49. Protest And Reflect

EPOV

"If you don't sit down and eat your breakfast-" I started, but she interrupted me with a shake of her head.


"Huh-uh," she told me before she skipped off, right back into the living room.


"Isabella!" I yelled, completely fed up and exasperated.


"No!" she hollered back.


For fuck's sake.


I kept up a determined stride into the living room and saw Isabella standing up on the furniture, bounce-walking from one cushion to the next. The Fairly Odd Parents were playing on the flat screen in the backround and she kept her gaze focused there while she distractedly twirled a strand of her hair. Her coloring book was open and on display on the coffee table, and several crayons lay haphazardly out of their box and on the table while others had rolled off onto the floor.


Isabella, clad in only her small purple pajamas, looked over in my direction and stuck her tongue out at me. "No," she repeated.


I rolled my eyes, irritated.


We had been going through this all morning. Well, ever since she found out that therapy was scheduled for after breakfast…


She had woken up bright and early, just after 7am, and she dressed her doll while I made the bed. After that, she swallowed the tiny Prozac pill, with a juice box this time, and grabbed her stuffed bear, then came to sit on my lap in the rocking recliner for another story time.


After three Precious Moments Through-The-Day short stories, Marie showed up and put an abrupt stop to the 'stupid baby stories'. I complied, completely understanding that she didn't want me to read to her about a little girl who had lost her puppy. She went to use the restroom and brush her teeth, while I used the opportunity to quickly dress in a pair of dark wash blue jeans and a loose fitting black cotton t-shirt.


When Marie came out of the bathroom, teeth and hair brushed, she said that she didn't want to get dressed yet, but that she wanted to watch her music videos and play her Mario game instead. I nodded approvingly, but told her that we needed to compromise because she had to start utilizing the weight room.


"Marie, sweetheart…how about you play your DS game and listen to the radio while you do twenty minutes on the treadmill?"


She subtly shrugged, nodding and giving me a small smile. "Yeah, okay. I'll go play on the fuckawesome cool new machines."


So, after grabbing the video game out of the drawer, she went next door and I trailed close behind, intent on showing her how to work the machine. She stepped up onto the treadmill and watched as I pressed different buttons to set the pace and schedule the timer for twenty minutes. She started up her game as I powered on the small boom box and started a CD that she had chosen, turning the volume almost all the way up when she had distractedly requested that I do so.


After twelve minutes, and about half way through Baby Bash's 'Sugar Sugar', Isabella came back around and wanted me to hold her.


"Uh-uh, baby girl…finish your walk," I told her.


"Nooo…" she whined, but continued with her fast paced steps anyway.


I sighed, understanding that she wanted me nearby, so I stopped what I was doing in trying to adjust the punching bag, and walked over to the treadmill. She reached out a small hand to me as soon as I came to stand directly by her side, but I shook my head.


"No, Isabella," I admonished her, then immediately took her hand away from my forearm and put it back on the handle bar.


She whined in the back of her throat, giving me a frustrated look. "I want you…" she told me.


I nodded and lightly trailed my fingertips along her bare arm, silently conveying that I would stay close. "Keep walking until the machine beeps, angel," I instructed.


"Till it goes beep beep beep?" she asked in her high-pitched voice.


"Yes, until it beeps," I reaffirmed.


She huffed, clearly not seeing the point, but did as I said anyway.


I noticed that my Bella's Nintendo DS was laying completely forgotten on the machine's status screen now. Apparently, Isabella wasn't interested in that particular toy, so I reached for it, and after snapping it closed, I slipped it into my pocket for safe keeping.


I delighted in the new things that her adrenaline and sweat were doing to her already overwhelmingly sweet scent while Isabella talked and finished her eight minutes of what Alice had called 'power-walking'. After a conversation that consisted of sparklies, Bella, her doll, and her Fuzzy bear, the machine finally beeped.


"All done, Edward," she needlessly informed me.


I nodded, then lifted her from the treadmill and brought her small form to my chest so that she could latch herself onto me.


She casually swung a foot on each side of my hip and kissed my cheek. "Edward?”


“Hmm?”


“I'm gonna sparkle n' shine just like you someday, huh?"


"You already sparkle n' shine, baby love," I reminded her, taking her warm hand in my own and holding her manicured nails up for her to see again.


She nodded and smiled brightly at me. "I do, huh? I'm pretty, huh?" she chirped.


I smiled back and gently palmed the back of her head, cradling her to me as I placed soft, reverent kisses all along her rosy left cheekbone. "Yes, angel, you're very pretty…" I murmured when my lips reached the delicate shell of her little ear.


She giggled and I became entranced, watching the effect that my icy breath had on the smooth skin of her neck and shoulder. Hundred of tiny goosebumps had erupted and I suddenly wanted to play connect the dots. I placated myself with nuzzling her neck instead, placing a frosty kiss there as well, and smiling against her warmth when I heard her giggles grow even louder, echoing in the stairwell.


She tightened her hold on me when she figured out that we were going down the stairs. "Edward, cartoons?" she asked.


I nodded. "Mm-hmm…"


Alice had already brought one of Isabella's coloring books and a pack of crayons into the living room for me and placed them on the coffee table while we were in the weight room. I needed them down there to occupy my little girl while I prepared her breakfast in the kitchen. I decided that cartoons could serve as a distraction, as well.


I sat her down on the plush white couch, then turned and walked across the room, intent on turning the flat screen on for her cartoons. After I made sure the channel was on Nickelodean, per her request, I went back over to where my little girl now sat on the floor coloring, and placed a soft kiss to her upturned forehead. She smiled up at me as I told her that I’d be in the kitchen, making her a ‘very yummy breakfast’.


While I was standing in front of the fridge, holding the door open and trying to remember how Esme cooked scrambled eggs and waffles, Carlisle made an appearance and inadvertently told Isabella about the therapy session that was scheduled for after breakfast.


I internally cringed when I heard her yell at him. I hadn't had a chance to tell my little girl that there would be any therapy this morning, but it looked as though Carlisle had just taken care of that task for me.


Isabella is the one who always makes a big fuss over it, doing anything and everything under the sun to try and weasel her way out of it, and she was clearly not going to disappoint this morning.


Obviously.


"Nu-uh, you're lyin…" I heard her tell Carlisle.


"I am not," he insisted in a quiet voice.


"Yah-huh,” she countered.


“I’m not lying to you, Isabella,” he repeated.


“Yah-huh, you are. You’re bein a liar liar pants on fire,” she told him.


“No, dear…I'm not.”


I heard her huff. “I'munna tell…" she threatened.


I rolled my eyes, picking up a cold white egg and trying to figure out how to crack the damn thing open without completely obliterating it in the process.


“Edward!" she yelled then.


Carlisle chuckled quietly in our frequency. Oh no, she’s going to tell on me… he thought, his tone one of silent amusement.


I sighed and walked out of the kitchen, into the living room. "Yes, angel?"


She stopped her coloring to point an accusing purple crayon up at Carlisle. "He's. Lying," she told me matter-of-factly.


Carlisle turned to face me then. Oh no, Edward. Am I in trouble? he thought at me, clearly mocking this whole situation and having entirely too much fun with the concept of ‘being told on’.


You have got to be kidding me.


He can be such a child.


“You are not helping,” I admonished him in our frequency.


He simply gave me a knowing smirk, finding it amusing that I had to play ‘parent’ so often these days, then turned to leave the room, intent on going up to his study and waiting for the therapy session to begin.


I turned my attention back to my little girl. "No...he's not, baby girl. You do have therapy after breakfast," I confirmed in a gentle tone.


She gasped, "No!"


"Yes," I calmly stated.


"No!"


"Yes."


She clenched her jaw and screamed, slapping her hand down onto the coffee table. "No!" she yelled again.


I raised my eyebrows at her. "You can keep saying 'no', sweetness, but that's not going to change this morning's schedule," I informed her casually.


"No!"


I felt my irritation begin to spike. "Isabella…stop it," I demanded in a low voice.


"No!"


I glared at her, my stern face composed on my features now. "Don't tell me no," I stated firmly.


She started to cry then.


Well, at least she wasn't yelling her mantra of 'no' anymore, so I took it as a small accomplishment, then turned and headed back towards the kitchen.


My Bella had advised me to walk away from a stressful situation, so that's exactly what I was going to do. Isabella can cry out her anger for a minute or two while I go back to trying to figure out how to make these blasted scrambled eggs.

**********

By some miracle, twenty six minutes, and eighteen eggs later, I had successfully scrambled two eggs and toasted one waffle for my mate's breakfast, which brings us back to the present time.


Isabella had calmed down from her tears, but was now being a petulant little brat, and would only speak to me to tell me 'no' again. My family was very well aware of what was going on and had chosen to leave the first floor of the mansion about thirty eight minutes ago, half-heartedly predicting where my little girl's attitude would land her.


I gazed curiously at Isabella while she continued to walk across the couch and watch her cartoon. "Isabella, do you want a spanking?"


"Nope," she muttered, popping the P and never taking her eyes off of the flat screen.


"Tell me no one more time, young lady, and that's exactly what's going to happen," I threatened with squinted eyes.


I knew that she was long overdue for one, what with her disrespect and attitude, not to mention the furniture hopping, but I understood why she was so upset, so I was trying my best to understand the behavior associated with it. But, no matter how hard I tried, there was no rationalizing her yelling at me and Carlisle this morning.


My precious little angel was being naughty, and she was doing it on purpose.


"It's time for breakfast," I told her again.


She shook her head. "N-" she started, but abruptly stopped herself, as well as her casual bounces, looking at me with wide chocolate eyes.


