeffersons' house. Mr. Jefferson is a musician. He plays guitar in a little band that plays at the local bars. The Jeffersons have a big in-ground pool in their backyard. It fills the whole yard, except for the patio where the barbeque is. They asked us to come over for a cook-out, swimming, and lotts of fireworks today. Bobby and I are excited. The band is going to play on the patio, instead of the usual records. When we get to the Jeffersons’ place, there are already other people there. There are hamburgers and hot dogs on the grill, and corn wrapped in tin foil on the coals. Jim quickly joins his friends in the pool. Bobby goes right into the house to put on his swim suit, and I go with him. I wait outside the bathroom door and ask Bobby to hurry up. When he comes out, I go right in and lock the door. I put on my pink swim suit very fast, then open the door and run back outside. Jim is still in the pool. He and his friend, Brad, are fighting over a green rubber raft. He holds Brad under the water for a long time, but then he lets him come back up, laughing the whole time. Bobby goes into the water. I go and sit in my mother’s lap. She is talking to Mrs. Jefferson and some other lady. They both have tall, thin glasses with straws in them. My mother’s glass is shorter with lotts of ice. My mother tells me to go into the pool. I don’t say anything, just eye Jim warily and stay put. I don’t want Jim to hold me under the water like he did with Brad, then pass it off to everyone that he was just playing around when I turn up dead. The other lady smiles at me. She is wearing flowery clothes, and it makes me think that she’s from a place I’ve heard about, called Hawaii.
My mother lifts me off of her lap and says, “Go and play in the pool before the other kids get tired out. Go keep your brother company, sunshine.”
She won’t let me go into the pool alone. It’s too deep for me. I climb over to the ladder and let myself down into the pool. It’s not too cold. Hanging onto the side, I let myself go all the way under to get my hair wet. I like the way it looks when it’s wet. It’s straight and smoothes down my back. The boys are on the other side of the pool. I hold onto the rim of the ladder and start to kick, like I had been learning in swim class. All of a sudden, there are hands around my waist from underneath. I kick harder, but Jim is lifting me up into the air. I am kicking as hard as I can, but he is holding me away from him, keeping a smile on his face at the charade that we are just playing. Everyone is laughing. I look over to the patio and see that my mother is laughing. Then Jim drops me into the deep water and I touch bottom. I kick and move my arms around in circles, trying to get to the top again. Jim grabs my waist and pulls me to the surface. My hair is like a wet blanket on my face and I am gasping for air. He guides my hand to the rail, then lets go of me and dips back under water. I feel a hand between my legs. I kick hard again and the hand is gone. A while later, after pictures and games, no one is in the pool anymore and it is getting dark. I am waiting for my hamburger to get done and I’m standing next to the grill, watching it cook. It smells juicy and smoky at the same time. My swim suit is still wet and I have a towel wrapped around my shoulders, but I’m shivering a little, even by the fire. I have to go to the bathroom too, but I don’t want to go into the house. Jim is in there. My mother sees that I am cold and tells me to go into the house and put my dry clothes back on.
I look at her for a long time before she puts her hand on her hip and demands, “Right this minute, young lady.”
