A Constant in The Darkness

Chapter Twenty-Three - Tearful at the Falling of a Star

Darlings,

I probably shouldn't post chapters whilst I'm emo'ing but I wanted to get this baby out to you ladies. Thank you for all your lovely comments, tears, thoughts, pains, predictions, general fuckery: it all makes my day, my dears.

Beta babe n7of9, my bestest gal, I watched New Moon today. I still hate the mancub. Two weeks, bb, two motherfucking weeks and I'll be able to thank you properly…with chocolate cake...

Disclaimer: I don't own it.

...

EPOV

Dear Mr. Cullen,

We are please to inform you that your application to the Italian Culinary Academy has been accepted for the fall session. We have attached a list of necessary materials and a schedule, as well as the information regarding financial aide that you have requested. Please let us know if there is any other…

I blinked at the black type blurring on the stiff parchment in my shaking hand, conflict bubbling around me as I sat on the couch in my bedroom for the first time in five days.

Acceptance. I don't know why, but I hadn't thought this whole New York thing was real, like actually going to happen real, until this very moment. Maybe I was just being a pussy, but a small part of me wished I wouldn't get accepted. Ideally, I knew that going to this school was what I wanted; I had wanted it since the day I cracked that first egg into a bowl at the community center three years ago, but it was a huge change and I didn't know how or if the anxiety would trigger that bomb, the ever present conflict hovering over me like a guillotine poised to drop. I was also was uneasy at the thought of being so far from Carlisle; he was my schizophrenia expert, he knew all the symptoms, all the warning signs, what to look for. What if I started to develop the disease and Bella didn't notice. What if I didn't notice? What if Bella ended up stuck all the way across the country alone and scared and fearing for her life, fearful because of me? I wanted to believe that the bomb had been diffused. I wanted to think that Bella and I would fly off to New York and then to Italy and everything would be sunshine and rainbows, but, fuck, I just didn't know. I had no control over my fucking DNA and if it was meant to destroy me, being on the other side of the country from the one person that could help was a fucking disaster of an idea.

But Bella had so much, I don't know, faith, I guess, in the fact that we could do this. She had been so confident about it but now, with her father gone, I didn't know how this changed things. She was having a hard time, understandably so, and now her mom was here and a there was going to be a funeral and shit. I wasn't about to bring it up. I folded up the letter and shoved it into my top drawer. I wanted to share this with her when she could fully meditate on it, when she had time to understand and think about what it meant and if she still wanted to do this.

I heard a soft knock on the door. "Edward?" Esme's quiet voice on the other side of the plank. "Are you going to want dinner?"

I really just wanted to drive back over to that house and be with Bella while she dealt with her mom, but Esme had thought it would be a good idea to give them some time alone. It fucking pissed me off, but I supposed she was right. Maybe they did need some time alone, maybe Bella needed to deal with her mom on her own; then again, maybe she was falling apart and I wasn't there to put her back together. Instead, I was here, reading this fucking letter and second guessing all the shit we'd already decided on.

"Yeah. I'll be out in a sec," I yelled back to her, my hands pulling through my hair, trying to soothe the pounding in my brain. I pulled off my shirt, throwing it in the corner to be dealt with later, and searched my drawers for a replacement. I found a long-sleeved thermal and pulled it on over my head, the cold air against my skin causing goosebumps to spread over my chest and stomach. I changed my boxers and struggled to find a pair of jeans that were somewhat clean. I dug through my closet, found a pair of old worn denim and quickly pulled the ripped pants up my legs. Shit, I had to do laundry today or else I'd be wearing these fucking ripped-up jeans to Charlie's funeral tomorrow.

I walked down the stairs to find Esme leaning against the counter, silently sobbing into a dish towel. I wrapped my arm around her and let her cry into my chest, her angelic frame shaking in my arms as she mourned her friend, someone who had been a staple in her life since her and Carlisle first arrived in Forks. Everyone expected Bella to be upset, of course, and my family had been reluctant to parade their own grief in front of her. But here, in the solitude of a fucking dish towel, we were able to relinquish to the tribulation.

A reticent guilt had been nagging at me since I had heard those words, twelve hours, cardiac arrest. I mean, logically, I knew it wasn't anyone's fault, but that didn't stop each of us from thinking of our own ways that we had failed Charlie and, subsequently, failed Bella. I couldn't even begin to think about how Carlisle felt. Since Charlie's death he'd been constantly at the hospital trying to atone for his self-perceived failure to his friend, wrapping himself up in saving others and trying to make things right with karma again. He was pondering all his should have's: he should have seen this coming, should have pressured Charlie to get healthy earlier, should have stopped this shit before it had a chance to turn toxic. But I knew, probably better than anyone, that once a person is set on self destruction it takes something pretty fucking powerful to sway their resolve.