"Get down from the couch. Now," I demanded, giving her my perfected stern face.


She whimpered slightly in defeat, then slumped down into a sitting position on the couch, her knees curled up to her chest.


"No, Isabella. Off the couch. It's time for breakfast," I repeated.


She scowled down at the coffee table. "Nooo…" she whined, then immediately gasped and let it turn into a cry when she realized what she had just said.


I was by her side in a flash, not needing to hide my vampiric abilities from her anymore. She gave a little gasp when she saw me appear before her instantly, but I ignored it, choosing instead to reach down, hook my hands underneath her shoulders, and lift her from the couch.


When she was standing in front of me, turned slightly to the side, I firmly swatted her ass and repeated, "Off the couch, Isabella."


She cried out at the sharp contact, rubbing her watery chocolate eyes with a small fist before turning to face me. "Owwwie…Edward, I don't want breakfast b'cuz I don't wanna talk to your daddy when I'm du-uuunn," she told me through her cries and a slight hiccup.


I wrapped my hand around her tiny fist then, and sat down on the couch, then began to try and carefully guide her body to bend and lay across my lap, but she instantly protested, promising vehemently that she would ‘be good’.


Those protests were met with my silence and another swat to her ass.


“Are you really? Are you going to be good?” I challenged.


“Y-yeessss…” she sobbed.


“Then be a good girl and do as you’re told, Isabella. Lay over my lap and do it now,” I demanded.


When she only began to cry louder, I spanked her again, then gripped her elbow and pulled her thin form over to lay across my lap. She finally gave in, resigned to her fate, and turned on her side, curling herself around my midsection and burying her face in my shirt, squirming around a bit. I placed a cool hand to the small of her back and held her still, but furrowed my brow when I heard the familiar sounds of her stomach growling, begging for food.


I would have to make this quick.


"I know that you don't want to go to therapy angel, but you need to. You also need to do as your told. Telling me 'no' for the past half hour and ignoring your rule about the furniture only served to get you in trouble, Isabella. It did not help you get your way. I want you to remember that. You are going to eat your breakfast, and then you are going to go to that damn therapy session," I informed her, my tone one of finality.


"Nooo…" she cried into my jean-clad hip.


I subtly shook my head. "There's that word again," I told her pointedly, landing the first swat to her pajama-clad bottom.


Four swats later, I hooked my thumb into the waistband of her purple shorts, then slid them down the backs of her thighs, always keeping a keen ear out for my family. If I thought that one of them was going to be making an appearance anytime soon, I would have kept this punishment fairly light , but they were nowhere to be seen and Isabella had broken two rules this morning. She would be getting an additional five swats to her bare bottom, as well.


I was not surprised to see her reach out a quick hand behind herself in an effort to cover her rounded pink flesh. I just nodded to myself, still expecting this instinctive reaction from my little girl, and gently wrapped my index finger and thumb around her small wrist, then held her hand to the small her back.


"No," I scolded with a sharp smack, knowing that I would have to work on that particular rule with her for a while.


"Ow!"


"You keep your hands out of my way, Isabella," I reminded her.


"B-but Edward, owwwieee…" she cried, enduring five more quick smacks to her tender, naked bottom.


I gently slid her soft cotton panties and shorts over her sore skin, then immediately hooked my hands under her shoulders and lifted her to me as I stood from the couch.


I could sense that my mate’s food was getting cold, so I started in the direction of the table where I knew her breakfast was waiting. Her growling stomach urged me to put her nourishment first on my top list of priorities at the moment; it immediately trumped my anxiety and the need to wipe away her tears due to a freshly spanked bottom.


She cried and mumbled the word 'owwie' several times on our way over to the dining room table.


I sat down in my usual seat, and positioned Isabella so that she was sitting in my lap with her legs dangling off to the side. I slid her plate and cup of milk across the tabletop over to us, and picked up her fork, setting it on the side of her plate next to the eggs.


I grabbed her napkin and made quick work of wiping the tears away from my little girl's flushed cheeks, then told her to blow her nose when I was done. She did, eventually setting the soiled napkin off to the side when all the wet mess was gone.


The only comfort I could offer her sore bottom was my cold lap, as I was not going to take the time to rub the hurt out for her right now.


She needed to eat, and she needed to eat now.


I picked up her fork, stabbing and gathering some eggs with the sharp edges, then brought the odd yellow food up to her lips. "Eat," I instructed.


Her curious chocolate eyes locked with mine as she opened her mouth slowly. Fractionally.


I fought my frustration with her sudden timidness and remained calm as I slid the utensil into the small opening between her pouty pink lips.


She bit down, scraping the food off of the fork with her teeth as I withdrew it from her mouth.


Good girl.


While she chewed, I cut off a piece of waffle with the side of her fork, then brought that to her mouth as well.


She swallowed. "Edward?"


"Yes?"


She furrowed her brow. "My owwie…" she whimpered pathetically, squirming around in my lap.


I nodded knowingly. "Mm-hmm…"


"Fix it," she mumbled to me.


Aw.


I gave her a small smile and kissed her little button nose. "Eat, angel," I told her, then looked pointedly to the forked waffle hovering outside her lips.


She looked at it curiously. “What is it?” she muttered, expertly pronouncing all of her T’s like pro this time.


My eyes grew a bit wide with that question, and it threw me off guard. “Um…it’s a waffle,” I informed her quietly.


“A waffle…” she repeated in a whisper, gazing at the oddly shaped piece of bread in front of her.


“Yes,” I confirmed.


“Hmm…” she hummed, reaching out a hesitant finger to touch the very tip of it.


“Good job on your T’s, baby girl,” I added as an after thought, watching her explore this apparently new breakfast food.


How odd.


I had seen my Bella eat waffles before. ‘Eggo’ seemed to be a common household name back when she still lived with her father.


Isabella looked at me and smiled. “I did good, huh?” she asked, a bit smug, while sticking her fingertip in her mouth to suck the syrup off.


I nodded. “Very good.”


She giggled. “I did good on my teeeeees…”


I kissed her cheek, then reminded her of the very important matter at hand. “Yes, now eat, angel.”


She gave the waffle one last curious glance, then cooperated by opening up, so when I withdrew the fork this time, I set it down on the plate, then went about my duty as owner and began ‘fixing it’.


I kissed the silky hair that lined her soft temple and hugged her to me. She chewed as I placed another kiss to her rosy cheek, then began lightly trailing my cool fingertips up and down her back, along her spine, and her bare arm.


I knew that she needed lots of reassurance after a punishment because she's a girl, and girls are weird like that, so I did my best to offer what I could while simultaneously trying to make sure she consumed all of her food, and keeping her sore bottom on my cold lap.


When all of the eggs were gone, and only two bites of waffle were left, Isabella straightened from her curled up snuggled position against my chest, and proclaimed, "Edward, let's go play some fuckin ball."


"Marie, you have therapy after this…and I think you know that already," I said knowingly.


She stopped the subtle kick of her dangling legs and turned her head to face me. "So?"


I tilted my head to the side a bit, and gazed at her curiously, trying to get a good read on her current mood. "Hmm…so, after therapy we can go play some ball," I concluded.


I noticed how she bristled a bit at that statement. "Well, what if I wanna go play ball right now?" she asked, her unique attitude beginning to slip through, making the transition from feisty five year old to sassy seventeen year old, complete.


I straightened up and nodded, pretty damn sure of her mood now. "Well then, I'd have to say too bad, tough shit, and you're out of luck, babe," I quipped, not at all in the mood for her attitude right now. I needed a break after dealing with my rebellious little girl all morning.


She gave me a slight glare and cocked her head to the side a bit. "Well, what if I told you that you're outta fuckin luck, 'cause I'm gonna go play anyway…"


I shook my head and gestured to her pajamas. "You are not going outside like that," I stated in a firm tone.


She smiled and winked at me. "I'll get dressed first," she told me nonchalantly with a slight shrug.


Now it was my turn to glare at her. "No, Marie."


Amusement lit up her expressive chocolate eyes as she smirked and slowly nodded at me.


Realization dawned on me then. She was enjoying this. She was trying to get a rise out of me.


Fucking. Hell.


"Ohhh yes, Edward. I think that I'm going to go get dressed, in a fuckhott sexy outfit by the way, and then I think I'll go outside. To play some motherfucking ball," she told me, quirking a small eyebrow at me in challenge.


"You will do no such thing, young lady-"


"Oh yes, I do believe I will," she shot back, standing from my lap now.


I stood with her, trying to reign in my anger.


I would not play into this little game of hers, whatever it was. I would remain in control, damn it.


"Marie, you can go play ball for as long as you want after therapy," I said in a last desperate attempt to reason with her.


She squinted her eyes up at me. "No,” she said simply. “I think that I want to go play with my goddamn basketball for as long as I want right fucking now," she countered before she turned on her heel and casually skipped off towards the stairs.


Goddamn it.


I took off after her, instantly appearing in front of her when she was half way up the first flight of steps. "No."


She gasped at my sudden appearance and took a step back. "Shit! Edward, it's not fucking fair-"


I scooped her up, just as if she were my five year old right now, and swatted her ass where it lay on my forearm. "I don't care."


She countered the swat with a slap to my chest, then clenched her jaw and screamed in the back of her throat, clearly frustrated. "I. Don't. Wanna. Fucking. Go!" she yelled at me.


I sighed, wishing that these therapy battles would lessen over time. I don't know how many more fits and protests I can counter before I begin protesting myself. I don't want her in that damn room anymore than she wants to be there. I was beginning to hate these therapy sessions, fully aware now that they were in place to take my girls away from me.


I ignored her violent outburst and pressed a cool kiss to her pink cheek, deeply saddened all of a sudden. "Shhh…" I whispered against it.