I go up to her and ask if she will come with me. She laughs at me and pats my head, before telling me that I’m a big girl…too old to need help dressing. I turn and walk towards the house. It’s dark outside now, and the band has gotten all their instruments out. Some people are laughing and making jokes. Almost everyone is having a good time. I walk through the house slowly. I can hear the guys in the living room, watching TV and talking. Jim is the loudest. I walk very softly, and don’t make any noise, just like he had taught me to do. I go to the bathroom and lock the door before I turn the light on. It’s hard getting my swim suit off because it’s so cold and wet. I’m goose-bumpy all over and shivering. I look over to the hamper where I had left my clothes, but they’re not there. I look inside the hamper. They aren’t anywhere. I don’t know who took them but I do know that I have to go and find them. I look at my pink suit rolled up on the floor. I can’t put that back on, so I wrap a big towel around me. I unlock the door and open it as quietly as I can. I peek out into the hall. The voices are still loud and the party noises come in from the backyard. I go to the guest room where my mother had left her beach bag, feeling relieved when I see my clothes laying on top of it. I grab them and start back to the bathroom as quickly as I can and try not to make any noise.
I am almost at the door when it opens up wide and Jim says, “Come in, Isabella. I’ll be through in a minute.”
I don’t move.
Then he reaches a hand out and grabs a fistful of my hair, yanking hard. “Hurry up and get the fuck in here,” he growls in a low and quiet voice.
I rush in the room silently, clutching my clothes in front of me and keeping my eyes on the floor. He closes the door and locks it. I stand in the corner next to the hamper. He stands by the toilet and smiles at me with a glazed look in his eyes. He unzips his pants and takes out his ugly penis. He holds it in his hand, and starts to rub it up and down. He is still smiling at me as that thing gets bigger and stiffer.
He says in a commanding, yet soft and lilting voice, “Come here. Be good for daddy, and touch it. Touch it, now.”
I don’t want to move.
He stops smiling and growls out, “Come. Here.”
I walk over to the toilet. He reaches out and takes the clothes from my hands, throwing them across the room onto the floor. He pulls the towel off of me and throws it over by my clothes. Now that I am naked before him, he forcefully grabs my wrist and puts my hand on his penis.
He says, “Now, hold it and rub up and down.”
Both his hands are holding my shoulders still. I’m just tall enough so that his ugly thing is pointing directly in my face, staring me in the eye. At his sharp slap across my face for hesitance, I do what he says to do. Soon, he starts to breathe heavier. I look up at his face and see that he has closed his eyes. His big fingers are kneading into my shoulder blades.
He sighs a little, then orders quickly, “Kiss it.”
He has never told me to do that before, and I look up at him, confused. He is looking down at me again and his mouth presses into a hard line.
“What the fuck did I just say, Isabella? Kiss. It. Your goddamn mother loves the taste of it, I imagine you will also.”
He places a large hand behind my neck and pulls my head toward it. I purse my lips and touch the end of it. He takes my head between his hands and pushes against my jaw.
“Open that pretty little mouth,” he says, but I pretend not to hear him because his big hands are also covering my ears. He bends over me, swats my ass and repeats it. I open my mouth and he pushes his penis into it. It’s huge and fills my whole mouth. I have to stretch my jaw as wide as I can and it hurts. He pulls back and forth and tries to go deeper…faster. Then, before I know what’s happening, he pulls away from me and stands over the toilet again. I think he is going to the bathroom, but it comes out differently. And it’s not yellow. The air is passing through his teeth slowly as he hisses in his breaths.
Then he snaps at me, “Hurry up and get dressed.”
I can hear the music outside now. He tucks his ugly thing back into his pants and zips himself up. He sits on the edge of the tub and watches me intently as I slowly dress in front of him. When I have all my clothes on, I look at him silently, awaiting instructions.
He stands and unlocks the door, “Go on outside, Isabella. I’ll be right out.”
I walk out the back door and stand on the porch. Mom is dancing and Bobby is eating a hamburger at the picnic table. The band plays while Mrs. Jefferson makes herself another drink in her tall glass.
My mother sees me and smiles, “Your hamburger is on the table, sweetheart, next to Bobby. It’s getting cold.”
She keeps dancing. I go to the picnic table and sit down, across from Bobby. I sit still and stare at my hamburger. I can’t eat it. I don’t know what to do. I just sit and stare.


