43. Lifesaver

BPOV

"You shouldn't worry so much, Bella. Now that you have started on a regimen of the anti-depressant, you should be feeling a lot better. You know, not so sad anymore. I really wish you would have told me that you were feeling 'numb', as you put it. I would have started your medication before I left on my trip," Carlisle informed me.


I looked down and focused on Edward's arm, currently wrapped around my waist. "Sorry…" I mumbled sheepishly.


He shook his head and gave me a reassuring smile. "No need to apologize, dear."


I looked back up at his reassurance.


"All is taken care of now. As I said…Doctor Dad is in the house," he reminded me with a smirk.


I lightly chuckled. "You like that don't you?" I asked, fighting a smile.


"What?" he asked casually, amusement lighting up his gold eyes.


I smiled. "Doctor Dad…"


He gave me a bright smile then, and agreed. "Yes…yes, I do."


I nodded and felt Edward's cool lips behind my ear then. "Bella, I don't think I can leave you…" he whispered in my ear.


I frowned and started running my palm up and down the forearm currently pressing into my stomach, just trying to offer him some form of comfort, or reassurance. I leaned my head back against his shoulder, and turned to face him. After kissing his neck, jaw line and cheek, he turned his head to look at me. He had a small smile on his face, but his golden gaze remained worried.


I bit my lip and furrowed my brow at his expression. "I'll be okay," I whispered back to him with a small nod.


I'm sorry, Edward. Sorry that I can't keep my emotions under control. Sorry that I scared you earlier. Sorry that you have to deal with a crazy girlfriend.


He subtly shook his head and put his mouth next to my ear again. "I need to hold onto you," he told me, then quickly added, "Just a little while longer."


I nodded. "Okay, honey…I love you," I whispered in a strained voice that cracked.


It was killing me that I had made him look like that. Like a lost, hurt and confused little boy who refused to let go of his security blanket…me.


Aw. My big, strong vampire man. I'll cuddle you I thought as I gave his forearm another reassuring squeeze and caress.


To say that he was upset by my earlier breakdown would be a major understatement. He was downright traumatized. So now, here we sit - in Carlisle's study. I am ready for a therapy session, but Edward remains un-ready to let me go. He absolutely refuses to, so instead, he is sitting in my usual spot, while I sit on his lap. Like a five year old.


He cupped my cheek and looked at me adoringly. "I love you too, sweetheart. So much," he said, then kissed my forehead and minutely tightened his hold around my waist.


"Bella, you should probably know that if you experience another breakdown in the future, it won't be quite as disturbing, or violent. The Prozac will help you deal with your emotions, and if it should get out of hand again, that is what the Valium is for," he informed me.


I looked back at Carlisle and nodded, glad that he had been prepared with those magical little pills that had incidentally saved the day from my emotionally crazy ass.


"How are you feeling now?" he asked with a hint of concern.


"Better…calmer. I'm still remembering things, though. My mind seems overloaded with all kinds of memories right now. It's making me fucking antsy. I need to let them out…and consequentially, that means letting either Isabella or Marie out. Which is perfectly fine, I want…no, I need to hear them again. I'm starting to get anxious at the silence in my head. It's fucking unnerving," I concluded with a nod.


"Do you not hear them at all?" he asked curiously.


I subtly shook my head and lightly ran my fingertips around the top of Edward's wrist. "Um, no…well, this morning, I did. Yeah, uhh…when I woke up. I opened my eyes and the first thing I saw was Edward. Isabella whispered, "My Edward," but that was it. Oh yeah! Umm…and then, when I was walking through the woods to go down to the river…" I trailed off.


Carlisle nodded for me to continue. Edward kissed my cheek.


"Umm, I had Marie's Ipod with me. When I was turning it on, she told me, 'Pretty Bell, that's my fuckin toy. You can't play with it.' I told her to shut up and that she needs to learn how to share."


"I see. And that's it? Nothing yesterday?"


I nodded, clearing my throat. "That's it…yesterday, it was like they didn't even exist. Without their voices and internal conversations, with either, me, or each other, it left a lot of room for memories to start flooding my mind. It was very…umm, disturbing," I finished quietly, frowning at how much yesterday sucked.


Edward's hand on my hip started to subtly move then, lightly squeezing and rubbing my small, fragile hip bone. His cool fingertips slowly snuck up underneath the fabric of my shirt and he started lightly tracing a tiny circle around my bellybutton with his index finger. My stomach muscles trembled and I turned my head to look at him questioningly.


Your dad is right there I thought while fighting a giggle.


He gave me an innocent look and smiled at my suppressed grin, then used his other hand to start playing with my hair…running his fingers through the long strands, and gently pressing the cool tip of his nose to my scalp and inhaling. I smiled then, I couldn't help it.


You're such a weirdo, but I love you.


His slow finger on my bellybutton suddenly became five tickling fingers on my stomach and sides, and my giggles finally broke free. He was relentless and kept it up until I was breathless from my laughter and efforts to twist out of his grip. He ignored my feeble attempts to escape him, and smiled against my neck, placing cool kisses there, igniting goose bumps on the sensitive skin. When his fingers finally stopped their tickle torture, and his cool palm lay flat and still on my bare stomach, underneath my shirt, I turned my head to give him a kiss.


I pressed my warm lips to his cold ones, and slowly glided my tongue along his bottom lip, then shyly nibbled on it. He made a little moaning sound at the feel of my teeth on him, and took his hand out from underneath my shirt, then cupped the back of my head, keeping me held to him.


When we finally broke apart, he gave me my favorite panty-droppin smirk. I smirked back.


"What was that for?" I asked a little breathlessly.


"I had to cheer you up, love. I adore your smile and I wanted to see it," he told me simply, then kissed the tip of my nose.


I smiled and turned my body sideways to snuggle into him more. He accommodated my new position, letting both my legs dangle off the side of his lap, and kept both his arms wrapped around me while I rested my head on his shoulder.


He kissed my forehead. "When you come out of here, love, you won't be you…" he informed me lightly, hugging me to him.


I nodded, already knowing this. "I know," I said casually with a shrug.


Then something occurred to me.


Oh, God…what if he's not okay with that?


"Is that okay?" I asked hesitantly.


"Yes," he answered immediately…reassuringly. I breathed a sigh of relief and he lightly chuckled. "Yeah, I miss taking care of my little girl and playing with Marie."


I nodded.


"But I'll miss you while I'm doing that with them," he pointed out.


I kissed his temple and started running my fingers through his hair, softly grazing his scalp with my short fingernails. He closed his eyes and relaxed into my touch. I knew how much he loved that…the feel of my nails on his skin.


"I love you."


He opened his eyes and focused back on me. "I love you, too."


"I love that you love all of me…that you take care of Isabella and play with Marie."


"Happy to do it, love," he assured me with a confident smile.


I bit my lip nervously then. "Hmmm…honey, are you okay now?"


He reflexively tightened his hold on me. "Nope," he said, trying to keep his tone light.


I nodded in understanding and wrapped my arms around his neck, squeezing him into a hug. "Do you want to stay?" I whispered while my mouth was by his ear.


I needed this session to get a move on. The anxiety was beginning to creep back in, with or without the Valium's help. I needed to hear the girls' voices again. I needed to be reassured that they were still there…and that they would help me out with this 'breakdown'…that they wouldn't leave me alone to deal with it on my own.


I loosened my grip around Edward's neck and sat back to gaze at him questioningly. After a few seconds of being dazzled and reassured by his beautiful golden orbs, his eyes flicked away from mine and over to Carlisle. After a few seconds, I got the picture that they seemed to be doing their silent communication thing again, so I just laid my head back down on Edward's shoulder and waited for it to be over with.