Cooking had been that for me, occupying my time so I couldn't think about what a fucking mess my mind might become. It proved to me that I could be helpful and not hurtful, that I could bring people comfort instead of distress, that I could contradict the influence of the genetic material coursing through my veins. I knew that Carlisle had hoped Bella would be that for her father, that maybe she could pull him from this repetitive existence he had affixed himself to. But Charlie was too stubborn, he had spent too much time wallowing in the aromas of his past and neglected to indulge in the opportunity presented. It had been too much to place on Bella's shoulders, and now, even though it had brought her to me, I feared it may have been a mistake for him to ask her to come here. I racked my brain struggling to decide which was worse, learning your father died without the opportunity to really know him, or knowing he died despite your best attempts to keep him alive.

I left for Bella's shortly after ten that night having fulfilled my laundry duties and packing a bag of clothes to take for the memorial service. I drove quickly, barely having time to crank the heater, just anxious as all hell to get to her, to see how her day had passed, how things had gone with her mother. I hadn't spoken with her since leaving this afternoon and a general feeling of unease had rooted itself deep within my gut. I needed her in my arms, fucking lost without her smell swirling around me.

Bella was waiting by her window, as usual, and ease floated through me knowing that at least this small constant had remained unchanged. She met me at the door and ushered me inside quickly, her small frame still submerged in sweats and flannel, but her red swollen eyes told me all I needed to know. I pulled her into my arms, her body dissolving into mine as I spread my fingers out across her back, desperate to connect to every tiny bit of her I could.

Renee was on the couch, her makeshift bed for the evening, and she sat up as I walked in the door. I figured I needed to introduce myself properly, like shake her hand and shit, but I didn't know if this was the right time. She was in her fucking pajamas and I was about to follow her daughter up the stairs to her room. Shit, this was going to be fucking awkward as all hell. Hi, I know we just met but I'm going to be sleeping in your daughter's bed tonight.

Before I could make a decision, though, Bella was pulling me upstairs, Renee's eyes following us as we moved from her line of sight. I followed Bella up the stairs, her hand loosely tangled with mine.

I dropped my bag by the door and she pulled me onto the bed and curled into my side, her head snuggled into my neck. She ran her hands beneath my shirt, her fingers cool on the skin of my stomach, and laced her legs through mine, her feet rubbing against my calf as she tucked herself into me. She pressed her nose to my shoulder and inhaled deeply before placing a small gentle kiss in the curve of my neck. Warmth flooded around me, relief thick in the room.

"Don't ever leave me again, okay?" Bella muttered against my skin, causing me to smile as I pulled her closer, eliminating any hidden space between us.

"Done and done," I responded, kissing the top of her head.

"How was your evening?" she asked. She was tired, I could tell. She shifted her body to get closer, practically climbing on top of me now, her hands tucking into my sides.

"It was…uneventful. I did laundry," I said, my hands combing through her hair. I wanted to tell her about the acceptance letter but Bella needed to sleep, her mind needed rest. Tomorrow was going to be difficult enough and she didn't need sleep deprivation clawing at her emotions as well.

"I know, you smell like detergent," she slurred, her body sagging against me. She began to breathe deeply, the tide of her body expanding and retracting in my arms. I savored the comfort her very presence provided me, drawing from her radiating energy and allowing it to soothe my own selfish insecurities. Arranged here on Bella's bed, her body eclipsing mine, we breathed as one and I let the repetitive motion lull me into the quiet stillness of sleep.

…

I woke up alone, a white blinding brightness glaring into the room from the window. I was still wearing my jacket and I shrugged it from my shoulders as I got up from the bed to look outside. A fine white powder coated the world before me and ice had accumulated on the window, the flurries still floating from the dark sky. The snow was fresh and completely flawless, the street hidden by the icy blanket. It always amazed me how a snow-covered landscape always looked serene no matter what turmoil existed below the surface.

I could hear the faint murmur of hurried voices from downstairs and I opened the door, surmising that Bella was downstairs with her mom. I grabbed my bag and went to the bathroom. I shaved, brushed my teeth and tried to fix my hair, the fucking wavy mess having a mind of its own today. I threw my bag back into Bella's bedroom and headed to the stairs but a loud screeching stopping me in my tracks.

"I'm a fucking adult, Mom!" Bella's voice thundered through the house. Shit, Bella was fighting with her mom and I was pretty sure I knew the reason why.

"You didn't answer my question. I had no idea it was this serious. How long has this been going on? Why didn't you tell me?" Renee's voice was only slightly calmer and it struck me how similar it was to Bella's. I had heard her speak yesterday, but that was her I'm-meeting-new-people-so-I-have-to-fake nice voice, it wasn't real and candid like this was.

"Why didn't you call me? Maybe if you would have called more often I would have told you. Maybe if you weren't so wrapped up in your own fucking life you would have cared to ask," Bella spat, the words sharp and bitter, years of pent up resentment flooding from her lips now.

"Excuse me for having a life! Do you think my life should revolve around you? I have paid my dues, Bella. It's my turn to be happy. I'm allowed to be happy," Renee lashed back.

"So calling your kid you haven't seen in months wouldn't make you happy? What the fuck is wrong with you?" Bella cried, her voice cracking through the tears and shocking the shit out of me. This was getting seriously ugly and I planned on intervening, when Renee responded.