Ucky… Isabella’s voice whispered in my head.


“Bella, are you alright?” Carlisle’s voice asked, bringing me back to the present time.


“Hmm?” I asked, giving him a confused gaze.


He looked blurry. I blinked and realized that I had started crying. Again.


Goddamn it, can’t I ever get through a stupid therapy session tear-free? I mean, come the fuck on…


I sighed and hastily wiped my eyes. “Yeah,” I croaked out, then cleared my throat.


I nodded. “Um…yeah, sometimes I start to cry and don’t even realize that I’m doing it,” I said with a nonchalant shrug. “Don’t worry about it,” I placated him.


His gaze was concerned as he reluctantly nodded. “Alright…”


I took a cleansing breath. “And, also, there’s the time when it all ended…” I trailed off.


“Ended?”


“Yeah…the last time he ever hurt me. When he was caught. It was a terrifying experience, but I’m grateful for it, all the same,” I told him quietly with a small smile.


“Okay…why don’t you tell me about that,” he suggested as his hand went back to his journal, no doubt ready to send his pen flying as soon as I opened my mouth.


I nodded. “Sure.”


“The sexual abuse had been going on for a while. Besides the physical torture of it, where he would take different devices to me, he also began molesting me pretty early. It started during bath time…”


He would let his soapy hand explore my private and bottom, a lot. Then the Fourth of July happened. There were many repeats of him forcing himself into my mouth. A lot of times, he would call me inside, from playing, in order to undress me in the empty house, touch me, then with hurried orders not to tell Bobby, send me back out to play again. When I was seven years old, he called me inside again, but this time…he took the dog that loved and protected me and Bobby, and locked him in the closet. His hands undressing me this time were harsh and angry; his voice, abrupt and vicious. I was stupid enough to question him, and he slapped me for it right before he started having a conversation with his angel. With no words and no warning, he bent me over the arm of the couch and entered my ass dry. No preparation. No lubrication. My screams started Blitzen, our dog, barking. I must have passed out, because my next memory is of the sunlit garden through the screen door to my right and the sound of the dog barking frantically from the closet. When he was through with me, he dropped me onto the floor like a discarded dishrag. Then with his belt in hand, he began beating me, chanting on the whole time about my ‘purity’. When the belt stopped it’s endless rise and fall motion, he took me to my bedroom, redressed me in the same play clothes and put me into my bed, with a strict order to ‘stay’. I know that I fell asleep crying, and I comforted myself with my thumb and Isabella’s soft fingers through my hair. When I awoke, it was black in the room and I could hear the hum of voices through the house. I began crying again and apparently, that attracted the attention of the rest of the family. Finally, my mother opened the door and flicked on the light. When I heard her frantic cry, I looked at her and followed her eyes to my blood-soaked bed.
To this day, I remember her turning to Jim, where he stood behind her in the doorway, and asking, “What have you done to her?”
The next thing I remember is the hospital and the sight of a transfusion dripping into my arm. A man dressed in white was standing over me and asking my mother what had happened to me. She answered that she didn’t know…that I had fallen down while playing. At her reply, the man’s voice became rough and angry, startling me into tears.
He instantly bent down to me and said with infinite tenderness, “It’s alright, little one. We’re all going to take good care of you.”
As I felt a needle ease into my arm on the other side, he was yelling at my mother, “Somebody did this to her!!”
I spent several weeks in the hospital and a few people came to visit. Mainly, my mother and some police officers.
They would ask the same questions over and over again. “How did you get hurt? Who hurt you?”
I just stayed quiet, knowing what would happen to me if I told. I remember that same man dressed in white coming into the room and speaking with the officers.
He said, “We know and have the DNA evidence to prove that James Crowley, the mother’s boyfriend who lives in the house, forcibly sodomized the child, breaking her pelvis and coxes, causing all of her internal damage.”
My mother cried quietly by my side as the police officers left the room, following the doctor out to take possession of the evidence.


“So then what happened, Bella?” Carlisle asked with rapt attention.


“Then…then, I went home. I healed. I got sent to a looney bin. I got 'better’ three years later when Isabella stopped coming around,” I told him.


“How did that make you feel when Isabella went away?” he asked in a soft voice.


I was quiet then, and hesitated before I answered him, unsure of what his reaction as my doctor would be. “Alone…” I whispered.