"Edward…" she breathed.


I kissed her cheek again, then skimmed lips to her ear, hugging her tighter to me. "Hello, my Bella," I whispered.


She sniffled and sighed after a minute, tightening her own hold around my neck. "Let me guess…" she mumbled. "Therapy."


I nodded and sighed.


Somehow, I knew that my girls would eventually retreat and force my Bella to endure the one thing that they absolutely refuse to deal with.


Again.


"Yep," I confirmed in a soft voice, massaging small circles into the tense muscles that I found between her shoulder blades.


After a minute, she reluctantly whispered back, "Okay."


I hugged her tighter to me as we approached the door to Carlisle's study. "Oh my Bella…I'm so sorry," I said softly.


She leaned back, taking the opportunity to gaze into my eyes. Her thin brow furrowed in the most adorable way. "For what?" she whispered curiously into the quiet hallway.


"That you have to do this all the time…every single time. That the girls never give you a break from it. That they can’t seem to brave through a therapy session on their own," I explained quietly.


She subtly nodded. "It is to be expected," she said cryptically, biting her lip, as if she had known that this would happen all along.


Hell, she probably did know. She'd been through this before. The 'others' probably recoiled away from therapy as well, forcing her to do it all on her own as a child. They probably came around sporadically, whenever they felt the need to express themselves, but only if therapy wasn't anywhere on the horizon.


Just like Isabella and Marie have been doing. Because they are her others now.


I dipped my head and skimmed my nose along her throat, breathing in the enticing aroma of her. "I love you," I murmured reverently against her flesh, smiling when her pulsing heat immediately consumed my cold lips. She was blushing for me.


Aw…my beautiful Bella.


"I love you, too," she assured me.


I kissed her warm lips then, greedily coating my senses in the incredibly sweet taste of her mouth before I turned the knob to my father's study.

**********

My baby girl had been crying these loud, hiccupping sobs for the past four minutes and thirty six seconds and I couldn’t fucking take it anymore. My body was practically shaking with pent up anxiety as I stood from my crouched position by the door and stormed into the room, going straight over to Isabella and enveloping her in my arms.


“Shhhh, my baby love…” I cooed softly in her ear as I swayed us from side to side.


I noticed Carlisle’s irritated glare, and I glared right back at him over Isabella’s shoulder. He saw this as me encroaching on his territory, but he had my territory in his territory, so fuck him, I win.


I kept my little girl in my comforting embrace as she buried her face into the soft cotton covering my shoulder and continued to sob, inconspicuously wiping her nose on my shirt again. I made a mental note to change my shirt just as Carlisle began a conversation in our frequency.


“Son, she is not going to make any progress if you continue to swoop in and save her every time she cries-”


“She was crying for me,” I spat, interrupting him. “I am not going to stand idly by on the other side of that fucking door while my distressed mate cries and calls out my name,” I informed him, daring him with a perfectly arched eyebrow to argue any further with me on the subject.


She is mine.


“It was just a simple fit. She wasn‘t getting her way-”


“I don’t care,” I immediately countered, cutting him off with a sharp tone.


He gave an exasperated sigh and dropped it, resolving to patiently wait for me to calm Isabella down.


I wasn’t stupid. I knew that I couldn’t interrupt a therapy session without there being repercussions, but this was the first time that I had done this. My Bella had only been aware for about two minutes before Isabella came back around, asking for me and getting upset when Carlisle told her that she couldn’t see me until the session was over.


Eventually Isabella quieted her cries and sniffles, and I sat in my Bella’s usual chair, making sure to keep my baby girl in my lap the entire time. I would stay here until she felt comfortable enough for me to leave the room again.


“Edward?” her small voice cracked.


I wiped her nose and cheeks with the tissues on Carlisle’s desk. “Hmm?”


“I wanna draw…” she mumbled quietly to me.


I nodded and kissed her flushed cheek. “Okay, sugar,” I murmured against her warm skin.


Carlisle handed me a blank sheet of paper and a pencil, along with some colored pens. I gave Isabella the paper, but kept the writing utensils on the edge of the desk so that she could reach for them at her leisure.


I watched as Isabella made little doodles on the paper with the pencil, followed by the blue pen, then the red. Soon, I noticed her calm state by detecting her regulated heart rate and her slow, even breathing, so I thought that now would be a good time to duck out and let her continue on with her scheduled therapy session.


“Are you okay now, sweetheart?” I asked, concerned.


She nodded, her hand never stopping it’s grooved curves along the piece of paper that lay on her lap. “Mm-hmm…” she hummed.


I kissed her cheek again and gave her midsection a gentle squeeze, hugging her to me. “Alright angel love, I’ll be on the other side of that door…” I trailed off quietly in a whisper to her ear.


She nodded distractedly. “Kay…”


“Okay.”


I stood with her in my arms then, but quickly turned and placed her back in the leather seat, facing Carlisle. She fisted her blue pen and kept the doodle paper in her lap, turning her eyes to mine as I squatted down in front of her.

I lightly ran my fingertips along her bare arm. “I love you, pretty girl…” I trailed off softly.


“I love you too,” she mumbled back.


“Be a good girl for me, okay?”


She sniffled. “Kay…”


I nodded, then leaned forward and gave her adorable button nose an Eskimo kiss before I stood and walked out the door.


As soon as the wood surface clicked shut behind me, I took my usual position on the floor, and watched through Carlisle’s mind how he would approach his second attempt at a therapy session today.

**********

Not even ten minutes in, and it was very apparent that he would be late for work today. Esme even took the liberty to call the hospital for him, stating that he had a family emergency to tend to. This was anything but, but I guess that excuse was as good as any.


Isabella and Marie had been pulling the old switcheroo on my father figure, completely evading his questions, and successfully dodging this thing called therapy.


“I don’t like your ugly yellow hair,” Isabella reminded him.


“Fuck your healing, Doctor Dad,” Marie proclaimed.


“You’re annoying,” Isabella so kindly informed him.


“Wanna come to the fuckawesome fair this weekend?” Marie asked, obviously trying to change the subject at hand.


“If you don’t quit bein a nosy bastard and let me draw my picture, then I’munna tell,” Isabella threatened.


“Do you wanna play this hott new Mariokart game with me? My Peach is so badass and I rock so fucking hard on it. I’m winning at all the stages,” Marie told him conversationally with a smug smile.


“I want my Edwaaard…” Isabella whined


“Have you been on the jumpy trampoline?” Marie asked at one point.


“It’s my jump-a-lene, you can’t play on it,” Isabella told him, immediately countering Marie’s invitation a second later.


“Edward said that we could go to the fair soon, and I’m gonna go on all the super fast fuckawesome roller coasters…” Marie trailed off.


“Why’s your hair so ugly? You should change it’s color, mm-hmm,” she told him with a little nod. “Make it like mine, b’cuz right now you look like a nigger-lovin kike, donchya know.”


“Ooooh, and maybe there will be funnel cakes,” Marie added as an after thought.


“Daddy has hair like yours and he’s ugly too,” Isabella stated.


Oh dear god… was Carlisle’s exasperated thought as he sat there and stared at my rapidly alternating mate.


I quirked a small smile, knowing from experience that they were playing with him. Testing him.


“I wanna go back to La Push and finish what little Isabella started…knock the rest of that bitch’s teeth out,” Marie told him, gently cupping her jaw where the bruise was quickly beginning to fade.


“Yah-huh, and if we go there, then I’ll finally get’ta fuck Jacob Black’s tight little asshole and make him my bitch. He should know better than to talk to Bella like that,” Isabella added, smacking her lips together.


“Mmm, my pretty Bell doesn’t want your therapy, doc,” Marie reminded him with a smirk.


“Yah-huh and Bella and my Edward wanna keep me forever and ever so that I can sparkle n’ shine one day too, so just stop it,” Isabella told him with an adorable glare.


“Carlisle…” my Bella mumbled then.


His eyes widened a bit and he immediately nodded at her in recognition.


“My Bell is tryin to come out and seeeee you,” Marie’s voice lilted at him as she cocked her head to the side.


“But I’m not gonna let her,” Isabella proclaimed with a shake of her head and a small giggle.


“Carlisle…” was her faint whisper as my Bella began to blink furiously then.


After a minute, the blinking stopped, and I saw that she had an adorable scowl composed on her face. “I. Want. Edward,” she stated, her child-like tone one of finality now.


“Carlisle…” my Bella mumbled again.


Oh, this is interesting he thought.


“Bella,” he called out, speaking for the first time since I left the room and using his authorative tone of voice.


“Carlisle,” she whispered back, her thin brow furrowing in deep concentration.


“Bella, stay with me,” he coaxed in a strong voice.


“Ok-kay…” she stuttered in her weak one.


It took three minutes and fourteen seconds, but my Bella was able to win that awareness battle with her alternates and stay around long enough to make a substantial effort to begin today’s therapy session.


I smiled, suddenly so proud of her.


My Bella.

BPOV

What the hell - what are you doing?


Getting us outta therapy Isabella explained, as if it should have been obvious.


Yeah, Bell - let’s blow this joint Marie suggested, adding in her commentary.


I subtly shook my head, rolling my eyes, then squarely looked into Carlisle’s gold ones. “Let’s do this, shall we? I know I’m going to lose this fight sooner or later. They are being very adamant on this ‘no-therapy’ thing today,” I told him, folding my knees up under myself, trying to get comfortable.


I noticed then, that I had a piece of paper on my lap with doodles drawn all over it.


It’s pretty, huh?


Um, sure.