"Bella, you have no fucking clue what you're talking about. You think you're the only one hurting here? Do you honestly believe that I didn't miss you, that I didn't want to talk to you? Do you really believe a mother enjoys the thought of her child living in a state all the way across the fucking country?" Renee contested, her voice exasperated. "Bella, of course I missed you. But be fair. You didn't call me either. And you should have told me you were in a relationship, an intimate one at that. Jesus, Bella, are you even on birth control?"

"It's not really your business," Bella declared quietly.

"Of course it's my business, you're my child-" Renee started but Bella cut her off.

"It's a little too late to pull the parent card, Renee. But I'm going to tell you this, not because I have to, but because I don't want you to misunderstand anything that is going on here. I love him. There is nothing in this world that I want that doesn't include him. Do you understand? This isn't just a relationship mom, this is for the rest of my life." Bella's voice was bold, her tone resolved as she made these declarations.

"Oh Bella, I do understand. I know what it's like, this idealistic love that you're feeling. And I'm not going to diminish it. But you are so young Bella. You don't want to do anything you will regret," Renee admonished, her voice hushed.

"Like you did? Do you regret marrying Charlie? Do you regret having me?" Bella asked, a struggle to get the words out. They seemed to stick on her tongue, her affliction forging the adhesive.

Renee was quiet for a long time, almost an entire minute, and at first I thought maybe she had just nodded or shaken her head.

"Bella, I loved your father. I met him when I was sixteen. I was working at the diner, you know the one on Forks Avenue, and he used to come in every Sunday morning with his friends. He would order the same thing, a short stack with bacon and a hot chocolate with whipped cream. He used to ask me stupid questions about the menu, like he wasn't going to order the same damn thing he always did. He told me later he did that just so I'd spend a little more time at his table. He used to take me fishing on the river, or we'd just sit on the sandy bank and he'd play his guitar. We were going to travel, see the world.

We got married after high school. He joined the police academy and I started taking classes in Port Angeles, and everything changed, Bella. He was never home, he took on extra shifts, and when he was home he was tired and argumentative. And then I got pregnant."

They were both quiet, an occasional sniff from Bella disclosing her lament. I fought the urge to go comfort her, letting her get these answers that she'd been waiting so long to discover.

"Do I regret marrying Charlie? I do. We were too young. We got married before we even knew who we were and we weren't good for each other. I was suffocating here. One day he left for work and I left for Phoenix." Silence again, Bella's quiet sniffling interrupting the lull.

"And me?" was all Bella asked, persistent to make Renee disclose.

"I love you. You're my child. You're a living, walking, breathing piece of me. But raising a kid is hard. I wasn't me anymore, I wasn't anything but a mother and a wife. I was a college graduate who spent my days stuck in this house playing romper room." She sighed, struggling to find the right words, I hoped, because if she planned on decimating Bella today, the day of her father's funeral, by telling her she was a regretted mistake, I was going to have to rethink the whole I'd-never-hit-a-girl thing.

"I wish I hadn't gotten pregnant so soon, but I don't regret you. I have many, many regrets Bella, but you're not one of them," Renee finished and I eased. I hadn't realized how tense I'd been, frozen at the top of the stairs.

"Edward and I are moving to New York. After graduation. And then we're going to Italy," Bella blurted, her contribution to the battle of the confessions. Her disclosure came as a shock to me; I didn't think Bella was going to tell her so soon, at least not until after graduation.

"What? I thought you said you were staying in Forks," Renee asked, her sharp voice suspicious.

"I am staying in Forks, until September, and then we're moving to New York. Edward's going to culinary school. He's going to be a chef," Bella said, pride ringing in every word and causing a deep surge of admiration and, consequently, fear to flood through me. Bella was so confident, so sure that this was going to happen, I fucking hoped I could live up to her expectations.

"And you're going to use Charlie's money to pay for all that?" Renee scoffed with bitter resentment on her tongue. I clenched my fists, forcing my feet to stay frozen, struggling against every impulse to boom down the stairs and throw the bitch from the house, literally.

"Fuck you," Bella whispered. "I don't want Charlie's fucking money. I want my father. It's all I ever wanted." I heard footsteps groaning on the hardwood floors and I quickly slipped into the bedroom thinking Bella was headed up the stairs. I heard her feet slapping against the wooden steps, then in the hall, and then they stopped. I waited an entire minute before opening the door to find Bella crouched in the doorway of her father's bedroom, her arms wrapped around her middle, a tiny ball resting on her heels as her hair fell around her face. Her body shook and she reached her hand to steady herself against the molding.

I slowly walked up behind her, letting my legs press against her back, my hands reaching to fold over hers and she leaned back into them, her balance deteriorating as she slumped to the floor. I knelt and pulled her into my arms as she wept quietly, her shaking body collapsing onto mine, her fingers clutching at the fabric of my shirt as she turned to press her face into my chest, inhaling deeply and exhaling a muffled sob.

We sat like that until Bella eventually stilled and used the flannel shirt she was wearing to wipe the moisture from her eyes and nose. She looked up at me, shaking her head and taking deep breaths.