Love you, Bella Isabella told me.


Yeah…I love you, too.


He nodded and wrote some more in his journal. I continued talking, to pass the time.


I sighed and sniffled.


Damn cold.


Tell me about it Marie chimed in.


“Well, Carlisle…you know, I don’t think anyone understands the feeling of hopelessness better than an abused child. There is no one to turn to, no place to escape. I lived in terror of Jim and his angel…”


Mom would ask me how I got bruised, and what the burns on my body were from.
I would say, “I wasn’t careful, Mommy…I’m sorry.”
She would simply kiss them better, and that would be the end of it. Her nickname for me was ‘Sunshine’. She said it was because I laughed a lot and brightened her day. I was happy with mom. I was safe when she was around. I would sit in her lap on the rocker and rub the back of her neck with my tiny fingers after she had a long day at work. She smelled of soap and subtle perfume. She would squeeze me tight and cuddle me. I would kiss her cheek, and play with her hair. I remember painting her pictures and picking her flowers from the garden. I lavished loving attention on the only person who stood between me and annihilation. There were times I had almost told her about Jim, but the memories of the white hot pain between my legs prevented me from doing so. I knew that Jim hadn’t lied about giving me away to men who would cause me more of that pain. I had actually met some of them and they were very interested in me. I knew I wasn’t wanted. I didn’t know what I had done to be so bad. I did know that Mommy loved me, though. She always touched and hugged me gently. She always listened when I told her things, making me feel important. She was a busy, successful business woman, and was always gone a lot of the time, though. I remember the terror that would rise in me whenever I saw her take out her suitcase. It meant torture for me when she was gone.
I would hang onto her leg and cry desperately, “Mommy, please don’t go. Take me with you. I’ll be good, I promise. Take me with you, Mommy.”
“Sunshine, I’ll only be gone a few days. I would take you if I could. I’ll bring you back a surprise,” she placated me.
I would watch her car drive away in a state of abject desolation, waiting for the violence to begin again. One time she had driven off and I followed her car out onto the street, and stood on the sidewalk. When a car drove up the street towards me, I stepped off the curb into the path of the oncoming vehicle. I don’t remember consciously wishing to die, I just wanted to escape the torture. The car missed me by inches and the driver got out and yelled at me. He told me that I was a bad girl for walking out in front of cars. I told him that I was sorry, and slowly walked home, to the house of horrors. With nowhere else to go.


“Isabella couldn’t help me in moments of intense physical pain. No splitting of my mind, or fantasy could take away the excruciating pain Jim inflicted upon me. It was only at the ebbing of the intensity, that I could focus and chant to myself, “I’m not here, I’m not here, I’m not here.” Isabella was more alive during the trapped, confined times.”


I remember being left tied up with the scarves to my bed again, unable to wriggle free or suck my thumb.
“Do you see the crack in the ceiling?” Isabella asked.
“Yeah.”
“Well, if you shrink tiny enough, you can go out that crack with me. Then we can stand on the roof and probably see the park with the swimming pond and swings. Let’s go swing really high, Bella!”
And soon, we were doing just that.


“I had no question about the reality of Isabella. My whole world was crazy. She did not need to make sense, for I treasured her. She was my escape. She could be a separate person, or she could be apart of me. There was very little distinction between our realities in the beginning. We were trapped, and we escaped through our dialogue and imagination, turning into pretend free-flowing beings running away from the boredom of confinement, pain and confusion,” I told Carlisle.


He nodded, his pen flying swiftly across the page.