Before he spoke to me again, I felt Edward's arm tighten it's hold around me three times, and I heard a low hiss escape from his slightly parted lips.


Uh-oh…


"Love…" he trailed off softly.


I lifted my head from his shoulder and kept my gaze focused on him alone. I knew that he was upset with Carlisle right now. Why? Hell, I don't know, but the hiss was a dead giveaway. So I made sure not to look in Carlisle's direction and kept my eyes mainly focused on Edward.


I was his mate, and therefore I remained loyal to him. To look at, or acknowledge in any way, the person/vampire that he was currently upset with, would only tell his instincts otherwise; that I was, somehow, 'unloyal' to him, and that would piss him off.


Vampires can be so fucking dramatic sometimes. Not to mention territorial.


I bit my lip. "Hmm?"


He softened his gaze then, and gave me a soft, chaste kiss. When he pulled away, he cupped my cheek, ran his thumb along the sensitive skin below my right eye, and smiled at me reassuringly.


I gave him a small smile in return, and wondered what was going on.


"Sessions need to remain between you and Carlisle," he informed me quietly, but I could still read the reluctance written all over his face. He really didn't want to leave me in here.


I nodded and then kissed his nose, for once. He smiled at the unexpected action and looked at me questioningly.


"I'll be okay," I assured him.


He nodded and kissed me chastely again. "I know you will," he whispered against my lips, then let his hand fall away from my face, back down to his lap. He softly patted my bottom then. "Hop up, love. Time to get this show on the road."


I nodded in complete agreement and stood from his lap. When he stood up, he pulled me into a tight embrace, cradling my body to his, and murmured against the shell of my ear that he would be right outside the door.


"Okay," I acquiesced, then sat down where he had been sitting - in my high-backed leather chair.


Edward turned and walked out of the room rather quickly then…like, if he didn't hurry, then he would change his mind and continue to argue with Carlisle, or something. I hoped they weren't too angry with each other, if they were angry at all, that is. I knew their current father/son brawl was about me, and that made me feel guilty.


First Emmett and Rosalie leave, and now Edward and Carlisle are fighting? God, could I be anymore of a bad luck charm?


"There, now…are you ready, dear?" Carlisle asked, pulling me out of my reverie.


I gave him a curt nod. "Yes, very ready," I assured him.


He gave me a warm smile. "Good. Where would you like to start today?" he asked, opening his trusty leather journal and grabbing that same black pen.


Hmm…I wonder if he always uses that pen for the leather book. Would it bother him if he had to use a different one? It would bother me. God, and if I had to switch to a blue one, that would be torture, especially in the middle of a paragraph. I wouldn't be able to-


"Bella?"


"Yeah?" I asked, quickly flicking my eyes away from the gold black-ink pen, and focusing on his gold eyes instead.


"Where would you like to start?" he asked patiently, repeating his question.


"Oh, well…you know, I'm just going to be telling you about random things that come to mind. I need to get this crap outta my head, Carlisle. Do you think you can keep up?" I asked, quirking my eyebrow playfully in a challenge.


He smirked. "Do your worst…" he murmured, obviously all too happy to accept my challenge at jotting down my random, erratic thoughts and memories.


I nodded and sighed, then quickly focused on my old friend, Mr. Squiggly Line, on Carlisle's huge dean desk.


Hello there.


I lightly chuckled. "Umm…yeah, I've been talking to myself a lot lately. Inside my head, I mean. I suppose I'm hoping that Isabella or Marie will eventually respond to one of my inner-ramblings, but so far, they haven't…" I trailed off in slight disappointment.


Carlisle nodded in understanding and gave me a sympathetic smile.


I glanced at the clock. 11:02am. One hour.


Let's do this.


I sighed. "Alright, well…"


When first grade started, Jim bought us a beautiful golden retriever puppy. Of course, I was allergic to the sweet little animal. But I couldn't stop playing with it, even though I sneezed and coughed constantly. Jim got angry at my asthma and I further enraged him by doing something…I don't even remember what. But I do remember being dragged up to my room again and tied to my bed with the blue scarves.
"You're an evil child. You have stolen your mother from me."
"No, Daddy! I didn't take anything! I promise I didn't steal!"
Again, the ice pick was poised over my eyes and he stuck me carefully, just until it hurt, on my face and slowly down my body. Jim's conversation with me gradually became crazier and angrier. Eventually, he took that ice pick and began raking it up and down my labia and clitoris, cutting me, then stabbing at me. He poked it over and over into my tiny vagina and into my rectum. I screamed bloodcurdling screams of agony. I was positive he was killing me. When he finally stopped, he was crying…one of the few times I had seen him cry, and he was talking to his angel as he left the room. I lay there with blood running from my wounds. I couldn't get out of bed for a week. Jim never said that he was sorry, but he took good care of me; bringing me snacks and books to read and things to play with. He even brought me Mommy's jewelry box for me to look at and try on her pretty necklaces. My body healed faster than my mind did. To have the pain again after the freedom and fun summer with Mom and Granny was too much. I couldn't even escape into fantasy. I was deeply depressed.


"Jesus Christ…" Carlisle muttered exasperatedly, obviously not expecting me to just 'dive right in' like I had warned him I would.


I nodded in agreement. "Mm-hmm, tell me about it."


He sighed. "Go on, dear. Keep talking…let it all out."


"Oh, I plan on it," I reassured him, hoping with all my might that I would hear Isabella or Marie while I was talking about my past horrors.


My asthma continued. Mommy came home from one of her trips and took me to the doctor, who emphatically said, "If this child is to stop having asthma, you must get rid of the dog."
Jim sat me down, looking me piercingly in the eyes and said, "The whole family has decided that we would rather keep the puppy than you. You'll just have to learn to live with the asthma because King is more important than you."
I went up to my room, still wheezing, and lay on my bed. The stains from the ice pick incident were still on my covers. I walked out onto the balcony overlooking the cement driveway. Once I was able to catch my breath, the only thought in my mind was a compelling need to escape. I needed to be able to breathe again.
"Let's leave," Isabella said.
"I wish I could fly like you. I would fly away. No one loves me, and no one wants me."
"It's easy," Isabella said. "Just flap your arms really hard and you'll go up, up into the sky. And you're right...no one loves you, 'cept for me and maybe Bobby."
"Will you help me fly?"
"Yesss! I'll go with you and we'll never come back. Maybe they'll even be sad that we're gone."
I climbed onto the railing of the balcony, and looked up to the sky. I do not remember consciously choosing to die, merely to leave what I could not tolerate anymore. I stood on the rail, flapping my arms like an idiot, determined that I would fly away. I took a giant leap off the rail and plunged head-first from the second story balcony. I felt no fear as I fell, merely a fascination that flying didn't work after all. I have no idea how long I lay crumpled on the driveway. I drifted back to the present time and place with Bobby shouting and crying over me, "Don't be dead, please don't die."
The next memory was of Jim yanking me up and the piercing, electric pain that came from the broken arm that he was pulling. I could hear the bones crunching. Bobby made a sling out of a towel, as he'd learned to do in Boy Scouts, and went with me to the hospital. Both bones in my left arm were broken, so I got a cast up to my shoulder. It wasn't until I lost consciousness, later that night, that they discovered my fractured skull and brain concussion. The doctor told me to curl up in a little ball for a spinal tap. He was amazed that I didn't even whimper when he stuck the needle in my back. I wondered where else he would stick the needle, or if he would tie me up. In just a few moments he said that he was done and that he was sorry he had to poke me…that I was a 'brave, good girl'. It seemed an odd message, for when Daddy stuck me, he always said that I was 'bad' or 'evil'. I kept vomiting from the concussion and the doctor told me to lie flat in the bed and to not wiggle around. Nurses brought in sand bags to put by my head and body, to keep me from moving. Terror rose in me at what would come next, but they were never mean. They spoke softly to me and brought me a popsicle.