I placed the colorful sheet on Carlisle’s dean desk, then looked at him with raised eyebrows, silently questioning whether he wanted us to continue or not, because honestly, I was all for their idea to skip out on therapy today. I was sick of doing it. It’s been the only fucking thing that I’ve done in like, two weeks.


Ridiculous.


Isabella started inadvertently flooding my mind with all sorts of memories then, and I was suddenly very, very eager to begin today’s session. I had to talk about it. About all of it.


Carlisle’s gaze on me became concerned. “Are you sure, Bella? I mean, we can still do a session today, and I’ll be here as long as you need me to be…even if your awareness is erratic right now, I’ll sit here and wait for you to come back around so that we can continue…” he trailed off his assurances.


I nodded. “Yes Carlisle, I’m sure. I, uh…I have a lot to talk about,” I said, surprised when my voice came out sounding strained, clearly conveying all of the pent up anxiety that I was beginning to feel.


Fuck. Isabella, stop.


Stop what? she muttered innocently.


I sighed, then began to soothingly rub my right temple, feeling the familiar ache there.


“Okay dear, go ahead. Talk to me,” he gently urged as he opened up his trusty leather journal and clicked his gold pen into place.


I nodded and wasted absolutely no time. I just started talking, desperately needing to get these horrible things out of my fucking head.


"Why isn't he hitting us?" Isabella asked.
"I don't know," I whispered back.
"Maybe he's waiting for a special time to kill us."
"He's probably waiting for Mommy to leave town."
"Prolly," she agreed.


“At first, I thought that it was only because I'd been in the hospital that Jim wasn't hurting me. When I had come home after being stabbed with the poker at Christmas time, there was a big hero's welcome for me. Susannah came with her mom…it was her first time ever in my home. She marveled at the beautiful house I lived in. But in the night, I could hear terrible fights between Mom and Dad. I could even hear my name being mentioned amongst all the shouting. I don't know what transpired between them, but I do know that a miraculous thing happened. The physical abuse against me stopped. It wasn't permanent, but any means…barely temporary, as a matter of fact, but I was grateful for the peace, no matter how short-lived it was. It embarrassed me the way Mom would take my clothes off every night, then turn me around and look at me before telling me to get ready for bed. She never asked me anything, she would just look and examine intently, then lightly blow on my neck or tickle me. She stayed home more often, and she became the one to tuck me and Bobby into bed at night. After dinner, she would come outside to play with us; games like freeze tag and hide and go seek were some of our favorites. Sometimes Joey would come out and suggest a game of baseball with some of the neighborhood kids and Bobby, and Mom would leave Daddy in the house to play either the pitcher or the umpire, because nobody wanted those boring positions. We all wanted to run and play, not stay still in one spot, so Mom took on that duty and Joey was always very grateful. For the first time in my life, I wasn't in pain. I must have eaten better without the constant hurting, because I began to plump out, and my cheeks were getting a little chubby. I remember Mom commenting that I finally looked as a little girl should; with rosy cheeks and cute, dimply smiles. I was no longer the tiniest girl in school.”


There was a terrible scene at our house when Mom fired Maggie, our maid. She begged and cried, pleading with Mom about her situation as a single mother of six, and Daddy ranted and protested, shoving Mom against the wall, stating that she didn't make the decisions in the household. My mother rose above it all though, barking out words in a loud commanding tone, things like "guilt of silence". I ran into the orange trees in the backyard and hid from the emotional confrontation. Mommy hired Ruth, an attractive middle-aged woman, to be our maid. Bobby and I decided that she must be expensive since she spoke well and dressed elegantly. She wasn't as good as Maggie at cleaning, but she was sweet. She let me help cook things in the kitchen. When we came home from school, she was there with us until Mom returned home from work. If she was late, Ruth stayed with us, acting as if it was no inconvenience at all. Jim cried and stayed in his room a lot. Bobby said that Ruth was probably hired by Mom to make sure Daddy didn't hurt us. I still wasn't sure what Mom knew, because she had never asked me, but it did seem as though Ruth was more bodyguard and nanny, than maid. We were certain of our guess when Mom hired a cleaning lady to come three times a week. We began to feel safe with Ruth around. Bobby and I didn't even care that Daddy was in his room all the time. One day, we could hear him sobbing behind the door. Ruth tried to distract us, and eventually demanded that we go outside to play. When we came back inside, thirsty from running around and exploring the woods just beyond our backyard, we saw that she was in our parent's bedroom with him and she was getting frustrated with his German language and his shouting and sobbing. She couldn't comfort him. Later that night, Mom couldn't control his crying either. After some hushed whispers between the two of them, Ruth stayed to give us our bath and tuck us in while Mommy left to take Daddy to the hospital. Jim was gone for two weeks. To have full rein of the house without him around gave me a delightful sense of freedom. I could run in the great expanse of the hallway. Bobby and I slid down the carved banister. We jumped down the laundry shoot from the second floor to the first. I took a flashlight down to the horrible basement and saw for the first time what it looked like, without fear of the door swinging closed behind me. We even played with the intercom system and shouted in the living room just to hear the echo. Isabella kept telling me not to trust this newfound freedom. Ruth was never affectionate or playful, but she was very tolerant towards us and she cooked wonderful meals. Ruth gave us permission to watch television while Daddy was away. We were sure that the privilege would be taken away when Dad came home, but it wasn't. Mommy went out and bought TVs for both of our bedrooms, saying that she was tired of the cartoons playing in the living room. We were secretly disappointed when Mom said that Daddy was coming home from the hospital. He arrived looking pale and thin, with what looked like burn marks on his temples. Bobby asked him about the marks, and he said that it was from electric shock treatments. That sounded terrible to us and we felt sorry for him. Mommy worked a late shift after she brought him home, so he made us sleep in the bed with him, saying that he was scared to be alone. We nodded and ran to our rooms to grab our sleepover stuff. I grabbed my pink Strawberry Shortcake blanket, and Bobby got his green Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles one, then grabbed a book from his shelf to read to Daddy until he fell asleep.
"Come here, Isabella," he commanded with outstretched arms once we had crawled up onto the bed beside him.
I smiled, overjoyed that Daddy actually wanted to cuddle with me. I eagerly crawled into his awaiting arms, and he wrapped me in a warm, enveloping hug, then kissed the top of my head. Isabella was screaming at me to get up and leave, while Sunshine yelled at her to "shut up" and to "stop trying to interrupt the cuddles", but I ignored them both as Bobby began reading the book from his sitting position beside us. Daddy fell asleep before Bobby made it three pages in, but he didn't mind. He kept reading until I started to doze off as well, then closed his book and snuggled in beside me, draping his small arm over my waist. We whispered our agreement to each other that we were both relieved Daddy wasn't crying anymore. I prayed and hoped that Daddy would remain nice as I nuzzled my cheek against his warm chest and drifted off to sleep.


“Not even a week later, Dad was back to his old self and flew us out to visit our grandmother…or, his mother. She didn't want us to call her 'grandma', or 'granny'. She wanted to be called by her first name, Olga. She had visited us before, but we had never been out to her house, which was in San Mateo, just south of San Francisco…”


Olga frightened us. She was very formal and proper and Bobby and I knew instantly that we were going to hate the visit. We became the model children, turning into the quiet robots that Jim had trained us to be. We rode the trolly cars in San Francisco, walked on the Golden Gate Bridge, and went to the zoo, but it was all an ordeal. Olga had her meals exactly at six o’clock on the dot . Lace doilies covered the arms of all her chairs and sofas, and if we didn't sit quietly and carefully, they would slip off, and she would slap us. Isabella glared at her a lot. Olga never laughed and she had no toys or games for us to play with. She did own a television, however, and every night she would let us watch it. Having never seen some of the movies that she owned, we were very intrigued, but quickly became bored. We would rather be playing outside.
"Now we know how Dad got crazy," Bobby whispered to me in the night.
"She never even smiles," I whispered back.
We were thrilled to go back home and find Mommy waiting for us. We ran through the front door, the screen door slamming behind us in our wake, and wrapped our small arms around her waist for a big hug. She was a sight for sore eyes.
"Go pack up some more clothes, kids. We're going to the beach for two weeks with Granny Hadassah!" she exclaimed with a bright smile.
We squealed and giggled in our excitement as we raced off to our rooms, making it a game of who could pack for the beach the fastest. I remember that I won because Bobby had to search for his swimming trunks in the laundry room.


Carlisle gave me a gentle, encouraging smile, but I didn’t smile back. We were just getting started.


“I remember when my Granny got sick. It wasn't that long before Jim got caught and was sent to prison. A lot of things happened that year. Congestive heart failure was the label that the doctors gave her. Her breathing was labored and her fingers were a deep purple-blue. As soon as we could have it arranged, Granny moved into our home. I'm not sure why she moved in with us, and not Charlie. I imagine it was because he was always so busy with his Chief work, and she loved my mom just as much as she did her son. I also think that she wanted to spend her last days with me and Bobby. She loved being a mother, but she absolutely adored being a grandmother...”