After securely tying me to the table in the basement, one of Jim’s rituals was to take the ice pick and poke me with it until it hurt, but never to puncture the skin.
“We have to be incredibly fucking careful not to leave marks,” he’d say.
He held the ice pick in front of my eyes, moving it closer and closer, as close as my eyelashes.
“I want to blind you, Isabella,” he told me. “I’ll poke out your ugly brown eyes and all the jelly will run down your skin, then you won’t be able to see.”
I felt my heart pound against my ribs as I visualized my eyeballs hanging out of their sockets. As I was being frightened, with no escape, the world would go black for me. I could barely breathe in the absolute void of the darkened world of my imagination. I thrashed and squirmed to be free, waiting for the final thrust of the ice pick. Even as a tiny child, I understood the concept of being blind. I would walk around the house with my eyes closed, so that I could get used to being blind. I memorized where everything was in my room, so that when I was blind, I could still find my things. This new terror led to a job for Isabella. I have no explanation for how she began as a pretend playmate and slowly incorporated herself into me, as though we were twins. It was an evolution of pain and imagination…one that I was not conscious of.
Bobby said, “You were being really stupid last night, Bella. You were walking around with a stick, tapping everything, like that blind man we saw on the beach. When I asked you what you were doing, you said that you were Isa-bella, not Bella, and you asked if I could take you outside before you died.”


“Um…I have no memory of doing that. It didn’t upset me that I couldn’t remember. I was small and just accepted life for what it was. There was no constancy in my life with Jim and there was a lack of it in my mind, also, as I struggled to survive in my world of pain.”


Bella, I wanna go play. Let’s not talk about this no more Isabella suggested.


Time’s not up yet I informed her before continuing to soldier on.


I kept my eyes on Mr. Squiggly Line as I steeled my resolve to talk for another thirty fucking minutes. Carlisle didn’t say or do much, but write in that damn journal. I ignored it and after running my fingers through my hair and crossing my legs, I continued.


“There were many nightmares, many nights I didn’t sleep, nights when physical pain kept me awake, and nights when I lay still, listening to see if Jim would come in to hurt me one more time before I fell asleep. It wasn’t until I was a little older that the abstract thoughts of my death played in my mind, wondering how he would kill me and what it would feel like to die. I never remember being afraid of death, but I was afraid of how much pain there was to dying. I lived with pain…it was constantly present. Matches were put out on my skin. My hair was yanked. I got slapped, or hit, or slammed against the wall for the smallest mistakes.”


One day, while I was trying to help set the table, I dropped the cream pitcher and it exploded in a spray of glass and cream. Jim dragged me up to my room and tied me down with those damn scarves again. He left the room and I waited for what seemed like a hundred years for the torture that I knew he was planning for me as he plotted with his angel. Knowing the pain was coming made my mind unable to escape. The focus I had on the pretend, the oblivion, didn’t work in the face of anticipated terror. Jim came back in with straight pins…the kind with the tiny balls on the end for sewing projects. As I lay immobilized in my bound position, he took the pins and stuck them through my labia, as though I were a Thanksgiving turkey. I cried and screamed at the piercing pain.
“I should just give you away, you dirky kike. You’re such a bad little girl. Not worth my fucking time. You need purity, Isabella! Cry it out. Fucking scream for me. Get rid of your demons,” he demanded in a cold voice.
He untied me and left the room, with the pins still sticking through my tiny private parts, and the ends of the pins stabbing into my left thigh as I moved. I couldn’t see the pins to take them out. I inched across the bed, getting stabbed harder with each move. I waddled to the bathroom mirror, which was full length to the floor. Sitting on the white hexagon tiles, I saw the blood droplets spread across the floor as I pulled the pins out, one at a time. I was crying in loud, hiccupping sobs, but was fascinated at the sight of my red, tear stained face and the sight of the pins sticking through me. That night at dinner, I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t move when dinner was over. The pain down below was almost too much. I put my head down next to my plate and just sat there. I don’t remember what Mommy said to me, but I do remember her scooping me in her arms and carrying me upstairs. She took me to the bathroom and I almost couldn’t breathe at the stinging pain when I urinated. I was fighting back the tears as I looked up at Mommy and saw her staring down at the blood on my panties. She said nothing. She carried me to my room and got me dressed in my pajamas. I waited for her to ask me about the blood, but she never did. Instead, she layed down next to me and tickled my back, snuggling with me for a while. Later, while I lay in my bed, unable to sleep from the pain, I heard my mother shouting at Jim, and Jim crying. I hoped they weren’t fighting about my being evil.
“I think he’s angry with me because I’m so bad,” I whispered to Isabella.
“No, it’s because you’re a kike…a dirty Jew,” she informed me.
“How can I not be Jewish anymore?”
“Just like me, just don’t be Jewish. Just decide to be different from what you are. It’s easy,” she consoled me.
“For you, everything is easy. You just make up whatever you want to be. Things don’t work like that. When you get bigger, you’ll understand more.”
I was always the practical one, while Isabella was the escapist. If reality didn’t suit her, she’d change it.
"I didn’t mean to break the pitcher. I never mean to do bad things…” I murmured sadly.
Isabella said, “I don’t really think it’s just because you weren’t careful. When Bobby breaks things, he never gets tied up. It’s because Daddy hates you for being Jewish.”
“Why aren’t Mommy and Bobby Jewish?”
“I don’t know. I think Mommy knows we’re being hurt. That makes me mad. She should take care of us.”
“No! Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that mommy knows. If she knew, she would take us away. It’s because we’ve never told her.”