"Umm…" I trailed off.


Carlisle looked up from his journal to gaze at me questioningly.


I smiled nervously. "Yeah, I never did tell anyone I jumped off that balcony on purpose…you're the first person to know," I told Carlisle in confidence.


He raised his eyebrows in slight surprise. "Never?"


I shook my head. "Nope…never," I mumbled quietly.


He nodded in acknowledgement and I continued on with my random memories.


I missed three months of the first grade because of the accident. A good portion of the time was spent locked in the basement. Mom would give us breakfast, then go to work. Bobby would leave for school, and Jim would order me down to the basement. I would try to smuggle bits of food into my clothes, for there was no lunch in the black stinky space under the stairs. I would hide long strings of yarn to play with, or rubber bands…anything minutely small that could be a distraction during the long claustrophobic days. If I was caught hiding anything, I was beaten. My greatest escape was my imagination. Isabella's and my game-playing became wonders of creativity. We could play a whole game of hangman, or checkers on an imaginary board, in total blackness. But even then, there were endless hours of boredom and anxiety in the fear that I would die unnoticed in the basement. My plastered left arm hurt and my headaches were fierce.


When I finally returned to school, everyone knew their multiplication tables…everyone except me. It seemed as though life had gone on without me, and I was overcome by shyness and the humiliation of not understanding the classroom work. At recess, I ran from the playground and hid in the bushes, where Isabella and I would play little games of our own. The teacher found me and demanded that I return to the classroom. It was a horrible year, and Isabella and I missed Mr. McDonald a lot. The teacher was strict and very intimidating. I got F's in arithmetic and Cursive Writing on my report card. I was used to the A's that had always been awarded by Mr. McDonald, so I felt deeply ashamed. I didn't tell anyone that I was unaware of time for long stretches and that it was Isabella doing most of my school work. I had the sensation of being dragged into invisibility somewhere far away and gray. I didn't know why I wasn't like everyone else, but I had been laughed at when I tried to explain my 'twin'.
Mrs. Franklin, the school counselor, tried to make me feel better by saying, "Of course missing three months of school would put you behind, and your teacher was a very inconsiderate woman for giving you F's."


"She was," Carlisle reaffirmed quietly.


I nodded, bringing my legs up onto the chair to sit comfortably in an Indian style position. "I know, right," I muttered in agreement. "Fucking bitch…" I mumbled off to the side.


Carlisle lightly chuckled at my side comment as I continued on, concentrating on each memory and listening carefully for the two distinct voices in my head.


My asthma continued all throughout first grade because Jim wouldn't get rid of our puppy. I loved King, but didn't like the wheezing. There were many nights when I sat up in bed, struggling to breathe.
"You know Daddy is keeping King on purpose, just to make you sick," Isabella informed me.
We shared the same body, but she never had asthma; at least she always acted like it was only me.
"I love King."
"Then you're stupid!"
"It's not his fault he has soft fur!" I pointed out.
"I know it's not! It's Mommy's fault for letting Daddy keep him. Mommies are sposta take care of their kids," Isabella said with finality.


It was about this time that Isabella began stealing. It was usually tiny little objects…things that people wouldn't notice were missing. Mommy took us to Chinatown, out to a family dinner, and in the little gift shop that smelled of sandalwood and incense, Isabella stole a tiny carved ivory man, and a little carved deer, both less than two inches high. I blanked out the theft, but when I found them in my pocket later, Isabella told me that she did it.
"You shouldn't steal things, we'll get in trouble!"
"I can if I want to," Isabella insisted with defiance.
"Daddy's gonna kill us," I pointed out.
"Daddy takes everything from us," she reminded me.
I felt humiliation for being party to a crime, but secretly delighted in having something to play with now. Isabella stole other small items once she figured out how easy it was; little pieces of chalk, jacks, and a tiny rubber ball. They were our first possessions. We were smart enough to figure out how to hide our secret stash. I took a thick white sock and put our treasures inside, then folded them to look just like an ordinary pair in the back of the drawer.


Bella… her voice whispered into my subconscious.


I gasped. "Oh, thank you Lord," I rushed out in a relieved voice.


Carlisle looked at me questioningly, concern crossing his features. Yeah, I would be concerned too, if I was him. I'm happy that Isabella stole stuff when I was a kid? I gotta fix this.


I laughed nervously. "Um, yeah…Isabella…" I told him knowingly with a nod.


Understanding seemed to dawn on him. "Oh! You can hear her now?"


I want my Edward. Where's he at?


I nodded and smiled, relieved to the point that I could almost cry. "Yeah."


He nodded and gave me a warm smile. "Good, good. Maybe she'll come out and talk some today?" he asked curiously.


Nope. Want my Edward…


I shrugged. "Maybe," I mumbled.


Bella!


What?


I want my Edward. Where's he at?


Outside the door.


M'kaaaay


"Okay, well anyway…yesterday I remembered a lot of stuff from the summer when I was six years old. It was a bad summer…a horrible summer…a downright sucky summer…" I trailed off.


Carlisle nodded in understanding, then focused his concerned gaze on me, eyeing me critically. "Would you like to tell me about it?" he asked hesitantly in a soft voice.


I nodded, thankful that Carlisle was being sensitive to my apprehension on this subject. This was going to be a hard for me to talk about because everything about it seemed so new and fresh. It was all I could think about yesterday.


"Yeah…might as well. Umm…"


Bella!


What?


I love you Isabella giggled.


I sighed and began.