"Were you listening?" she whispered. I nodded and she mirrored the response. She pressed her face into my chest again, breathing in long deep breaths as she struggled to control her emotions.

"Thank you, for staying with me last night, for being here right now." Her arms moved to wrap around my neck, her body shifting to press completely against me, her lip pressing into the skin just below my ear.

I placed a small kiss upon the tip of her delicate nose.

"Bella, where else would I go?"

…

White surrounded us as we stood in the freezing snow, the landscape sparkling as the crystallized powder clung to the large evergreens towering around us and into the cloudy gray sky. The cemetery was located just off the Calawah River, the icy water sloshing and roaring around us. Charlie's casket was poised above a large gaping hole in the ground, an arrangement of white lilies atop the mahogany box. With my family aligned behind us and Renee to her right, Bella stood beside me, her red coat vibrant against my black, the warmth of her breath causing the vapor to swirl around her face. She had sat unmoving throughout the short service, her arm linked with mine, her face emotionless stone. She didn't cry, she didn't speak, she didn't budge when they folded up the American flag that had adorned the casket, handing her the triangle now clutched to her chest. Bella was a statue, her facial features marble as they lowered her father into the earth.

The Forks Police Department had been commissioned to participate in the proceedings and as the lowering device began to crank, a bagpipe rendition of "Amazing Grace" rang out through the cemetery, the legato sound resonating in the encroaching forest and drowning out the thundering river.

There was a pulsing mass of people here to honor Charlie; the entire town had known him and had placed their safety in his hands, they wanted to pay their respects. They wanted to talk to Bella, hug her, stress to her how much he meant to this community, how much he would be missed. They wanted to see her fall apart and grieve, but she remained stoic and controlled, my family gathered around her keeping them at a safe distance. Renee chatted with some old friends, they all hugged her and offered condolences and she gobbled it up, no indication whatsoever of the altercation that had taken place between herself and Bella just hours earlier. One by one they made their way to their vehicles, leaving a trail of muddied slush, headed to Carlisle's house for refreshments.

Renee left first, riding with Carlisle and Esme back to the house. Alice, Jasper, Rose and Emmett had all arrived in Rose's BMW and they retreated back to the house as well, leaving Bella and I alone at Charlie's grave.

She just stood there, staring at the large mound of dirt piled beside the hole. The staff had begun to stack the folding chairs but Bella made no indication to leave. I was really beginning to freeze, my trembling body huddled against hers, the cold prickling through my layers and biting into my skin. Her ungloved hand still clutched at the neatly folded indigo, the pale skin exposed to the elements. I used my hand to cover her own, not sure how I was going to ask her to leave. She startled at the touch, bewildered and distracted, and looked around, her gaze slowly moving to mine.

"It's time to go," Bella said calmly, her arm still linked in mine. A small yellow tractor passed us as we walked to the Volvo, the pile of dirt disappearing as we pulled away from Charlie's final resting place.

…

BPOV

I don't know any of these fucking people. I sat on the plush curved couch, a plate of hors d'oeuvres on my lap, the thick slice of mozzarella and tomato topped with chopped basil and olive oil smelling delicious, but the thought of eating it sickened my stomach. Edward was in the kitchen spying on the caterer, and probably dictating to him how the food should be served. Renee had already left, a taxi picking her up in front of the Cullens' house, her duffel bag slung over her shoulder. She hugged me, kissed my cheek and told me to call her if I needed anything. I sighed, slightly grateful at my mother's ability to instantly forgive an argument. That was something I could trust about my mother, Renee didn't hold grudges. I watched her ride off in the back of the cab, any details she could grant me concerning my father riding away with her. "And a big yellow taxi took away my old man…"

I thought back to our earlier argument and the sparse information Renee had finally divulged. I had been captivated by her testimony, picturing the scene in my head; my young parents, two fresh-faced beautiful teenagers engaging in flirtatious banter, their world blossoming around them as they discovered their first love. "As every fairy tale comes real, I've looked at love that way…"

However, when she mentioned the diner something suddenly clicked in my brain. My father ate meal after meal at that diner after she left, probably reliving his happiest moments, his life set on repeat as he spiraled deeper and deeper into depression. It must be the reason he never cooked anymore, the reason he gorged himself on red meat and saturated fats, the reason he had the heart attack to begin with. It was all because of her.

It didn't explain why he didn't try to find her, or why he didn't put up a fight. He just gave up, choosing to wallow in self-pity instead of trying to find something worth living for, and I couldn't help but wonder why it couldn't have been me, why he didn't think that I was worth it? Why didn't he demand to see me? There were still so many secrets I didn't know, so many questions that needed answers, but I had an inkling as to where I might find them.

Clues. They were in his room, Charlie's room. They had to be. My last hope was that there would be something amongst the neatly stacked piles in Charlie's room that would allow me access to his mind, allow me to know the real reasons behind his supposed indifference.

There was also the risk that I would find nothing.

What if he really was just too wrapped up in his work to follow us? What if he frequented the diner out of convenience? What if I was just digging myself a futile hole of further disappointment? I could give it up, harbor the memories from these months in Forks and file them under I-think-Charlie-kinda-loved-me.