“When my mother got angry at Jim, it seemed to only escalate the abuse. The next day I was locked in the basement for a whole day. I was hit and burned several times that week. I remember all this because on that next Sunday, Bobby and I were going to be baptized in the Presbyterian Church. My mom explained how Jim wanted us to be sprinkled with water so that when we died, we would go to heaven. Jim gave Bobby and me several talks about Jesus, heaven, and God, who loved us. When we went, I had to go to the Sunday school room to color and sing songs…”


I had been in so much pain from an episode with Jim that I just lay on the floor in the corner while all the kids looked at me. The young teacher picked me up and held me in her lap and gave me graham crackers. I remember her silk blouse against my cheek as I looked at the Jesus picture on the wall. Jesus had wavy curls, just like Jim and he had angels, too. But in Sunday school, they told me that Jesus loved the little children. After church, we went to a party at the home of an old lady. I don’t know who she was, except that I remember she had saggy eyes, blotches on her skin, and big teeth. She also had a swimming pool. The Sunday lunch party was being held outside and I tried to be very quiet and good. The bruises on my back hurt. I walked over to the deep end of the pool while all the grown-ups talked. Now that I was baptized, I wanted to go to heaven.
I remembered the nice Sunday school teacher singing, “Jesus loves the little children…all the children of the world…”
I knew my daddy, Jim, didn’t love me. Maybe Jesus would want me. With my hair in pretty ribbons, a church dress, and Mary Jane shoes on, I stepped off the edge of the pool into the deep end. I don’t remember fear. Just sinking down and down, turning and seeing my blue dress float around my neck. I took in a breath of water - I was going to visit Jesus. My mother dove into the water with all her clothes on and rescued me. I came up coughing and choking. I was laid out on the side of the pool as Mommy desperately pressed the water from my lungs while tears streamed down her face. Instead of comforting me, she stood up, turned me over her knee and started spanking me. That was the only spanking my mother ever gave me. All the way home in my wet clothes, I sucked my thumb. Mommy was angry with me, Daddy hated me, and even Jesus didn’t want me.


I looked at the clock and noticed there was fifteen minutes left.


I want my Edward… Isabella said.


Yeah, let’s blow this joint, Bell. I don’t want to hear about this shit anymore Marie piped in.


We have to do this guys…I know it sucks, but please quit giving me crap about it. I love you. You’re not going anywhere. No matter what they say…alright?


Kay Isabella said.


Alright, doll Marie relented.


“Bella, you’re making a lot of progress today,” Carlisle informed me with an encouraging smile.


I laughed nervously and sniffled. “Um…thanks.”


“Can you go a little longer?” he asked, intrigued with my stories.