At the beginning of my second-ever summer vacation, I spent a week at Granny Hadassah's house. She took me to a concert, where I got to see the live play, 'Peter Pan'. I clapped for Tinker Bell until my hands were sore. Granny rubbed my hands with her lavender lotion, which she had retrieved from her handbag while we were sitting in our seats. Then she brought my right hand up to her lips and kissed my palm.
"I'm glad you love fairies, too," she whispered against it.
I held my other hand up for a kiss, as well, while I sniffed the scented lotion on my right hand.
"But I don't like elves," I whispered back.
When I returned home, I took my standard position against the wall, knowing by now that it was required of me. I stayed still, looking straight ahead with my hands turned palms up, held out in offering to Jim. Jim was almost incoherent in his tirades about my mother and her 'other men'. He was angry that my mother had let me go to my Granny's house for a week, and kept yelling about how Granny was a dirty kike who was ruining all that he had accomplished with me so far. He didn't want me around her…her, or her nigger neighbor friend, Mary. He demanded to know what we had done, and who I had associated myself with.
"I wasn't a bad girl, Daddy," I promised in a timid voice.
He stomped his way over to me, grabbed a fistful of hair at the top of my head, almost pulling my bangs out of their roots, and forced my head to lean back so that I could look up at him. I knew better than to cry out in pain.
"Did you let that nigger touch you?" he sneered in my face.
"No," I whimpered.
"Did you talk to her?" he persisted.
"No."
He let go of my hair and slapped me across the face.
"Are you lying to me?" he asked in a menacing tone.
His ice blue eyes locked with mine, staring me down. Under his penetrating glare, I started to cry and confessed everything. I had talked to the nice neighbor lady with brown skin. And I had let her touch me. She was always smiling and she was constantly humming pretty gospel songs under her breath. That Sunday morning, she had let me and her seven year old daughter sit on her big lap while she rocked us in the rocking chair that was on her porch, and she taught us a song called, 'Amazing Grace'. She complimented me on my soft singing voice, saying that I sounded like an angel. She let me play in her front yard with her kids when they returned from church in the afternoon, and she had even made us chocolate chip cookies for a snack. Jim roared out his hatred for me. We were alone in the house. Bobby was out somewhere playing, and my mother had left on a business trip to Washington, D.C, for two months. After my beating for lying to him, Jim had announced that for the entire time Mommy would be away, he did not want to see my ugly kike face. I was locked in my room, instead of the basement this time, not to see or play with anyone for the next two months. I was officially grounded. Desolation overcame me as I sat in my huge, beautiful room with it's wooden floors, a wool area rug with lovely pink roses splashing the edges, a desk and chair, and a walk-in closet filled with clothes. There were no toys, no radio or TV…nothing to play with except my secret little stash of items in the sock drawer. After a week of warmth and fun with Granny, the isolation was unbearable. Hours dragged by in merciless succession. For days, I lay on the big four poster full-sized bed and looked at the face made by a crack in my ceiling plaster. Occasionally I cried, but gradually imagination came to my rescue. There was Isabella, who could escape the room and could think up funny stories, and talked about us having a new Daddy, who would love and take care of us. She seemed to have a limitless number of creative games to suggest. She made a pretend oven out of our desk, where only delicious meals were baked, and we would share our make-believe food with the two-inch tall ivory man that we had named Yen…it was the only Oriental name I could think of at the time. When I was sad, I cried, and Isabella took care of me…but she always grew angry because of it. She hated it when I cried. In the long days of isolation, she etched her initials into the desk in a dozen different places with a nail file. The saving grace was the full-length mirror in the bathroom connected to my bedroom. I danced in front of that mirror and shifted from Isabella to myself, carrying on long conversations, and seeing Isabella's slightly different face smiling back at me. The long isolation was reinforcing the dissociation, but for me, at that time, it was salvation; I was entertained and saved by my favorite companion. I saw the sunrise casting pinks around the room and the next thing I would be aware of, was a cold dinner sitting on my desk and the sky growing dark outside. Those were the lucky dissociative days; lucid days were harder, seeming to drag on forever. I missed my friends, but I missed Bobby the most. Jim would come at mealtimes, unlock the door, say nothing to me and leave me a plate of food, then relock the door. I will eternally remember the sound of the deadbolt being jammed into it's lock on the outside of my bedroom door. Bobby never forgot me. He would sneak up when Jim was busy and send me messages under the door. We played hangman and tic-tac-toe, passing the paper back and forth under the door. Comic books were smuggled under the door and I avidly read every one he could bring me. We could whisper to each other, but we dared not talk aloud and get caught. From my room I looked into the orange trees, so Bobby climbed clear up in the tree nearest my room and flashed me Morse code with a small mirror reflecting the sun. He smuggled me coloring books, drawing paper, crayons and pencils. I spent many hours drawing, then hiding my pictures from Jim under the bed. Jim had gotten his license back that year and he had bought himself a new car. On the days that I heard the car pull out of the driveway, taking Bobby with him, I felt the intense sensation of abandonment. There were no games under the door, and no meals…only my split-self playmate. Maggie, our Irish maid, had worked for Jim for years, but she was a nobody to me. She knew of the violence. She had seen me get burned, and she had walked by me tied to a chair.
She had told me, "Get away from me, child. I'm sorry for what goes on in this house, but I have six children to feed and I need this job."
She could hear me scream and pass on by the basement as though I didn't exist. She was one more adult who looked into my child's eyes of pain and turned away. Isabella wanted to hurt that woman, and on the days that Jim left the house, we had hoped that Maggie would come to our room…but she never did. I stood by the hour with my face pressed to the window in the hopes of hearing Bobby play, or seeing a bird fly into the trees. As summer dragged on, Bobby got bored with our under-the-door games and would ride off on his bicycle. I felt like screaming and flailing my fists at the locked door, but I knew that would just get me hurt. I thought of my school friends playing jump-rope and swimming, and I would lay on the floor in my hot room and cry. Eventually, Isabella began to pull my hair and pluck my eyelashes out. Whole sections on the front of my head became bald, so that I didn't have bangs anymore. I don't know why she did it. We were both upset when I would look at myself in the mirror, but she still kept doing it. It was a very hot day when I stood at the window in my endless wait that I took a crayon, that Bobby had smuggled to me, and wrote in bold print on the window: PLEASE HELP ME. I left it on all day, hoping that somebody would come.
Late in the evening, Bobby tapped on my door and whispered, "What did you write on the window? It's backward. Do you want Daddy to come hurt you?"
I rubbed it off with an old sock. I was upset when I realized that you have to write on glass backward for anyone to read it from the other side. It was like I had sent a flare into fog. I returned to Bobby, who was lying on his stomach by my door. He passed me a note which said, 'Don't give up. Should I go to the police? I love you.' At the bottom was a picture of the two of us hanging from the ceiling by a rope with a noose around our necks, and our tongues were hanging out. He drew X's for our eyes.
"No, don't do anything to make Daddy mad."
I always talked him out of his rescue ideas. We couldn't fight Jim, Lady Angel, or that bastard elf, Fritz. We both cried, and Bobby slid his fingers under the door. He had bitten his nails down to the quick, and even had red raw spots where he had gnawed at the cuticles. His ravaged hands were like a lifeline to me. I lay my face down on his fingertips and continued to cry. Hunger cramped my stomach, for often there was no lunch. I gnawed all my pencils and erasers, and guzzled water from the bathroom sink. In the last month, when Bobby had gone to play with his friends, out of hunger and desolation, I began peeling strips of my wallpaper off the walls. At first, I tried to peel the white strips between the pink flowers, but then in anger, I peeled away great swaths off the walls and chewed the hunks of paper. The dried paste tasted sweet. After many days of doing this, I became very constipated. Finally, I lay on my bed and whimpered from the pain of the stomachache. After a few days of not touching my dinners, Jim came in and talked to me. It was our first conversation in weeks. He saw the missing wallpaper and was very angry that I had eaten it. He figured out what my problem was, and dragged me by my hair into the bathroom, stripped me down and ordered me on all fours in the bathtub. He brought in castor oil and gave me a hot soapsuds enema while I sobbed in agony. When that didn't work, he took me out of the tub and dropped my small, naked body onto the bathroom floor tiles. With an angry scowl on his face, he stuck two of his fingers inside of me and broke up the cemented paper in my rectum with his fingers. There were no words of sympathy as Isabella and I wailed and screamed and bled. After that, he began bringing me lotts of food, realizing that I was down to a weak collection of bones. I must have looked horrible with my emaciated body and bald spots, for he let Bobby bring me dinner. He wasn't allowed to leave my room until I finished my food. That was a saving connection in my life. Bobby sat on my rug and we played Candy Land while I ate during his turn. He even began bringing me chocolate shakes and candy bars. I think Jim had panicked, realizing that if I died in my room while under his care, then he would go to jail. Just before Mommy returned home, I was let out of my room. I was weak from lack of exercise. Jim sat Bobby and me down, and told us that I had been in my room for being so wicked. For associating myself with a nigger. He put terror in our hearts and minds at even the thought of telling. He said that Fritz and Frieda would be watching us every minute of the day. We took Daddy's threats seriously. Jim had my room re-wallpapered and put a lovely lace canopy over my bed. My desk was polished and refinished, then a lovely oil painting of the ocean was hung up over it. My summer looked as though it was wiped away, but Isabella and I remembered.


I wiped the tears out of my blurry vision and took the tissue out of Carlisle's offering hand. "Sorry…" I mumbled as I wiped the last of my tears away and sniffled.


"You're fine, dear," he assured me. "Well, some of Isabella's racism makes a little more sense now. It's not just a learned language of prejudice terms, you were actually severely punished for interacting with a black woman...your grandmother's neighbor. Is that correct?"


I nodded. "Yeah."


"Do you share Isabella's views, as well? Or, has that changed as you grew older and were no longer under Jim's influence?" Carlisle asked curiously.