But I had to know. I had to know why, my soul craved the information.

"Bella?" Mr. and Mrs. Hale were standing in front of me, their plastic faces rich with cynical sympathy. "We just wanted to offer our condolences. We're so sorry for your loss, dear." Mrs. Hale spoke as if we were old friends and I wanted to fucking knock the shit out of her. I wanted to scream at her to go hug her own fucking kids and stop pretending to care about me. I actually visualized myself doing it, my hands gripping her boney arms, her blond hair whipping around as I shook her violently.

"Bella?" Mrs. Hale said again, pulling me from my mental musing, her disapproving eyes questioning my behavior.

"What?" I asked her, not really wanting her to respond and slightly hoping she'd get irritated and just walk away.

She sighed, a bit exasperated as she repeated herself. "I said, I'm sorry for your loss."

I just stared at her, her perfect lips outlined in red and smooth skin around her eyes where creases should be. She really didn't know shit about my loss, none of them did. To them, I was to be pitied, a poor child who had just buried her father. But with the loss of my father I had lost opportunity; I had lost my battle with karma, my ever failing quest for cosmic atonement now soiled. I had moved here to help Charlie heal, to save him, to make sense of our relationship and to attempt to peel away the layers of the puzzle I had called my father, and it was all for nothing. I hadn't accomplished anything, failure now my emphatic friend, and these people could never understand that shit. "No one cares who you really are…"

I snorted, the thought of the woman before me ever being able to commiserate with me ridiculously hilarious. The pair of them puffed off with their cocky feathers all a ruffle and I felt a small internal pride at their discomfort.

It was like that the rest of the afternoon; Billy, Charlie's buddies from the station, all the kids from school and their parents, Mike Newton, Tyler Crowley, even Jessica fucking Stanley, all of them coming to express their sympathy, all of them sorry for my loss, all of them staring at me with that same pitiful look on their faces. The pressure in the room was starting to ripple around me, my ears ringing and my eyes blurring.

But when Sue Clearwater pulled me into her arms, whispering thank you into my ear, praising me for all I had done to care for my father, I thought back to my first weeks here when I had done nothing, a time when I couldn't find it within myself to care for him as I should have. Sue cried into my shoulder, her soft, capable hands on my face, and I felt grief pummel through me, rooting in my stomach and spreading like an infectious disease, my emotions weakened, a parasite allowed to anchor in my body.

Warmth burned on my skin and damp moisture dewed on my forehead as the room began to spin. I needed air, I needed to breathe. I needed Edward. Escaping from her grasp I searched the lower floor for him, stopping every couple of steps to brace myself against the wall, struggling to maintain consciousness. I clumsily shifted around the bodies, their faces the very bowels of compassion. I couldn't stand the way they were looking at me so I closed my eyes, the darkness intensifying the dizziness as I struggled to catch my breath. I was frantic now, panting and stumbling, my legs like liquid beneath my body, the muscles sore and aching as I ran my hand against the wall as a guide.

I finally found the kitchen. Edward was washing dishes in the sink and I grabbed at his arm, unable to speak and fearing the shit that would pour from my lips if I dared to try. I hadn't eaten or slept well in days, the deficiencies now beginning to manifest themselves and this, combined with the emotional turmoil spiraling around me, caused me to descend into incoherency.

Edward immediately acknowledged the situation and wrapped his arms around me as I collapsed into him, letting him carry my weight.

"Bella? What's wrong? What's going on?" Edward's sharp voice spun around my head, my ears ringing and stuffy as he reconnected my link with awareness.

"Edward…something to drink…water or something," I managed to mumble, my hands shaking as I clenched them into fists so he wouldn't notice.

Edward grabbed a glass and filled it will water from the tap, still holding me to his side as he placed the glass in my trembling hand. I could see the panic on his face and he dragged me to the kitchen table while the water spilled over the side of the glass, placing me in a chair and practically shoving a handful of crackers from one of the cheese trays down my throat. I ignored the twinge in my tummy as it growled in protest and choked down the crackers, the crumbs sticking to my black sweater, and rinsed my mouth thoroughly with a long gulp of water.

Edward knelt on the ground before me, his face plastered with worry, and I couldn't stand to see him like this, his eyes wide and alarmed, his mouth gaping as he breathed heavily from his swift reaction. And then I saw pain, torture painting its way into every crease and shadow of his lovely angular face. I had caused it, I put it there, marred his beautiful features with fear and anguish.

"I just couldn't breathe, you know? They just keep giving me these looks and I just…" I muttered, closing my eyes only to be reminded of the disequilibrium still swelling around me. "I gotta get out of here, Edward. Can you take me home?" I just wanted to be back in my room, wrapped in my comforter with him, naked feet and groping hands and some fucking normalcy.

"You need to eat something else first. I'll take you home as soon as you eat something substantial, some pasta or something. There's marinara. I made sure Esme ordered you marinara," Edward insisted quietly, and I sighed, fucking irritated as all shit at this manipulation, but conceded to his terms because, well, I would have done anything to get that look off his face.