Daddy gave her my bedroom, thinking that it would upset me, but I was thrilled to have Granny for a sleepover. Jim scowled at the beaming smile that I gave him when he informed me of the new sleeping arrangements. Isabella stuck her tongue out at him. He busted her ass. Mom hired a nurse to come and take care of her, but within days, Daddy fired her. Another nurse was hired, only to be fired again. Granny Hadassah's health deteriorated rapidly. Fluid began collecting in her abdomen and ankles. The doctor made a house call and let me stay in the room while he aspirated some of the fluid to help Granny breathe. I told the doctor that I was a big girl and that I would take care of my granny. He looked down to where I stood tall and proud, up to his waist, and smiled softly at me, remarking that I was very adorable and helpful. He showed me how to put the nitroglycerin tablets under her tongue and how to bathe her. Probably because neither of my parents were there, he spoke to me as if I were an adult. Granny became bedridden within a week of coming to stay with us. She lay in my big four poster canopy bed, looking tiny and frail, except for her big stomach. She ate almost nothing. Daddy never took care of her at all. Without the nurses, who were fired, or Ruth, all of the health care fell onto me. Mom was angry at Daddy for firing the nurses, saying that I was too young to take care of an old dying woman, but I cried and begged to be allowed to do it. Mom, out of desperation, agreed. She had an extra bed brought into the room for me, so that I could sleep next to Granny in case she had chest pains or needed anything in the night. Granny was weak, but for the next two weeks, we giggled and she told me stories. She told me how babies were born and what it was like to be a mother. She kissed me and stroked my hair as I lay in the bed next to her. When I look back at that time, I realize that it was she who was taking care of me. We were like two lone travelers on a secret journey, sharing each other. I don't remember anyone else during that period of time. I don't remember leaving her to go play. She was filling my loneliness with her loving. She told me how wonderfully well I did things for her, always praising me and how I was 'so helpful'. I never remember her complaining, even when she had to struggle to breathe. I bathed her, brushed her hair, and brought her meals, which she hardly touched. She perspired a great deal, and every evening, Mom would come up and help me change out her sheets, then we would sit her in a chair and Mom would join our ongoing party. The only time I got banished from the room was when the rabbi came to visit Granny. She liked to talk with him alone. Soon, Granny had some violent chest pains and got acutely worse. She lay in bed panting for air, barely able to speak or move. She no longer ate. She drifted in an out of sleep and we didn't giggle together anymore. We were all very upset. Sunshine and Isabella tried to get in extra snuggles with her, and Joey would place reverent kisses to her forehead. Sophie would read her stories and stroke her stringy gray hair. The doctor came and said that he would respect her wish to die at home; she never would consent to go to a hospital. He showed me how to regulate the oxygen, how to turn Granny in bed and rub her back so she wouldn't get sores. I remember the loose skin that was paper thin as I rubbed it. She was too weak to get up to go to the bathroom, so I brought her a bedpan. None of this seemed alarming to me. I adored my Granny, and Sophie was intrigued to see up close and personal what death was like for a human being. I remember she tried to prepare me for her death. She whispered her gratitude and love messages to me. Even too weak to eat, she would pat the sheets, inviting me to come lie on the bed next to her. Her eyes cherished me. Her fingers touched me lightly. She told me that she was going to die, but that her life had been full and was now finished. Her only sadness was in leaving me. She said she knew that Jim hadn't treated me well, and that her son hadn't been there for me, and it broke her heart. As she said that, I thought how little she knew of what I really lived through. Even in death, I could not tell her, but I cried, and with a shaky hand, she wiped the tears from my face. She kissed my eyes. I was lying in my bed next to Granny, when I heard her breathing change. It was a slow, rattling breath. I went over to her and turned on the light. I couldn't rouse her; she was in a coma. Life was confusing after that. Charlie, who had almost never come to our home, arrived. The doctor and the rabbi came, too. Mommy sat by Granny's bed with Charlie, and I felt like an outsider. I wanted everyone out of Granny's and my room. She and I belonged together, she just couldn't die. But she did. It took Granny Hadassah two days and two nights to die. Charlie banished me from the room and I screamed and sobbed, throwing a fit as I lay next to Bobby in his bed that night. I was angry at being sent away and angrier still, to be losing what I felt was a big piece of my life. I loved my grandmother with an intensity that was in proportion to my deprivation and my need. I thought my heart would break. I cried the whole day she died, the tears never stopped. Charlie tried to comfort me, but I barely knew him. Jim took over, practically ripping me out of Charlie's arms and enveloping me in his own. He coaxed my head down to his shoulder, then started shushing me, rubbing and patting my back, calling me 'Princess'. He was practically flaunting his 'fatherness' of me in front of my real father with an evil glint in his eye. To an outsider, he was the doting, loving Daddy, comforting his little girl, but I knew better. His grip was too tight, his pats a bit hard, and he whispered, "She was just a dirty old Jew" into my ear.


I sniffled, noticing the tears streaming down my cheeks and reached for a tissue from the box that lay on Carlisle‘s desk. “Um, I don't remember her funeral, or if there even was one. I was constantly dissociating for a while after that from the pain and loss of Granny. I dissociated one time and found myself in my bed with a brain concussion and scraped up knees. My vision was blurry and I kept vomiting…”


Bobby came and sat down on my bed when he saw that I was awake. "You deliberately rode your bike in front of a car. I saw you," he told me.
"I don't remember doing that," I whispered into the quiet room.
He glared at me while wiping a cool rag over my forehead. "Are you trying to kill yourself?"
I shrugged. "I don't know. I really don't remember doing anything like that. Please don't tell on me…" I pleaded.
He softened his gaze. "Do you think I would? Haven't I always taken care of you? You scared the hell outta me today."
"I'm sorry, Bobby."
He nodded and clicked a button on the remote, turning on Nickleodean, then lay down beside me on my canopy bed. I missed a week of school watching TV and waiting for my vision to clear and the headaches to subside. I laid in bed and wondered what had happened and if Isabella or one of the others had chosen to die.


“There were many things about myself that I didn't understand…like the fact that Isabella and the others always seemed to want to run away from home. The idea was very intriguing, but I didn't know where we would go. Bobby fueled the fire for this fantasy. He had read Huckleberry Finn and said that we could get lots of ideas from that book. There was always a fantasy going on in my mind…of a better place, a better family. A family who liked little girls and who always wanted to cuddle them. I was so caught up in the enticing idea of it all, that I never actually thought that I would freak out when the opportunity to leave finally came, but I did…”


One day, Daddy said to me, "How would you like to go live in Germany? My cousins want to adopt you."
Panic ran through me. Life here was awful, but at least it was familiar. I knew Daddy's relatives were Nazis. I suddenly wanted my mom.
"Please, Daddy, don't send me away!" I begged.
Later that day, I snuck into my parent's bedroom and found that there were letters from Germany on his desk. Only one letter was in English, so I read that one, while Isabella read the others. They talked about raising me as a good German and keeping the bloodlines pure. Obviously, Jim had failed to tell them that I was half-Jewish. Lying on the desk, were also passports and other documents. I was distraught by the possibility of leaving school, and never seeing Mommy or Bobby ever again. In one of the most assertive things that I've ever done, I wrote a letter to the cousins who knew English, begging them not to take me, that I was half-Jewish, All American, and had no desire to be German. I told them that I would hate them if they made me go.
"Good for you," Isabella congratulated me. "It's 'bout time you did somethin to defend yourself. You tell all those Nazi fuckers that you'd rather be dead than eat any of their ucky sauerkraut. Tell 'em we'll burn their house down."
"Okay," I agreed.


“And that's exactly what I did. I don't know if Jim ever found out that I wrote to his cousins, but after the next letter arrived from Germany, the subject of me leaving was dropped.”


I began to distractedly run my fingers through my hair, absently fidgeting when Isabella whispered to me about Mr. Hammy, the hamster.


Oh god…


I sniffled and gazed at Carlisle through sudden blurry eyes. My voice cracked when I spoke and I wiped a tear that had already managed to fall. “I-in second grade…um, someone gave me two pet hamsters and a cage…”


I took very good care of them. Mommy said I could keep them in the garage. Before long, the two hamsters produced a family and I had about eight furry friends, much to my delight. Bobby and I would play with them after school, making houses and runways out of blocks for them. We would lie down and let them crawl all over us, and Isabella giggled at the feeling, despite my sneezing fits. One day, in a fit of anger, Daddy came out to the garage with a big soup kettle filled with water. He put the hamsters in the water, to the wailing protest and Bobby, Isabella, and me.
"Hamsters are filthy fucking animals, and they carry diseases," he said. "We must kill them quickly."
My eyes grew wide as Isabella screamed, "No!"
"Daddy, no, please…Daddy, no! I'll find another home for them if I can't keep them. Please don't kill them! They’re my friends!" I screamed out amongst Isabella's sobbing.
He went to grab the lid and Isabella lunged for him, grabbing onto his arm to hold it back, but he flung her off easily and our small body went flying into the wall.
"Nooo…" I cried desperately.
Daddy held a lid that was smaller than the soup kettle. When all the hamsters were swimming around with a panicked look in their eyes, he grabbed one of my pigtails and yanked me over to the kettle on the floor.
"You mustn't let them suffer, Isabella," he told me in a rough, accusing voice, as if all of this was somehow my fault. "Press the lid down in the water and they will die quickly."
"No! Nooo, Daddy. Please, nooo…" I cried, pleading with him.
Bobby started crying then, and ran out of the garage. Daddy forced the lid down on the hamsters for a few seconds, then raised it up. The hamsters were all wet, sputtering and uselessly pawing at the slick sides of the kettle.
"You mustn't let them suffer," he barked at me again, looking me dead in my blurry, watery eyes, as he plunged the lid down again.
I screamed and frantically reached forward, bending down and trying to pry his finger's grip from the lid, but he reached back with his free hand and quickly swatted my ass six times in quick succession, harshly scolding that I wasn't allowed to touch him. He threatened to throw me across the room into the wall again. When he raised the lid this time, a few of the babies were dead, but the bigger hamsters were still swimming. He grabbed my small hand in his large one and forced me to put my palm to the lid's surface as he pushed it down again. I felt the icy cold water as I plunged the lid deep, and held it down for a long time, not wanting to see the panic in my friends' eyes again. When I finally lifted the lid, I was sobbing loud, hiccupping sobs, and they were all drowned. I hated Jim at that moment.
"Let's kill him. Plunge his face into ice-cold water until he turns blue and dies," Isabella advised me.
She turned her cold, glaring eyes on him while I continued to cry, but he just simply stood back up and left the garage. Bobby wanted to bury all the dead hamsters. He couldn't stop crying, and neither could I. We found a shoe box and buried them outside next to Bootsie and had a funeral service, marking the grave with a little wooden cross. There were so many crosses at the gravesite. Daddy had cooked a bunny that Bobby had been given in the oven. There were crawdads we had caught in a pond that he dumped in our bathwater, swimming all around us until they died in the heat. There was a baby bird that we had dropper-fed when it fell from it's nest, and Dad threw it down on the kitchen floor, stating, "We mustn't let things suffer."