I shrugged and balled the tissue up in my fist, done crying now. "It's kind of hard to say," I hedged. "I mean, I don't hate black people, or Jews. I'm not a racist…not at all. But, I don't exactly approach them out of the blue, ya know? Tyler, at school, was my friend, but he was the one that initiated it. Know what I mean? Otherwise, I don't think I would have ever talked to him…" I trailed off.


Carlisle nodded.


"But, I'm also naturally shy, so…" I trailed off with a shrug.


"I understand, dear. Go on," he gently instructed.


I nodded and looked at the clock. 11:38am. "Okay."


Mommy came home and said that she was shocked at how skinny and pale I was. Jim said that I had been sick all summer, and that I had singed my hair on the gas burner while I was making popcorn. Mom took all of us, including Jim, on another camping trip to the High Sierras. I was too weak to keep up with the hiking, and even Mom was a bit disgusted with me. She made me wear a little pink baseball cap to cover my head, which had small scabs from where Isabella had pulled the clumps of hair so hard that my scalp had bled. We stopped at one campground. The only time that Jim was cruel to me there, was in the outhouse.
He grabbed me by the back of my neck and shoved my head deep into the stinking latrine hole, then said, "I wish when your mother was pregnant with you, she'd have come here and let you be born in this."
The swill at the bottom left a lasting picture in my mind.


Where's my Ipod, doll? Marie asked out of the blue.


I smiled slightly at her voice.


Edward has it.


Oh yeah? And where is my delicious piece of man candy right now?


Outside the door.


Why the fuck are we in here right now anyway, Bell? Where's Mom? Is she home? If Doctor Dad is here, then she's here too, right?


Yes.


Good.


I smiled, but bit my lip from letting it show too much. I was relieved and glad to have heard both, Marie's sharp voice, and Isabella soft, high-pitched one. They were back. They weren't abandoning me.


What are you talking about? Marie asked.


I want my Edward Isabella piped up.


Shut up, kid. I asked Bell a question.


You shut up Isabella retorted.


No, you shut up Marie countered.


You! Isabella insisted.


Shut the fuck up, you little brat! Bell? I'm waiting she stated impatiently.


Um…you guys went away for a little while.


What?


No we didn't, we're right here Bella Isabella assured me.


Yeah, you are now.


What? Bell we didn't fucking go away, what the hell are you talking about?! And I'm not gonna abandon you, so you can cut that shit out right motherfucking now Marie stated angrily.


Don't yell at her Isabella scolded Marie.


Oh. Kay.


Do you hear me? Marie persisted


Yeah. I heard you.


Good.


"What is it?" Carlisle asked, noticing my distracted stare at the wall.


I turned back to Carlisle and focused on him, furrowing my brow. "Umm…apparently the girls don't realize that they've been silent for a day and a half now…" I trailed off quietly, confused at this revelation. Weren't they always aware?


Bell, what the fuck did I just tell you? Marie asked.


I said don't yell at her! Isabella repeated.


Shut up rugrat! I'm not talking to you Marie stated petulantly.


Fuck you Isabella retorted.


Bell, we weren't gone Marie insisted. What the fuck are you talking about?


Don't worry about it…it was all a misunderstanding I placated her.


Carlisle nodded. "Yes…your healing process requires absolutely no interference from your alternates because they will only attempt to shield you from it. Your mind didn't allow that. So, just like when you come back into awareness and have no concept of the time jump, Isabella and Marie have come back into awareness in a similar fashion. They are unaware of the skip in time," he informed me.


Whatever doc, fuck your healing Marie retorted.


I want my Edward Isabella whispered to me.


Soon I assured her.


"Confusing…" I muttered distractedly.


Carlisle lightly chuckled. "A bit," he agreed. "Would you like to continue? We still have about fifteen minutes…" he trailed of suggestively.


"Oh!" I nodded, "Yeah, sure…"


By age seven, I was becoming aware of the control that Jim had over his own violence. It was calculated. When Mommy was home, he would talk soft and sweetly to me, and never hurt me. Mom was the safety for me. Hope would swell inside of me when Mom was around. Daddy would gently play with my hair instead of yanking on it. He softly ran his fingers along my back when I would lay on the couch for my naps. He gave me and Bobby piggyback rides and tickled us. He acted as though I was cherished and special. Time after time, in my affection-starved existence, the hope that he loved me would begin to sprout in my mind, only to be cruelly dashed again and again.


"Where were you this summer?" Sarah asked when we began second grade. "Bobby said that you were sick and your Daddy said that you were spending time with your Grandma. I missed you! Your hair looks awful, what happened to you?"
"I did go to see my Granny, and then I got sick. I burned my hair in an accident," I told her.
Always the lies.
"It won't take too long to grow back your bangs where you burned your hair. You look like you went through a lawnmower," Sarah giggled.
"Heh…yeah, funny," I said halfheartedly with a small smile while Isabella screamed at me to punch Sarah in the nose.
Miss Dunne was a pleasant teacher, although rather ineffective. She was from the South and always moved and spoke slowly, barely able to get her huge bottom in between the desks when she would walk down the aisles, passing out papers. Jim was outraged that I had a nigger for a teacher, but I thought she was fun to be around…nigger, or not. We got to oil paint in school, and Miss Dunne asked us to paint a picture of children playing. I painted a big picture of children playing hide-and-seek in the orange trees. To finish the picture, I painted in the big window pane with a cross over it. When Miss Dunne asked me what the bars on the single window was for, I became deeply embarrassed. My concept of children playing had been as the viewer from my room. When I brought the painting home, Jim was livid. I took my standard position against the wall and held out my book bag and picture to him in offering. Again, without making eye contact.
He shook me, yelling, "You stupid little girl! Did that nigger say anything to you? Don't you know this is another way of telling people what I do to you?! They would never understand that what I do is for your own good. You're evil, Isabella! You need me to fix you. They would never understand that!"
I whimpered as he grabbed a fistful of my long hair and dragged me into the kitchen. He took the butcher knife and held it over my fingers, threatening to cut them off and make them into pickles again.
"How can you paint another goddamn picture with no fingers, Isabella?"
I was silent. He hadn't given me permission to speak. He threw the knife on the counter and backhanded me, then grabbed my small shoulders and shook me again.
"Did you hear me?! Answer."
"Yes," I sobbed as the tears started to flow.
He squatted down to my level and looked me dead in the eyes. "Don't you fucking cry. Crying is for weak kikes, Isabella."
I put my hand to my hurt cheek as another sob tore through my throat.
Jim squinted his glazed eyes into a glare. "I will give you purity," he threatened.
I sucked in a deep breath and nodded, trying to keep quiet.
"Now, how can you paint if you don't have any fingers?" he asked in an eerily calm voice.
"I can't," I whimpered, trying my damndest to stop the tears. I didn't want any purity.
He stood back up then, and began undoing his belt from his black jeans. "Turn around and hold onto the counter," he instructed.
I did as I was told and held onto the countertop with a death grip. I remember how my fingertips had turned white with my effort. I held my breath to prevent my screams as he repeatedly beat my back, bottom, and thighs with his belt. Eventually, I couldn't hold my breath any longer and exhaled an involuntary sob, then started gasping for breath and screaming from the pain. This only angered him more...he had told me not to cry. He dragged me down to the basement where I stayed until bedtime, or should I say…twenty minutes before Mom came home from work.


"Um, yeah…I remember that I was very sorry that I had painted that picture of the kids playing. I didn't know that it would be inadvertently 'telling someone' what Jim had done to me that summer. I was terrified and I never painted again. Only Isabella does now," I said quietly, frowning.


Carlisle nodded at that information, keeping his pen moving across the journal's paper before him. I glanced at the clock and went on.