I nodded and Edward left my side and returned with a small plate of pasta. He sat at the table with me while I ate, his eyes gauging the amount of noodles I shoveled into my mouth compared with the amount of noodles I pushed around my plate.

Unease began at once to burden my gut and I found myself wishing for the solace of the porcelain bowl. Fuck, I wanted to puke so badly. I wanted it out of me, longing for the emptiness, the shallow grumble begging for my attention, the pang of hunger far more tolerable than this new pain tearing through me. I quickly finished the plate, stifling that compulsion yet again, weary from the struggle and just wanting to get the fuck out of here.

I dropped the fork to the plate, the loud clang causing him to startle. "There. Can we go now?" I asked him, unable to hide the sardonic pulse in my voice.

Edward flinched at my words, his eyes flat as he nodded, and again I fought the impending nausea. I knew this wasn't his fault but I was just so fucking sick of people watching me, judging me, worrying about me. I know they were just doing it because they cared but I was starting to get a little overwhelmed by the constant supervision.

Edward drove me home, the silence in the car fueled primarily by my previous caustic attitude. His features were pensive but contaminated by the discontent that was brewing in the small space. He was upset, I could tell. I took a deep breath, trying to force the day from my mind, trying to regain some of my previous comfort, but no matter what I did I couldn't push from my mind that I was going home to an empty house.

We walked in the door, our previous habit of going directly to my bedroom not yet abandoned. I fell onto my bed, pulling my boots off and throwing them in the corner. It was early evening, maybe five or six, but the sky was already darkening, the constant cloud layer deflecting the warmth of the sun.

Edward remained in the doorway with his hands in his pockets, his hair falling in front of his sullen, mournful eyes, his gaze inspecting the chipped paint of the doorframe. This was going to be bad, I could feel it.

I waited patiently, watching him as he composed his impending lecture. I knew it was coming, I could almost see the battle raging within him. He wanted to question me about my eating, he wanted to reprimand, but he also wanted to show me that he had confidence in my ability to take care of myself. On a different day I may have deflected his questioning, I may have avoided the conflict, I may have pretended everything was fine and distracted him from this contention.

But today, I was done. I was tired. I was ruined and I wanted to feel every bitter sting of his disappointment. I wanted this battle, I wanted him to call me out, warn me, scold me, hold me accountable for my behavior. So I asked for it.

"Just fucking say something. I can practically see the words on your lips," I said, my voice too antagonistic, the tone sharp and combative.

"What do you want me to say, Bella? You've heard it all before," Edward asked dejectedly, noting my attitude and responding accordingly. He knew what I wanted, what I was asking for, and he felt guilty giving it to me. He didn't want to hurt me, he didn't want to be patronizing or condescending or contribute to my further anguish by bringing this up now.

"I want you to tell me what you're thinking. I want you to just be honest with me and stop trying to protect me. Just tell me the truth," I demanded. He nodded, pursing his lips in contemplation, trying to figure out a way to tell me what I already knew, that I had disappointed him.

He was quiet a long time before moving to sit beside me on the bed. He sighed, choosing his words carefully, but it really didn't matter. I was already craving the fight, dying for the release of tension and just waiting to unload all this bullshit negativity that had been suffocating my soul for the past week.

"I haven't seen you eat much this week," Edward said objectively. Clever boy, no accusations what-so-ever, not in his words or in his tone, a fucking "I" statement meant to absorb the blame. I'm sure he could sense my agitation and was just trying to diffuse the situation, but this only pissed me off further, wishing he would just tell me what he was really thinking.

"I haven't really been hungry much this week. I've kinda had other things on my mind," I responded. His proximity quelled some of my initial irritation but then Edward sighed again, a telltale sign that he wasn't being entirely honest, that he was masking his true feelings.

"Just fucking tell me, Edward. Every time you sigh, I want to fucking scream, will you just tell me already?" I rambled through clenched teeth, moving to sit on my knees on the bed and closing my eyes, my hands pulling at my hair. I wanted to hear the words come out of his mouth, I wanted to feel them cut right through me, swift and accurate like the long blade of his chef's knife slipping through flawless produce.

"Bella, I realize you're dealing with some shit here. I know this shit. I know what you're doing, I've lived it," Edward began, his words slightly terse as he matched my tone. "But you couldn't even fucking walk, you almost passed out. You have no idea how that scares the living shit out of me."

"So what are you going to do, Edward? Force feed me? Hold me hostage until I eat?" I mocked, and his face flinched, a small betraying flicker that held his true desires. That was it. That was exactly what he wanted to do.

He knew I had noticed, his eyes holding mine a split second before he stood up and walked to the window. "Is that what it's going to take? I mean, what are you trying to say? What the hell is going on here Bella?"

"What the fuck do you think is going on here?" I stood up, throwing my hands in the air, the turmoil simmering within me boiling over and fucking sizzling through every cell of my body. "My dad is dead, Edward, and I couldn't help him. My mom won't tell me anything and I'm struggling every day just to fucking breathe! I can't breathe, I can't sleep, and I'm tired," I shouted as I paced the room. "I'm just so fucking tired."