I nodded and decided to tell him about my good ol’ granny. My real dad’s mom. Those were some good times…


I smiled.


Carlisle smiled back.


I began my tale.


“In the fall, when I was five, a very good and happy thing happened. You see, because my birthday is near the school’s beginning date, there was a discussion as to whether I could start kindergarten. I remember the sense of dreaded doom I felt at the grown-up’s decision that I should stay home another year because I was so tiny and skinny. It just meant more pain…more basement time. But…”


My mother took Jim on a two-week vacation, leaving me with my Granny Hadassah. She was a twinkle-eyed round woman with big breasts and a halo of snow-white curls around her face. She had come to see me on occasion, but I didn’t really know her very well. Jim didn’t like her because she was a Jew. I was very intrigued at what she and I possessed, or had in common, that would make us both so undesirable. I hoped she didn’t know that I was bad. I worried about how she would hurt me. I resolved to be very good and very quiet. It only took a few hours with my granny to realize that we were going to have a lot of fun. She giggled and had a tea party with me and some dollies. She didn’t yell at me when I laughed. She didn’t even yank my thumb out of my mouth when I sucked on it. She liked me. Those two weeks were bliss for me. I got to curl up on Granny’s lap and hear old Jewish stories and tales of Germany where she had grown up. We baked cookies together and she taught me silly, funny songs. She showed me how to play cards. We took lotts of walks to the park, for daily exercise, and I collected pretty autumn leaves and rolled holly berries along the side walk. Bedtime was my favorite, though. Granny would lie on the bed with me and gently stroke my hair and sing me pretty lullabies in her soft voice. She told me that she thought I was a lovely, wonderful little girl. We whispered our secrets to each other and she rubbed her nose against mine.
“It’s Eskimo kissing,” she told me.
It was two weeks of paradise. I wasn’t hurt, not even once, and there was never any basement time. Even Isabella, who didn’t like anyone, loved Granny Hadassah. We always argued as to who would get to sit in her lap for story time. I was upset when my parents came home. I felt like my heart was breaking as my mother escorted my dear old granny out to her car. She kissed the tears dripping from my eyes and Eskimo-kissed me goodbye. I squeezed her as hard as I could, hoping that she would know how intensely I loved her.


“That’s very special,” Carlisle told me with a gentle smile.


I nodded. “Yes…Granny was very special.”


“Anyway, later on that year, at the Halloween festival at Bobby’s elementary school, we won little goldfish with the ping-pong balls that landed in the bowls. Bobby and me brought home our three fish and were very pleased with our new pets…”


Jim took the little bags from my hands and dumped our fish onto the kitchen floor. He stepped on them, squashing them flat.
“We must not let things suffer,” he chanted with a glazed look in his eyes. That statement made absolutely no sense to me, as I cried and mourned for my little fish. Isabella could lividly express the anger that I never allowed myself to feel.
“I hate Daddy! He had no reason to kill our fishies. He has no reason to hurt us at all!”
“Shh, be quiet Isabella. If you do something, you’ll only make him madder.”
“I don’t care!” she screamed petulantly and stomped her foot.
She took the little smashed fish and smeared their guts all across the kitchen counter. She was bad, but I was the one who got thrown down and kicked.


“Hmm…” Carlisle hummed. “That seems to be a pattern with your alternates, Bella…” he trailed off suggestively.


“Yeah, I know. They get all angry and lash out, but leave me to deal with the consequences.”


He nodded, agreeing with me.


“Lovely, isn’t it?” I asked, sarcasm laced in my tone.


He sighed, and turned the page. “Go on, dear…”


I looked at the clock. Seven minutes.