Not long after that, someone gave us a slab of venison to cook. The great hunk of meat was lying on the big butcher block table and Jim was carving the meat off the bone. For no apparent reason, he grabbed me and stripped off my shirt, then laid me down on the table in the blood next to the meat. My arm touched the wet meat. I could smell the blood in my hair. Jim took the knife and held it in front of my face.
He said, "You are a dirty little kike and you have stolen everyone from me. Mommy and Bobby are mine. Not yours! Do. You. Understand?" I nodded even though I had no idea what he meant. He got that glazed over look in his ice-blue eyes and went to the back porch for a rope. The idea of getting off the table while he left the room never even crossed my mind. Isabella had taken over my survival instincts and she was quiet at the moment. Self-preservation no longer existed for me. Endurance was all I knew. He came back with the thin rope and tied me down to make 'Pot Roast of Isabella'. He pretended to carve off my arms and legs.
"I'll give King your shin bones to chew on. I'll cook you up real nice in the oven…make you all tasty with onions and mushrooms, and your precious fucking Mommy won't even know she's eating you. I'll tell everyone that you ran away. No one will even know you are dead," he said between maniacal giggles.
His face had a faraway crazy look that meant talking to him was useless, for he was busy talking to his angel. Then he took the knife and cut deeply into chest, just above my right nipple. I cried and screamed, begging for him to stop. Blood poured out onto my armpit. The torture seemed to last for years. There was deer blood in my hair and my own blood ran onto my chest, neck, and right arm. My blood mingled with the animal blood on the table as I twisted and screamed. I didn't know if Jim was going to finish killing me. Looking down, I saw the gaping wound on my chest as deep red blood continued to ooze out. Jim continued to slowly, graphically, touch me all over with the knife and tell me all the things he would do to me. I slipped into a state of shock from the blood loss and terror. I think it was one of the few times that I actually lost consciousness, or maybe I just dissociated into Isabella and consciously drifted to a safer place. Later, Jim took me to a doctor that I recognized as one of the bad men who held an 'interest' in me, and he put stitches in my chest with a wicked gleam in his eye.


"How many of these 'bad men' were there?" Carlisle asked curiously.


"Nine," I answered automatically.


He nodded and wrote something in his journal.


"They ranged from doctors, to teachers, to lawyers, to your regular-everyday mechanic. I just remember thinking that it was really weird that the bad men looked normal…not like monsters, or anything," I said with a shake of my head.


Carlisle nodded. "Right…"


"But, that didn't change the fact that I viewed them all as monsters…because, that's what they were," I concluded.


"Would you like to talk about any of them?" Carlisle asked.


I shook my head. "Nope."


Carlisle looked a little confused by my blatant refusal to his request, so I decided to elaborate a bit. "Heh…umm, that's Isabella's story to tell," I hinted.


"Oh, of course…go on, dear," he instructed, both of us noticing eight minutes left on the clock.


It was about a week later, and the stitches in my little flat breast were getting itchy, that Isabella came angrily to life and accused, "You just lie there and take it! You let Daddy do things to us."
"You know Daddy just hurts us worse if we don't lie quiet," I pointed out.
"Well I don't have to be nice. You're the nice one, not me. I hate him," she proclaimed.
As I watched, an observer from a distant place, Isabella, my hands and my body, picked up the raw liver that Daddy had soaking in a bowl of milk in the kitchen. Isabella picked up the cold, slimy, dark organ and in ever intensifying anger, began smearing the bloody liver on the counter, the walls, and the kitchen table on which I had lain and been cut. She smashed the liver around and pounded on it with her tiny fists until little red-purple globs stuck on every surface of the kitchen. The liver was ruined and the kitchen was a disaster. I was frightened at what Isabella had done. Hours later, Daddy found me hiding under the dirty clothes in my hamper. He dragged me, screaming and crying, into the now-clean kitchen and put my finger in the nutcracker, then squeezed it until I heard the tiny bone go crunch.


Can we like…oh, I dunno, NOT talk about this shit anymore? Marie asked cheekily.


Nope, I have to keep going. I'm keeping my eye on the clock.


Why does he want to hear about this shit anyway? Does he get off on it?


Ew. Marie, stop.


Then STOP talking.


I ignored her and went on, feeling slightly lightheaded.


Mommy put her foot down about King because she was home enough in the fall to see the severity of my asthma. While Mom was at work, Jim brought the dog in the living room and fed him strychnine inside ground meat. He made us sit and watched King writhe around and vomit until he finally died. It seemed as though we were forced to watch for hours.
Dad kept chanting, "We mustn't let things suffer."
He explained to Bobby that it was all my fault King had to die. He left the room, sobbing, and didn't speak to me for a week. As I lay in my bed, crying and mourning the loss of my favorite puppy, Bobby came in and crawled into the bed next to me. He said that he knew it wasn't my fault.
"Daddy's crazy. He could have given King away, he was a beautiful dog. I hate his rotten guts."
Bobby could always express the anger that I never could. True to our code of silence, Mommy knew nothing of the murder. She had assumed we had given King to someone. She brought home a little black kitten because Bobby and I were so dejected after the experience. She said that it had to be an outside cat, and for me not to hold it that often. Bobby perked up a bit at having another animal to play with. One day, Jim was backing his car out of the garage and I saw his face as he deliberately ran over Cocoa, the kitten. It screamed in pain as it's back legs were crushed. It tried to drag itself forward.
Daddy said in mock sympathy, "Oh shit, well that's too fucking bad. We mustn't let things suffer," as he put the car back in first gear and ran over Cocoa again, killing her this time. Bobby, Isabella, and I cried for days. Jim brought Blitzen, the Siberian husky puppy, home two weeks later. He mostly lived outside in the doghouse.


"And how did you and Blitzen get along?" Carlisle asked.


"Fine…"


"Did he survive Jim?"


"Yes."


"Well, that's a miracle," Carlisle remarked.


I nodded in agreement and continued on, noticing that my vision was starting to blur slightly. Isabella was becoming impatient.


Want my Edward…love my Edward… she sang lightly.


The big nutcracker became a disabling for of abuse. Most of the time, it just flattened my finger, leaving the imprint of the metal teeth, but occasionally I heard the bone snap and I knew that my finger had been broken. Twice in the fall of second grade, I had broken fingers on my right hand. Jim would splinter them with a popsicle stick and bandage it, but writing in school was nearly impossible. It ruined recess, too, for it was hard to play games with broken fingers. Miss Dunne asked how I broke my fingers.
"I fell off my bike."
Again, the lies.
"You certainly seem to hurt yourself often," she pointed out.
Looking at the ground to keep myself from bursting into tears, I said, "I'm sorry. I'm just not very careful."
"You better slow down, child. You do things too quickly."
"Yes ma'am, I'll try," I placated.
Sitting in school was always an agony for me, due to the bruises and inflamed private parts. I used to dread urinating at school because sometimes it burned so much, that I couldn't breathe or walk for a few minutes.


Carlisle nodded in sympathy.


He's gonna cuddle me and sing to me and play with me… Isabella continued to sing.


I rubbed my right eye and continued on.