“We suffered,” I insisted, bringing another tissue up to wipe my left eye. “After the hamsters, I never accepted anymore pets. I didn't want to love anything and have it killed in front of me again. There had been too many tears and too many little dead things that I had lovingly wrapped for burial. We had a funeral service memorized because we had it so often.”


“Death was a preoccupation when I was young. My death had seemed real and repeatedly imminent. Daddy had made me sit still in a chair time after time and read Bible verses to me. They were usually the scary ones, about hell and unrepentant souls. I feared God and I feared death, somehow having gotten the message that because I was Jewish, I wouldn't get to go to heaven, yet at Sunday school, they talked about Jesus loving little children, and how being baptized was a way into heaven. Just after the death of my hamsters, we were invited to a church service by one of Jim's friends...”


It was communion Sunday and the pastor was talking about the bread being the flesh of Christ, and the wine being the blood of Christ. I sat spellbound in horror as all of these seemingly nice people symbolically ate and drank Jesus. Tears were streaming down my face. How often had Daddy talked about cooking and eating me? 'The Recipes of Isabella' was what he liked to call it. I identified to such an extent with the symbolic eating, that I was upset for days. Poor Jesus…no one loved Him, either.


Carlisle’s gold pen continued to scrawl across the pages of his journal as I easily filtered over to the next memory stored in Isabella’s exposed mind.


“About a month before Halloween one year, the topic of discussion at school was who would have a Halloween party at their house…”


One boy said, "Bella, your house is huge and scary, why don't you have a party? None of us have ever been there."
Ice water ran through my veins at the thought of bringing other kids to my house. Daddy was too unpredictable. My school life and my home life were as isolated from each other as I could purposefully make them. My other states of being, the lapsed memories, where I had to lie to make up for what I couldn’t remember, isolated me even further. My life had become a juggling act of lies, and I certainly didn't share my secrets with the kids at school. Even walking home by myself, I would feel the sense of foreboding as I turned down my street. I hated the big house with the dark, painful secrets. Bobby and I let no one into our world of terror.
Another friend piped in, "That's a great idea, to go to Bella's house."
The group momentum upped the enthusiasm and pressure. I wished for death before exposing my friends to my other life.
"I can't have a party," I muttered.
"Of course you can. You have the biggest house in town. It'll be great!"
Even Bobby heard in his class that everyone wanted a Halloween party at our house. The more I objected, the more intrigued my friends became. I eventually asked Mom and Dad at dinner one night if I could have a Halloween party. Mom agreed, saying that it would be 'fun'. Bobby said that he would help me make the haunted house. Daddy said nothing. I went ahead and invited my friends, telling them it was a costume party and to be prepared for a haunted house. I sounded enthusiastic, but it was all false bravado. I lay awake at night wondering how Daddy would act. My only hope was to ask Mom to stay home and help with the party, so I did, and she said that she would certainly try her best to be there. Bobby and I spent two weeks working on our haunted house. We put streamers and blue lights over the doors, and we borrowed a skeleton from a weird high school boy that Bobby knew. From a book in the library, Bobby got the idea for everyone to sit in a circle while someone recited a tale about a man being murdered and cut up and his parts passed around the group to be touched. In the dark, we would pass around bowls that had hard Jell-O for the liver, macaroni for brains, peeled grapes for eyeballs, and so forth. Bobby was very enthusiastic about this night of horror. He said he would help me and would recite the tale while everyone sat in a circle in our huge living room. Mom found us a record of Japanese music that sounded properly scary. Daddy helped us by buying refreshments and ingredients for our witches' tale. Isabella…well, I guess she helped by getting me the necessary make up for my Halloween costume. There was some money on the coffee table one day. Shiny quarters, dimes, and nickels…a few crumpled up dollar bills. Isabella eyed it appreciatively, a devilish smile forming on her face.
“Please, Isabella…please don’t take the money. Don’t get me in trouble,” I pleaded.
“I won’t get you in trouble. We’re smart, remember? We can say that the money fell on the floor and got lost, or that Blitzen knocked the table over again. Nobody will ever know,” she reasoned.
“But that’s not honest,” I admonished her.
She rolled her eyes. “To hell with honest! We can take what we want to. We never have any money for toys, Bella. No one gives a shit about us.”
I subtly shrugged. “We can ask Mommy…”
Isabella glared at me. “Mommy can go to hell. Fuck her.”
“But I don’t want to steal!” I proclaimed, stomping my foot.
“Then don’t! You don’t have to, I’ll do it for us. I’m definitely the smarter one. I can sneak it, like always…”
“I think you’re awful.”
“Tough shit!” she spat, slamming her hand down on the table, near the five dollar bill. “I want to go buy some make up.”
And with that, she began scooping the coins and dollars off the coffee table and stuffing our newfound treasure in the pocket of our Strawberry Shortcake overalls, then ran out the door and grabbed Bobby’s bike that lay on it’s side in the front yard. It was a too big for us, so she couldn’t sit on the seat. Instead, she had to stand on the pedals during the ride down the street to the Dollar Store. When we returned, with all kinds of make up compacts stuffed in our pockets; some paid for, some stolen, Isabella scurried up the steps to our bedroom and hid her new stash in the back of our sock drawer. We were never caught, and Isabella was very proud of herself. When the night finally arrived, Isabella had fun decorating our face, but I was a wreck. Daddy had been too quiet. The house was ready, but at the last minute, Mommy had to leave town for a big meeting. Fear suffocated me; my safety was leaving me. All of our friends arrived in various hilarious ghoulish outfits. It doesn't take much to rally up a group of second graders; they were all acting rowdy and silly in no time at all. The haunted house tour was a smashing success, with friends getting pushed into absolute blackness down the laundry chute and into the secret corridors that paralleled the hall upstairs. We marched everyone into the deep, cold cellar to Bobby's moans and groans. After refreshments, Bobby told everyone to sit in a big circle. Daddy had been out of sight the whole evening, but he would bring us the bowls of Jell-O and grapes at the appropriate times. Bobby blackened the room except for the coals glowing in the fireplace at the end of the living room. In a low whisper, Bobby began his tale of horror. When we got to the parts of the body that were passed around, the boys got loud and the girls shrieked appropriately at the horror.
A couple of boys laughed. "Ha ha. This is just a peeled grape, not a real eye. This ain't real brains."
"I'll bet this is Jell-O," one boy challenged then.
"I dare you to bite it," said another.
Just then, the lights flicked on and everyone began to scream.
"Ucky," Isabella whispered to me.
In the bowls were real brains, liver, eyeballs, a pancreas, and other cow parts. Blood was all over our hands and some kids had blood on their costumes. Daddy had gone to the butcher shop, and without telling us, had exchanged our fun parts for the real animal anatomy. The girls were jumping and screaming at their bloody hands. The boys were desperately trying to be brave.
Bobby saved the day by laughing and shouting, "Haha! I fooled you! Happy Halloween!"
He acted like he had pulled the world's biggest prank. Some of the boys began to laugh, but the girls were all upset and tried to race to the sink to wash the blood off. I wanted to die. My worst fears of Dad destroying my party were realized. Now my friends would know the world I lived in. I was certain no one would ever speak to me again. The party broke up immediately. I have no recollection of the evening, since I dissociated. I don't know who took over, I just know that it wasn't me. The next day I faked being sick, feeling too humiliated to go to school. Bobby came home and said all the kids were talking about the funny Halloween joke. I felt forever in Bobby's debt.
He was enraged by what Daddy had done, though. "He oughta be locked up somewhere. We're lucky no one found out he's a whacko."
"He did it because he hates me," I said quietly.
"He did it because he is sick in the head, Bella," he corrected. "I hate his guts."


The silent tears had stopped flowing, and I spoke in a subdued tone of voice now, suddenly feeling very tired, and liking Marie’s idea of her taking over for me.


But I’m not comin out while we’re still in here, doll. Fuck that.


I sighed. Fine then.


Carlisle, oblivious to my internal conversation, gestured for me to continue at my convenience. So I did. “I remember feeling abandoned by my mom a lot when I was seven. She had been my savior, making sure to check me for injuries before bed and hired a nanny to be around while she was at work, but like I said - it didn't last long. After Ruth saw Daddy's craziness firsthand, before he went into the hospital that night, she quit when he came home and things went pretty much back to normal. It upset me, because…if she went through all the effort of checking me for injuries, hiring extra help, and actually taking Jim to the hospital, then she fucking knew something was up. She knew something was going on, but her attentiveness only lasted for a month of two. It saddened me, but it pissed Isabella and the others off.”


Carlisle nodded. “Mm-hmm, I understand. Do you have anymore particular memories of your past others from when you were younger, Bella dear? From what you told me before, they seem to be very interesting…you never know; any knowledge of them, no matter how small or insignificant, could be the missing puzzle piece for the problems that you’re experiencing today,” he told me.