“Okay, well then there was the death of my very best friend…”


“For Christmas that year, I remember being excited and thrilled with the new antique doll that my Granny Hadassah had sent me. It was almost as tall as I was, with a porcelain painted face and real brown hair that curled, just like mine. It had a lace dress and little buckle shoes. I loved that fucking doll. I named her Emily and kept her next to my bed. In my loneliness for regular playmates, I played with her as though she were my real friend…”


One day, when Jim was angry with me, he tied me to a wooden chair in my room, took a hammer and brutally smashed in Emily’s face.
“I want to do this to your face. Then you won’t be so pretty anymore, and I won’t have to hear that incessant fucking laughter coming out of your dirty little mouth all the goddamn time,” he told me.
I sobbed as Emily lay in chunks of china bisque on my floor. The brown glass eyes, that mirrored my own, still had the eyelashes attached as they gazed up at me from the floor. Jim took Emily and threw her in the trash, leaving me bound to a chair in my room to mourn. Mom asked me what had happened to Emily and I told her that I broke her. My fear of Jim far outweighed my mother’s displeasure.
“You were wrong to not take care of your expensive doll, especially since your granny gave it to you,” Mom scolded me.
“I’m sorry, Mommy.”
Bobby had lotts of toys and trucks and I got to play with them, but it wasn’t the same as having my very own toys and playthings. Pooh bear had become very important after Emily had been destroyed. I used to talk to Pooh, and tell him where I hurt and what I was afraid of. I played pretend games with Pooh and slept with him at night. I must have been about six, when Jim took him from me and stabbed him with a butcher knife, slitting out the stuffing of his belly, puncturing his arms and legs before cutting his face to shreds. In my child’s mind, it was downright murder that he was committing. Isabella screamed and cried, while I sobbed right along with her. Pooh was vividly alive to me, and now he was dead. I took his eyes out of the waste basket and hid them under my pillow. I kept the eyes of my dead friend for years to come, putting them in secret hiding places. I only had Bobby, mom, and Isabella.
She became more real after Pooh was killed.


I miss Pooh bear… Isabella whined


Yeah, me too.


I want my Edward Isabella told me in a pitifully small voice.


Yeah, yeah, kid…we heard ya the first fucking time Marie informed her.


I sighed and felt a tear drop roll down my eye. I was feeling Isabella's pain of loss for our best friends back in the day.


Poor Emily.


Poor Pooh bear.


Aw, not you too! Bell, c’mon…this is fucking depressing. And I don’t feel good. So you two just…fucking quit with all the boo-hoo’in already Marie demanded of us.


You weren’t there, so you don’t know! Isabella piped up, defending our pain.


Whatever Marie retorted.


I sighed and tried to block out their arguing. I wiped my eyes and glanced over at the clock as Carlisle was closing his book.


“So, Bella…”

CPOV

Bella sniffled and said, “Huh-uh."


"Bella?"


"Want my Edward…” came her small voice.


Realization dawn on me that she had abruptly switched to Isabella just as Edward had opened the door to my study. He quickly walked right over to her and without breaking his stride, lifted her out of the leather chair that she was sitting in.


“C’mere baby girl,” he said softly while she gripped onto his neck and wrapped her legs around his waist.


She sniffled and nuzzled her face into his neck. “My friends, Edward…he killed ‘em,” she informed him pitifully, as she began to cry.


He swayed slowly from side to side while he held her in his arms. The sight reminded me very much of a father comforting his child, ironically.


He softly rubbed soothing circles into her back and shushed her. “I know, angel…” he murmured sadly while giving me a look of slight confusion.


She’s reliving those memories I thought to him.


He nodded to me then, and turned on his heel, quickly walking out of the room. While I felt great sympathy for Bella and Isabella at the moment, I couldn’t help the smile that lit up my face as I looked over all the pages of material I had gotten out of Bella today.


Her therapy was progressing quickly, as she seemed to talk non-stop, from the moment she sits down, to the moment time is up. Yesterday, she even ran an hour over time. I grew excited as I thought of when I would be able to further counsel Isabella and Marie, personally. But as of right now, we are just scratching the surface of Isabella, and hadn’t really even begun with Marie yet. I knew that, with time, I would definitely be able to help our Bella get well.