I had just turned seven, and it was around Christmas time in second grade, when I had accomplished what I had considered to be a supreme feat. For Mommy's birthday, she had asked me for one present - that I stop sucking my thumb. It was the hardest thing I ever did. For nights I couldn't sleep, my mouth felt desert parched. There are no smokers addicted to nicotine, more than I was addicted to my thumb. Isabella completely rejected the ridiculous idea of going without her thumb, but I tried very hard. That day, decorating the Christmas tree, I was feeling happy and proud of myself, because Mommy had acknowledged the gift, and the effort that I had made for her. I was singing the few Christmas songs that I knew, and softly fingering the pretty garland wrapped around the tree.
Jim came in and demanded, "Stop that annoying singing, Isabella."
I stopped, but then forgot about it when Isabella started singing 'Santa Claus Is Coming To Town'. I joined in and we sang together in our clear child-like voice, while rearranging ball ornaments on the tree. Jim went to the fireplace and picked up the poker. He lunged at me with it, but thrust it harder than he meant to, and the sharp end impaled me in the side. I screamed in agony and fear while Jim quickly got a towel and packed it in my side, then carried me out to the car and layed me down in the backseat.
"Isabella, baby, I am so sorry. I don't know why I do these things to you, I don't know why I can't love you. I'm sorry," he told me through slight sobs. I was shocked to see the street light's reflection on the tears sliding down his cheeks. "I'm sorry," he repeated brokenly.
Rather than threaten me, he begged me not to tell Mommy or the doctors that he had caused my injury. Of course I lied, saying that I had fallen on the hot poker. A piece of my liver had been cut, so I had to stay in the hospital over Christmas. Mommy came to see me everyday, staying long hours and missing meals sometimes. She looked pale, and haggard. She would stroke my head, bring me surprises, and read me a story every night at bed time. Christmas in the hospital wasn't so bad. There were carolers, little toys on the food trays, and cookies. All the nurses were very gentle with me. My doctor questioned, more than once, my story of how I fell on the poker.
But I always cried and said, "I don't want to talk about it."


I noticed that everything was silent then. Silent in my mind, silent in the room. I looked at Carlisle when my eyes started blinking without my permission.


"I don't sing anymore," I added quietly as an afterthought.


"Marie and Isabella do…" he countered softly.


I nodded and focused on my now shallow breathing. "Yes," I whispered, half in agreement with Carlisle, and half in encouragement for one of my alternates to just fucking take over already.


I couldn't handle another breakdown right now, and that's what was going to happen if they didn't hurry the hell up. The emotions were beginning to consume me. These recent memories weren't going away, they were clouding my mind, making reality fuzzy…blurring the lines between my past and my present.


I gasped for a breath and clenched my eyes shut.


Shit.


"Okay, Bella…? Bella, calm down," Carlisle instructed in a firm voice.


Awww Isabella cooed to me as I whimpered.


I heard the wooden door behind me abruptly swing open, and I felt Carlisle's strong hand on my shoulder before everything thankfully faded into a blissful black oblivion.


EPOV


I had been on the other side of that fucking closed door, completely focused on Carlisle's mind and closely watching my Bella's facial expressions as she spoke of her past. But not anymore. I would not just sit idly by anymore. No…my mate needed me.


I barged into the room, completely disregarding my father's instructions to stay outside until the end of the session. He could kiss my ass, my mate was in distress.


She needs me.


I quickly approached my Bella's side, noticing with relief that she wasn't gasping for breath anymore, and that her face didn't look panic stricken as it had a minute ago.


I paused my steps when I was standing in front of her. After I brushed Carlisle's hand off her bare shoulder and nudged him off to the side, I hooked my hands underneath my girl's small shoulders and lifted her to my chest. I kissed her rosy cheek as her smiling face came closer to mine. I supported her slight weight with my forearm, and wrapped my other arm protectively around her back as she clung to me. I became immensely relieved when all of the anxiety from this morning's events immediately drained out of my body.


Isabella's giggles made it all better.


I held her tightly to me as she squeezed her arms around my neck in one of my favorite hugs.


When she loosened her grip, she kissed my cheek. "My Edward…" she trailed off and kissed my cheek again.


I smiled and breathed in her heavenly scent, allowing it to relax me further. I kissed her bare shoulder and let my lips linger there, "My baby love…" I murmured softly against her warm flesh.


She kissed me cheek again and giggled against the shell of my ear, making me smile. "You're mine," she whispered to me.


I turned my head slightly, pressing our cheeks together. "And you are mine," I assured her in a whisper to her ear.


She hummed in agreement, then lay her head on my shoulder, relaxing her grip on me and trailing her warm fingertips into the hair at the nape of my neck. I looked at my father then. He had been watching our exchange and was now writing in his journal that Isabella had come out, instead of Marie, at the end of this particular session.


When his eyes looked up and met mine, he assured me in our frequency "She'll be fine."


I nodded. "Thank you."


"Not a problem, son," he assured me as I turned on my heel to walk out of the room.


We were on the second flight of stairs when Isabella spoke up. "Edward?"


I used the hand that was at the small of her back to trace little circles along her spine. "What baby?"


"I gotta potty," she informed me.


I nodded. "Okay baby, you can in a second," I assured her, then stopped my trailing fingertips and placed my palm flat against the small of her back again, keeping her firmly held to me, and picked up my stride to a hurried pace back to our bedroom.


She huffed then, and started bouncing a bit on my forearm, alerting me to the urgency of the situation.


"Gotta goooo…" she whined, furrowing her brow and puckering her lips with her statement.


"Alright. Okay sweetie, we're almost there," I placated her, keeping up my fast-paced steps. I was practically jogging now.


She made a high-pitched whimpering noise, bouncing with each step I took. "Noooooow…now, now, now, now, now, now, now -"


"Okay," I said, interrupting her 'now' mantra, and placed her outside the door to our bathroom.


She rushed in, almost forgetting to close the door behind her, and used the bathroom. While she was in there, I took Marie's black Ipod out of my pocket and placed it back in her tin box. I sat on the bed and tried to figure out a way to tell Isabella that I had to go away for a few hours…without her. It was time for me to hunt again. I contemplated how this discussion would have been easier to have with Marie, or even with my Bella. My baby girl was the clingy one…the possessive one. As complicated as that made my situation sometimes, I still loved those things about her. Her clingy quality warmed my dead heart and made me smile. She needed me just as much as I needed her.


When Isabella came out of the bathroom after washing her hands, she smiled at me, then went over to the dvd shelf, letting me know that she wanted to watch a movie. I waited silently and swallowed back venom to sooth the current burn in my throat. Isabella took her time in trying to pick one out. When she finally selected one and brought it over to me, I told her no.


"No, Isabella," I told her firmly. My little girl would not be watching any of the Saw movies.


"Why?"


"Because it's ucky. Go pick another one," I instructed her.


"But I want this one," she insisted, practically shoving the dvd case in my face.


I snatched it out of her hand and placed it behind me on the bed. "No," I said in a firmer tone.


She whined and stomped her foot. I ignored it.


"Go pick out another one, baby doll," I suggested lightly and nodded my head towards the dvd stand.


She turned and went back to the dvds while I made a mental note to put my Bella's Saw Movie Collection in Emmett's bedroom and to keep it there while he was gone. Three movie rejections later, and I became frustrated.


"Alright, angel…you have a new rule. You cannot watch anything over the rating of PG-13," I informed her.


She stood before me and cocked her head to the side a bit as she gazed at me curiously. "A peejee? What's that?"


I fought a smile at her adorableness and kept a straight face. I turned over The Texas Chainsaw Massacre dvd case and showed her the little letter R at the bottom of the back cover. "This, baby girl," I said while pointing to it, "If this spot right here, has an 'R' on it, then it's a naughty movie. It's ucky," I told her, trying to speak in her terms.


She nodded in understanding, then took the movie from my hands and went back to the dvd shelf in search for a movie without the letter R on the back. I didn't think it would be that hard, but she seemed to be avoiding the Disney movies right now.


After another five minutes, I sighed at my painfully parched throat and asked, "Sweetness, what about your Cars movie? Or Monsters? Or Sleeping Beauty?"


She subtly shook her head without looking at me, and mumbled, "That's for babies…"


I squinted my eyes at her hunched over form, where she was knelt down in front of the media shelf. "Who told you that?" I asked, feeling a little more than irritated at her statement.


She grabbed another movie off the shelf, then turned to face me. "Marie."