I subtly nodded. "Um, yeah…I vaguely remember when Cassandra was created. There was a time when I was very sick. I was in the hospital, and it wasn't from a Jim-induced injury. I only remember two of the things that were wrong with me…a kidney infection and a stress-induced ulcer that bled. My legs were also hurt for some reason. I don't know why. I was either six or seven. I don't remember all of the details, just that I was in the hospital and that I didn't like it. There were barium milkshakes and enemas, X-rays and an ice-water-in-a-tube procedure of some kind to get the bleeding to stop. Little glasses of milk and Maalox were brought every hour, along with a steady delivery of Jell-O and custards. Mom wasn't around to come visit and read me bedtime stories this time, and I'm not sure why…probably a business trip, or something. Anyway, just when I was beginning to show some progress with the medications, and was getting comfortable with the people and hospital routines, Jim came and told me that he was taking me home. The doctors told him that I wasn't ready to go home, but he was adamant. He checked me out of the hospital against the doctor's orders…”


I cried as I hugged Annie, my gentle, black pediatric nurse, good-bye.
"This ain't right, child. You'd shouldn't be leavin'," she told me.
I just nodded because I knew that, and we hugged for a long time as she stroked my long hair. Eventually we broke apart when Jim came storming into the room, demanding and asking why I wasn't dressed yet. Annie, with her warm, gentle hands, helped me out of my little pink hospital gown and got me dressed, all the way down to my flashing light sneakers.
Roger, my doctor, was livid, but tried not to let it show, choosing instead to stay positive and encouraging like he always had with me. "I'm sorry that we can't stop your daddy from taking you home, Bella. I'm so proud of how well you're doing. Let's just hope that you continue your progress at home," he told me with a hopeful smile.
"Thank you, doctor Roger, for being my friend," I told him while hugging onto his leg. I got his white coat all wet with my tears.
Daddy brought me home without a wheelchair or any of the equipment I'd had in the hospital. I was fearful of what he had planned for me because he acted strangely the entire way home. When our car pulled into the driveway, I felt anxious knowing that this was not a good idea. Dad came around to my side of the car, and instead of picking me up and taking me inside, he grabbed my arm and half-dragged me into the house. Instead of elation at getting liberated from the hospital, I felt a sense of foreboding and worry that physically I could not cope with my life at home. Daddy dropped me onto my bed in a heap, then put some pillows under my head.
"Daddy, I need my wheely-chair or crutches. How will I go to the bathroom?" I muttered in a small voice, suddenly very afraid because I had just spoken to him without permission.
"We'll see about that," he muttered right back in a cold voice.
He left my room then, and a few minutes later, Bobby came in.
"I'm glad you're better, but you still can't walk," Bobby said, observing me. "What are you going to do here at home?"
"I don't know, Bobby," I said, beginning to cry.
"Dad's been talking to his angel, Bella. He's getting weird again," he told me with worried eyes.
"God, I'm scared…" I whispered, tears streaming down my cheeks.
After dinner, Daddy ordered Bobby out of my room. He pulled a chair up by my bed.
"I need to talk with you, Isabella. God has commanded me to help you die. You have been suffering long enough. My angel will give me the strength to see us through these trying times," he told me in all seriousness.
I gasped, wide-eyed. I knew that bitch, Lady Angel, would be the end of me. "Daddy, I'm getting better. I'm not throwing up blood anymore, and my legs will get better, I promise," I told him in a desperate, pleading tone.
But Daddy ignored me and rose from his chair, then came and knelt by my bed in a praying position.
He folded his hands and began to pray, "Dear Jesus, I give you this child. Please take her from me and end her suffering. Forgive her for her sins and her goddamn wickedness. For being a filthy Jew. She is ready to come home to you, Lord."
I wasn't sure what Daddy was planning, but I was frightened. But even with the terror that I was feeling, I also became slightly passive, regressing in that moment, and trying to push away from reality by letting Isabella or one of the others take over.
"Isabella, what I'm doing is an act of Christian fucking kindness. You will be with our Lord soon." He stood up, bent over me and kissed my forehead, "Good-bye Isabella."
He walked out the door and I heard the lock click into the latch. I went to sleep that night, baffled by the whole farewell scene and suspicious that Dad would come back in my room and try to kill me. Nothing was improbable with Jim. In the morning, I needed help getting to the bathroom, which was beyond the locked door. I was no longer in the bedroom with the adjoined bathroom. That was Bobby's room now. I heard when Bobby left for school.
"Daddy!! Daddy, I gotta use the bathroom!" I shouted.
There was no answer. I waited all morning. Around noon, I began to cry with the realization that something was very wrong. I had been abandoned and I feared that it was deliberate. I crawled from the bed and pulled myself along the floor to the door. I turned the knob. It was securely locked from the outside, just like over summer vacation. I banged on the door and shouted. No one answered and no one came. I had to go to the bathroom desperately. Just like in the basement, I pulled myself over to the corner of the room and relieved myself on the floor. I was crying. All day I waited, and still, no one came. Finally, I heard Bobby return from school.
"Bella," Bobby whispered from outside my door. "Dad has the door locked and he won't give me the key. He says it's time for you to die."
Isabella's instinct for survival suddenly overrode my fear of Daddy's revenge, and she abruptly came forth and exclaimed, "Bobby, he's crazy! Can you get me help?"
Bobby began crying and I didn't understand what he said in response. In the hospital, I had been on several different types of medications. The sudden withdrawal from all the drugs had me shaky and nauseated. Perspiration wet my sheets in the heat of my room. There was a summer hot spell and my room was baking from the sun that hit the big windows. By night, my thirst was first and foremost in my mind. The drug withdrawal had made me vomit on the floor. I just leaned over the bed and watched as I retched onto the carpet. The taste of it intensified my thirst. That night, I could hear Daddy in the hall outside my door, talking to his angel and praying to God. I called out to him, but he just continued talking his nonsense, sometimes hollering, sometimes harshly whispering. By the next day, I was dissociating, escaping into my dream-like states. My apathy from the years of abuse overcame me. Instead of screaming or breaking windows for help, I lay there like a limp, lifeless doll, awaiting my death. I just didn't care anymore. About anything. Least of all, myself. I wanted death, and I wanted it to come quickly. Another night came and went. I heard Bobby yelling and crying. By the third day, the urine and vomit had turned my hot room into a complete hellhole. My wrinkled sheets felt like mountains on my perspiring skin. I drifted in and out of fevered sleep. Then there was the continual thirst….it was the supreme drive. There is no hunger when thirst is acute. I wished for the power to die. I wished Isabella could take me away. There was a cacophony of voices in my mind. Joey was angry. Camille was glad that we were dying. Sunshine was very passive; she had waited a lifetime to be taken care of. It was sometime during the course of these days that Cassandra came into existence. She was a mature personality with a calm, rational mind, who seemed to handle crisis well. She spoke in soothing tones to the group of us. I think she is the one who felt the desire to live. Sophie didn't care if we died. She kept babbling on about concentration camps, being completely useless.
"Stop this right now," Cassandra said, commanding everyone's attention. "We are all thirsty, but we will make it out of this room. Why, when we recover, I will take you on the loveliest trip to Germany to meet my parents. You'll especially love my father, he's such a charmer, so lovely. My mother is a sweet lady, who smells of lavender and wears her sensible shoes while she paints watercolors on the countryside. She was born in Wales, you know…" Cassandra did have a tendency to talk in endless enthusiastic streams.
I have no idea how many days and nights I lived in that hot yellow room. I felt surrounded by a sea of yellow. Yellow walls, yellow urine, yellow sheets. Yellow was hot. Yellow was pain. I was drifting in and out of consciousness, resigned to my impending death, when I heard Bobby banging on my door.
"I called the cops, Bella! Hang on, I'll get you out!"
I heard voices in the hall. Bobby's voice was screaming and angry, and Daddy was yelling. When the police arrived, Bobby had a butcher knife in his hand and was holding Daddy crouched against the wall, the sharp blade pressed to his jugular. He was crying and threatening to kill him. Incredulously, the police believed Dad's story, that a nine-year old Bobby had gone crazy, and attacked him with a knife, and that I had been very sick with the flu and he was about to take me to the hospital. Daddy was set free and Bobby was sent in a straightjacket to a mental hospital. No one believed his story about Daddy and he was kept locked up for an entire month. He missed a semester of school. Jim's sister even went to court to try and get custody of Bobby at this point - and lost at the hearing. I was too sick to be involved and attest to the abuse in the home, but my aunt had all sorts of documents. Later, Bobby said that they never even let him testify.


“The fact that Jim could get the police to believe him, shows again how violent abuse is so incredibly far from the minds of normal people, that they can't even perceive it where it actually exists. It also shows that Jim was calculatingly evil. He was not so crazy that he couldn't lie and carry on a believable conversation. With clear, light eyes, he could look a person in the face and lie. I was too close to death to hate him then, but I do now.”


Carlisle nodded. “You are so right, dear, and that tale is so…so intriguing, Bella. Very, very fascinating and intriguing. It’s amazing how different assets of yourself were so completely ready to give up, but then suddenly, this Cassandra person springs to life, giving everyone a sense of newly found hope and stability.”


I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.


Right. Cassandra, the savior. Whatever.


His golden gaze flicked over to the clock then, noticing that we had about three minutes left in the second hour of allotted therapy time. He didn’t seem too excited to end it though…I mean, it’s not like he was in a hurry, or anything.


“Is there anything else that you would like to add to today‘s session, Bella? Anything else that you feel you need to get off your chest?” he hedged with slightly raised eyebrows.


I nodded. “Yes,” I blurted out.