"And you…" I stopped in front of him and looked up at his exasperated expression, his face dumbfounded at my outburst. "You think forcing me to do anything is really going to help? You think I don't notice the way you watch me, critiquing my food choices, biting your tongue when I don't eat what you want me to eat? You don't know what I'm going through, you haven't lived this. You have no idea what it's like to have to live every day with this struggle." My chest was heaving and I relished in the pounding of my heart, the fire in my veins, just grateful to be feeling something other than numbness, my eyes glaring into his as he took a step forward.

"You know that's not true, and I'm not even going to argue with you about this because it's ridiculous and belittles everything I've dealt with, everything I am," Edward said fiercely, spitting the words as he stepped closer until he was almost touching me and I had to crane my neck to match his gaze. It was ridiculous, I knew, it was all bullshit, but I just let the words fall from my mouth. They weren't really even meant for him, just an internal rant that should have remained silent, but it was out there now and Edward was pissed and I felt like a complete and utter shithead, but I'm a stubborn ass and my proud brain refused to let me concede.

"You won't argue because you know I'm right," I said, the words like bile stuck in the back of my throat, acid burning in my mouth.

Edward towered over me now and I could see the anger in his face, his fists clenched as he breathed through his nose. He shook his head, muttering my name, and he was going to fucking tell me off, his pupils wide and swallowing up the green.

"Bella…" His face was so close to mine I could smell his sweet breath, could see the sharp points of his teeth, his lips curling as he snarled my name.

"What, Edward? What?" I spat, egging him on. He was fuming now and I thought he was going to yell at me and call me names, tell me I was an idiot, wrong and fucked up, and he would have been completely accurate. I braced myself for it, ready to absorb the blow and relish in my admitted failure.

He gripped my arm, his fingers practically encompassing the width of it, and pulled me into him, his mouth crashing to mine with frantic, visceral need. I pushed him away, something I had never done, and I immediately regretted it, pure remorse sickening my stomach, but the look on his face completely astounded me. It was horrifying, complete mortification surrounding his downtrodden features, rejection and hurt overwhelming as his hands fell to his side, his eyes darting to the floor.

Fuck! Why won't he just yell at me, tell me I'm crazy or to fuck off or something? I was being completely irrational and his response was to kiss me? Frustrated now that Edward wouldn't give in to my attempt to provoke him, I pushed further. I wanted to see him explode with anger, an anger I had seen him use so many times to bend a situation to his will, to trigger a reaction that he craved. I knew it was so completely unjust but I was fully submersed now, invested in suffocating myself with the fury pounding in my brain.

"Just say it, Edward," I goaded, moving closer to him as he backed up, two negatives repelling against each other as he refused to connect, still avoiding my eyes, his rejection meeting mine. I continued to move closer though, his back unexpectedly hitting the wall with a soft thud.

"What is it? You're disappointed in me, you think I'm too much trouble, not worth the struggle?" I asked bitterly, every resentment I held for my father pouring out of me now, every insecurity I'd ever felt I placed in Edward's hands. It was so unfair to do this to him, to place this on his shoulders, but I was desperate now, craving the anger, savoring the vindication I was feeling in the accusations.

I pulled at the collar of his black button up shirt with one hand, my fingers gripping the material, and his shoulders relaxed as I craned my neck to connect our eyes. He looked away further and shifted his position in avoidance, which only spurred me on. I brought my hand to mirror the other, his shirt now clutched in my fingers, and I pulled at the fabric, shaking him, trying to get him to look at me.

"Edward. Just say it," I demanded, trying to meet his eyes. "Look at me, damn it. Look at my face at tell me I'm wrong."

He refused still, his face a mask of discontent. I shook him more violently, my strength pathetic, but he let me push him against the wall, his head flinging back to hit the wall again.

"Edward! Fucking look at me!" I shouted, needing his attention now, the quiet lack of acknowledgement causing my chest to tighten with trepidation. I was frantic, desperate to be submerged in something other than hate and pain and uncertainty.

He slowly turned his head to look down at me, his jade rings barely discernible in the dimly lit room as he ground his teeth together in protest, his breathing heavy as he struggled to control his reactions. His fists lightly thumped against the wall at his sides and I pulled again at his shirt. Edward's eyes closed again and he leaned in to press his forehead against mine. His touch crackled and hissed beneath my skin, relief at the contact, the connection now palpable so I roughly pulled his lips to mine. His reaction was hesitant so I kissed him again, his response the same, unmoving, unfeeling, my anger growing with each avoided gaze and each kiss refused and I jerked back, furious at his indifference.

He rolled his head against the wall, the conflict waging through him, but finally he responded. His hands clutched my face, his thumbs on my cheeks as he pulled me against his lips, his mouth exploding with activity, his tongue rolling around my mouth in a panicked rush, his ferocious need consuming, his urgent lips electrifying every impulse and prompting my every reaction.