When she was standing in front of me, holding out the dvd case for me to take, I stopped her and placed a reassuring kiss to her forehead. "Don't listen to her, baby girl. It's not for babies, it's for kids. I bought all those movies for you, angel. You can watch them whenever you want, however many times you want. Do you understand?"


She nodded, so I took the current dvd case out her hands then. I looked down and sighed in relief at the Forrest Gump title. I stood from the bed and nodded my approval to her.


She smiled brightly up at me. "I did good, huh Edward? There's no ucky R's, huh Edward?" she asked while rocking up onto her tippy toes, clearly proud of herself.


I chuckled at her display and placed a quick kiss to her forehead. "You did good," I assured her.


While I was putting the movie on for her, she crawled up onto the bed and asked for her 'doodle'. I sighed and grabbed it from the shelf in the closet. I gazed at her seriously and placed the pink toy beside her lap, but kept a firm grip on the handle.


"Angel love, why did you have this taken away from you?" I asked softly, but kept my 'stern face' in place, compelling her to keep eye contact with me.


She sucked on her bottom lip and lightly trailed her fingers across the white surface of the toy, seeming to think about her answer. "Um, b'cuz I throwed Marie's box…" she mumbled shyly with worried eyes.


I nodded. "And that's not going to happen anymore, is it baby…?" I gently prodded.


She slowly shook her head. "Mm-mm," she muttered in agreement.


I softened my features and gave her a small smile, then kissed her rosy cheek. "Okay, you can have your toy back, then."


She flashed me a beautiful smile and giggled, then hugged the pink MagnaDoodle to her chest, glad to have her drawing buddy back. "Kay."


She placed the MagnaDoodle in her lap and just as I was pressing PLAY on the dvd remote, my little girl's stomach began to growl.


"Edward?" she murmured, keeping her focus on her hand that was currently gliding the small drawing utensil across the white surface of her toy.


"Yes?"


"I'm hungry."


I nodded. "Esme is making your lunch right now, sweetheart."


She lifted her head to gaze at me curiously as the piano's melody at the beginning of the movie began playing through the flat screen's speakers.


"What's your mommy makin?"


I sat down next to her on the bed then. "Grilled cheese and tomato soup…"


"The red soup?" her voice going up an octave with her inquiry.


I nodded. "Mm-hmm, the red soup," I confirmed in a soft voice.


"That's the yummy soup," she told me conversationally.


I nodded. "I want you to be careful when you eat it, angel. It's going to be hot, so let it cool down first, before you put it in your mouth. Tell you what, I'll let Esme know to put a bit of milk in it for you, to help it cool faster," I told her.


Isabella paused her drawing hand and locked her now nervous eyes with mine. "Um…where will you be?" she asked quietly. Hesitantly.


I sighed. Isabella was very observant little girl. She knew something was going on without me even having to tell her. She knew that I was usually the one to accompany her at the table…and to make sure her food wasn't too hot or too cold for her liking.


"I have to leave for a little while, baby-" I was cut off by her gasp.


"Nooooo…" she whined.


I subtly nodded and swallowed against the burn in my throat. It was getting worse.


"Yes. I have to go get my lunch while you're eating yours, angel."


"Nooooo…" she whined again, setting her MagnaDoodle off to the side.


"Yes," I insisted and ignored how sad her eyes looked all of a sudden.


Stay strong.


"Eat peanut butter and jellieeees…" she suggested in a whiny tone.


"I don't like those, baby," I reminded her.


"Take me witchyouuuu…" she requested in a whiny tone.


"No. You're going to stay here and play with Alice," I informed her, trying to keep my voice calm and reassuring.


"Noooo…" she whined as she began to cry.


Damn it.


"Isabella, I will be back soon," I assured her.


"No, take me witchyouuuu…" she cried as she flopped back down onto the bed.


I sighed, the burn in my throat steeling my resolve. "You need to stay here," I told her in a firm tone as I started to get up off the bed.


She proceeded to throw a fit then, and I proceeded to try my best to ignore it.


She cried and kicked her legs down onto the mattress. Her little hands balled up into tiny fists. Soon her cries turned into sobs. She kept her watery stare on me the whole time.


I stood off to the side of the bed and watched, making sure she didn't accidentally roll her body off the bed, or something, with all of that agitated squirming.


I was quickly getting fed up with her tantrum. I needed her to stop, so that she could eat her lunch and I could leave.


I had stopped breathing four minutes ago. I really was cutting it close by still being here. I should have left while my Bella was still in therapy, but I just couldn't bear to. I needed to hold her just one more time before I left.


But now…because I had been acting like an insecure little girl - I was now facing one. A whiny, clingy five year old, who seemed absolutely determined to not let me walk out of this room without making me feel thoroughly guilty about it.


"Isabella, stop it," I demanded quietly.


"Noooo…" she cried, tears streaming down her flushed, rosy cheeks.


I gritted my teeth against the anxiety tightening my chest. "That's enough, Isabella," I warned her.


She ignored me and kicked her right foot down onto the bed again. "T-take meee w-witchyouuu…" she sobbed out.


I sighed. "I'll be back soon."


She screamed then, frustrated that she wasn't getting her way.


I walked over to the side of the bed and leaned over to grasp her hip. After I turned her slightly on her side, I landed a firm swat to her bottom and repeated in a stern tone, "That's. Enough."


"Owwwwieee…" she cried.


I let go of her hip, and she rolled her body over in the opposite direction, laying on her stomach in the middle of the bed now. She continued to cry, and buried her face in the gold comforter.


"I wanna go witchyou," she whimpered through her cries, her voice muffled by the blanket on the bed.


Ugh.


"I know angel, but you can't. I'm sorry," I told her in a soft, but determined voice.


I stood by silently, determined to wait until she was calm enough for me to leave. No matter how much my bloodlust burned my body, I couldn't leave her while she was crying.


Esme's thoughts informed me that my girl's lunch was ready. "Your food is ready, Isabella," I told her, hoping that the promise of food would calm her down.


"I don' want it. I wanna eat witchyouuu…" she cried.


I sighed.


My clingy baby…


Just when Carlisle and Jasper were going to come up here and make me leave to go hunt, Isabella quieted down. And that was a good thing, because if they would have grabbed me and tried to force me away from my crying little girl, I would have gotten violent in my protests. But, I guess that's why Jasper was on his way, as well, because they already knew that. He would have kept me calm until they got me outside, where I would have inevitably shot off towards the woods, all thoughts of a crying Isabella leaving my mind.


Isabella sniffled into the somewhat silence of the room. The movie, Forrest Gump, was still playing in the backround. She lifted her head from the blanket and pushed herself up off the bed.


"Fuckin crybaby…" Marie muttered quietly to herself.


I stayed still as a statue in my spot, and watched as Marie walked past me to go to the bathroom. While she was in there, she loudly blew her nose and washed her tear-stained face. When she came out, she smiled up at me and rocked up onto her tippy toes, by my side, to plant a chaste kiss on my tightly sealed lips.


"I'm hungry. What are we havin?"


I gave her a small smile. "Grilled cheese and tomato soup," I told her through slightly gritted teeth, trying my best to speak as little as possible, so that I wouldn't have to take another breath of fire down my throat.


She nodded. "Fuckawesome. Have fun with your lunch, and remember…don't play with your food!" she remarked cheekily with a wink, then walked away from me.


She left the room and I listened closely to her footfalls as she went downstairs and skipped her way into the dining room to eat her lunch. Everyone's thoughts assured me, almost simultaneously, that my girl would be fine while I left for a few hours to go hunt. I quickly padded my jean's side pocket, double checking for my cell phone, then smiled in relief and leapt gracefully out of my bedroom window.


Marie.

What a lifesaver.