He smiled softly while I instantly blushed at my sudden eagerness to point out this one last thing.


I cleared my throat. “Um, I mean…uh, yeah…” I trailed off, giving him a sheepish look.


He nodded, and gestured with a flawless hand that I should continue. “Go ahead, dear…”


I sighed and cleared my throat again, suddenly wanting some water, but ignored my new thirst and changed up my position to sit Indian style in the high-backed leather chair instead. I kept one hand in my hair, absently playing with the soft strands that I found there and subtly shrugged. "Well…okay, when Jim was caught after I was brutally sodomized by him, and he was sent to prison, it was a blessing, but just because I was away from him, didn't mean that I was away from abuse. When I was ten, and in the state mental hospital, there were incidents. About mid-stay, I became severely depressed…nearly comatose due to my therapy. I was in a constant state of confusion because of my alternate personalities. They were leaving me, and I didn't know why. I didn't talk for a long period of time, and just laid there in my bed. I avoided people and interaction of any kind as much as possible. I rejected visits from my mother…"


An odd young man in a white jacket began visiting me in my room. I didn't know if he was an orderly, or a medical student, but it didn't matter to me. He brought me cups of icecream, and never said much as he stood and stared at me. He had short hair, acne scars, and wore glasses. I didn't like him, but there was nothing I could or would say to him during those strange non-conversational visits. One night I was sleeping and was abruptly woken up by a hand being clamped over my mouth. The hospital was quiet, it must have been in the middle of the night. I felt startled and confused. No one had ever given me medicine at that time. Something was clearly wrong. Then I recognized the guy with the acne-scarred face.
He spoke in a loud whisper, "If you yell for help, I will kill you. Do you see this syringe?" he asked, holding it in front of my face. "It's full of narcotics and I'll overdose you if you don't lie quietly," he threatened.
Terror rose in me as he set the syringe down and started taking off my pink Whinny The Pooh pajamas, exposing my body in the shadowed darkness. He picked the liquid-filled syringe back up and held the long needle in front of my eyes. Even on an unconscious level, the old experiences I'd lived through filled me with dread. I lay absolutely still, just waiting to be his victim. He put my hands in the hospital bed restraints. I didn't struggle. I felt the panic, but torture was familiar to me. Slowly, he began kissing my body, playing with my newly budding breasts. I mean…if you could even call them that. I was still basically flat-chested, didn't even own a training bra yet. But he kept licking and sucking on me, then biting me as he worked his way down my belly.
"You have the face of an angel and a body that is driving me mad," he murmured. "But you're like all of them. You're all alike."
I didn't know what he was talking about.
My body was experiencing both pleasure and revulsion in the feather-light way he touched and kissed me. I felt the urge to vomit, but I held it back. Suddenly, he seemed to turn angry, and he lifted up a tongue depressor.
"Open your mouth," he commanded.
I opened my mouth and he wedged the wooden stick sideways between my back teeth, prying my mouth open. I felt the panic rise, not knowing what he was doing or why he was angry with me. He was breathing hard as he pulled down his pants and began rubbing his penis along my tiny abdomen and small breasts. He turned my head to face him and stuck his penis deep into my pried-open mouth. I gagged and couldn't breathe, he was going so deep. He jabbed in an out and around, suffocating me, gagging me, hurting me. I moaned out the beginnings of my cries, starting to struggle against my restraints. My nose began to run, and tears burned my eyes, trailing their way down my cheeks. Catching my breath quickly became my first priority, as I desperately tried to breath through his assault. Just when I thought I would pass out from lack of air, he ejaculated into my mouth. I choked and sputtered as warm semen squirted down my throat. As he withdrew his penis, I finally gave into that urge to vomit, coughing and choking to get air when I was done. The man untied my hands, hurriedly redressed me in my crumpled pink pajamas, and tossed the covers back on me without saying a word. He pushed my head into the vomit right before he left the room. I laid in the slimy mess for a long time. Silent tears continued to fall as I wondered why one of my alternates hadn't come to save me. Why I had to experience that alone. Most of them were gone, and I wanted to know why. Why did they go? Will they ever come back to help me? I needed them. Soon, Isabella's voice rang out, soft and clear in my head, and I smiled, comforted by the fact that she was still around. She wouldn't abandon me like the others had. She giggled every so often as she sang me a quiet lullaby and talked of things like Peter Pan, Tinkerbell and Never Never Land.
I came back to reality when a nurse found me and said, "My goodness child, you threw up and you never even called me."
I stayed silent, as usual, while she cleaned me up and ran warm water and shampoo all over my long brown hair. She changed my sheets and got me dressed in a light blue summer dress for the day, but she couldn't take away the memory of that night. He came several more times to have oral sex or, if there was any activity going on in the corridors, just quick, harsh fondling.
"Your beauty drives me wild and you're not even really here with me," he said.
I'm sure that he saw me as some kind of incompetent, brain-damaged object. I lay awake at nights waiting to see if the door would open. My life was valueless to me, existing in a damaged state and waiting to get hurt again. The man in white had bad breath, and on the two occasions that he climbed on top of me, his body odor gagged me. I hated him, but I did not resist. He no longer needed syringes to threaten me with, or restraints to hold me down. I merely lay there hating him, willing myself away as he did what he would do. Isabella hated him with a passion. She devised ways of killing him, taking pleasure in thoughts of sodomizing and dismembering him, beginning with that damn invasive penis of his. She wanted to carve him up slowly and listen to him scream. I remember that the thoughts in my head were hazy and inarticulate, but my emotional self and emotional duality remained intact. I was as aware and sensitive as an anemone in a tide pool. I wasn't like Isabella. She plotted and planned, but I worried. I worried that I would get pregnant. I wasn't certain if oral sex could cause pregnancy, but the hypothetical possibility of it in my mind was enough to make me sick with worry. I have no way of knowing how often this happened to me. It was probably only a few times, because I was in a hospital after all, but the anticipation and the horror of it, caused it to mushroom…made it seem like it occurred on a daily basis. One night, that pervert came into my room again and stripped me naked of my red and white Little Mermaid pajamas. He pulled my small body to the bottom of the bed and propped my legs up. They flopped apart, down to my sides, exposing my virgin center to his eyes, then his fingers. In a matter of seconds, he had his pants off and was standing at the end of the bed, intrusively rubbing the head of his penis up and down my tiny slit. Fear gripped me, because I knew what he was going to do. He was going to rape me. In my mind, I screamed for Isabella, knowing that I wouldn't be able to handle it, but she didn't respond, paralyzed by my fear. The second that her voice finally screamed back, "Kill him!!", the door suddenly burst open, and there, standing with a look of consternation on his face, was a very young intern.
"Goddamn it," he muttered distractedly as he flicked on the bright overhead lights.
In a split second, his eyes focused on us and a look of fury overcame his features. He made a loud roaring noise as he charged forward and literally threw the pedophile up against the wall. He was yelling and hitting him, then hauled him out of the room. There were loud noises and lots of voices out in the hall.
The intern came back into my room. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, little-bit," he said over and over again, using the nickname that all of the orderlies had given me, due to the fact that I was practically the only child in the ward, and that I was so tiny and small.
He approached me slowly, knowing from experience that I was prone to violent and sudden outbursts. When he was positive that I wasn't going to kick him in the face, he reached down to close my legs, then gently scooped me up off the bed and stood me up in front of him. He squatted down, reaching for my cartoon pajamas that lay haphazardly on the floor, and began redressing me. He spoke softly to me the entire time, reassuring me that the bad man was gone now, and wasn't ever coming back. When he picked me up and put me back to bed, he made sure the blankets were tucked tightly all around me. I winced when he brushed some hair away from my eyes.
His eyes widened a bit, scared that he had hurt me somehow. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, darlin'. He won't ever bother you again, okay? I promise you that," he told me before he seemed to let his anger get the better of him. He slammed his curled fist down on the mattress by my side. "Christ, why didn't you scream?!" he yelled accusingly, looking me square in my vacant eyes. "Why didn't you cry? Damn it! That shouldn't have happened!"
There was a big commotion of nurses, doctors and policemen after that, but I responded to no one. I just watched everyone from my far away hiding place.


I bit my lip, and softly fingered the sore spot on my jaw, just now noticing that it had gotten bruised somehow. "The obvious question is, why didn't I scream or shout or fight, right? Well, the answer lies in my years of torture; to resist is to be hurt worse. I, the Bella personality, simply learned to endure," I stated quietly.


I hardly ate during my depression in the hospital. I didn't try to talk or watch the cartoons on television that the orderlies would turn on for me. I simply lay there and let my mind escape when it could. I had the warm, quiet place in my head where I could leave the hurt behind. I simply became Isabella and she lived life, so that I didn't have to. In retrospect, it's curious the way that Isabella broke our silence before I did. The first words out of my mouth in seven weeks, were hers, not mine. It was the Bella-self who was hurt and confined and failing to recover. Isabella was strong and well and full of life.
"I won't stay here, Bella," she told me. "I hate hopistols and I hate being hurt. I'll get us outta here and I'll get that guy. I'll get all guys…fuck 'em all. Hurt 'em all. I don't ever wanna be a growed up if this is what the world holds for us. I'm never gonna grow up, I'll be little forever. Just like the lost boys," she decided with finality.


I sighed. "And she never did,” I confirmed with a subtle shrug and a small smile. “Isabella never grew past the age of five. I had birthdays and continued to grow older, but she still remains very much a child, sometimes even a baby. Her demeanor and actions alone can testify to that. I imagine Marie will always be the same age also…forever seventeen. Of course, none of this is logical, but, as you know, being a multiple personality isn't logical."