And it was there, the satisfaction rough on my mouth, the anger still fueling my need. I frantically pulled apart his button-up shirt sending a few of the buttons clattering to the floor as I pushed the material from his shoulders and hurriedly pulled his undershirt over his head. I pressed my fingers into the flesh of his chest, moving my hands across his sides and clutching at his back. His hand knotted in my hair as he pulled my head back to expose my neck. He kissed my skin, moist sucking kisses as I panted, his other hand at my waistband swiftly freeing the fabric from my hips as it fell around my feet. He shoved his hand into my panties, no gentle caresses, no hesitation, just pure libidinal craving his motivation, both of us releasing a quiet throaty moan as his fingers slipped against my pulsing flesh and pushed into me with intensity. I pressed my hips against his hand, panting and groaning, my fingers curled, the short nails digging into the lithe muscles of his back as he continued to draw his fingers out of me and push them back in, and I needed to feel him within me.

Sensing my fervor he kicked off his shoes and began to unfasten his pants, my hands frantically trying to help as I pulled his pants and boxers off his legs, his erection pressing against my stomach as his hands gripped my ass. His fingers slipped into the cotton barrier and pushed it aside as he pulled my leg up over his hip and slid into me, his hand gripping my thigh as he pulsed, fast and frantic and just fucking destroying every ounce of resentment I had left, channeling my angry energy towards satisfying the ache burning throughout my body.

Wanting to shed the thin amount of cotton burdening the fullness of his touch, I pulled back to slip the material down my legs and I barely had time to step away from the fabric before Edward's hands were on me again, greedy lust in his eyes, his fingers pulling the sweater over my head as I shed my black bra, his fingers pressing into my flesh. He kissed me again, his tongue licking at my lips, my neck, my breasts, his urgency making the bed obsolete as he swiftly knelt to the floor, pulling me onto his erection and wrapping his arms around my waist, pulling and pushing with a deep fulfillment that caused me to gasp at the intensity. He rocked back and forth, pushing into me as he leaned back, sending the fiery current abounding through every limb, every cell.

Oh, God, I needed this feeling! I needed this to distract me from the shit storm that had been my life this week. I needed the sense of accomplishment, to rectify the failure that had been our last intimate interaction, to know that I could bring Edward to this place of bliss, that I could be successful in loving him, sweet reprieve in his moans and pants, the auditory reassurance reverberating in the small room. For a moment, just a split second, I almost hushed Edward out of habit, fearful that we would be heard. I then realized that no one would hear, we were alone in the quiet house, Charlie's house.

I couldn't stop the thoughts from seething into my brain, my emotions now a violent spiral twisting out of control. The last time I had felt Edward like this my father had been dying, cardiac arrest seizing his body, his heart failing to do its job, and he was alone. I couldn't deny my own failures, my stubborn soul seemingly content on failing at everything, and I struggled to maintain control. I couldn't breathe, gasping, choking on the images invading my brain. Heaving over that white bowl, cool tile, warm marinara, my father's body shaking as his heart began to constrict, smoking on the porch, the overwhelming euphoria as Edward pressed into me, his hands upon my skin, his smell swirling around me, my head confounded and fuzzy, an incoherent barrage of the constant reminders of my failures, my inadequacies…my self destruction…my solace…Fuck! How am I going to fix this? How am I going to fix me? I gasped, the sound a panicked cry, and I choked back the tears I could feel burning in my eyes.

"Bella…are you okay? Are you hurt?" Edward panted, his velvet hum startling me back into reality, his eyes appraising and panicked, worry creasing his brow. I blinked, shaking my head slightly as I kept his gaze. No. I refused to fail at this. It was the first time I had felt normal and good and right since Charlie died and I wouldn't let go of that feeling. He tried to gently push me off but I leaned forward as he stretched his legs out beneath me. He was about to stop but I maintained our conjoined position, rocking my hips against him, the friction causing that tremble to begin it's seizure through my limbs.

"Bella…" he said again, beginning to stir beneath me, but I refused to let him go. I pushed at his shoulders, forceful conviction in the action, his head slumping against the floor with a soft thud. I hovered over him, my breasts grazing against the bare skin of his chest.

He could have thrown me off him if he wanted, he could have pressed the issue, and I waited, afraid of his rejection, afraid he would dispute me.

Instead, he grabbed my hips and thrust into me, simultaneously lifting his hips and pulling me down onto him hard, a guttural gasp of pleasure escaping my mouth, and I immediately craved the force again.

And he provided it for me, let me have control, fast and hard and frantic, over and over and over, gripping my thighs until we were both disrupting the quiet of the house, our cries of ecstasy filling the void as we trembled together, his body writhing beneath mine as I moved quickly, driving myself down to meet him and reveling in the sweet victory of our union, a torrent of sweet symbiotic relief flooding and drowning any of the leftover hostility. I yelled for religious idols, I cried profanities as the sensation became too intense and my toes curled as he pressed his face to my chest, his own groans filling the room, his lips grazing the flesh of my breast as his warm, wet breath vibrated off my skin. Even after my climax hit me like a fucking freight train, I couldn't let go of him, gratification coursing through every element of my body. He continued to pull me onto him, his hands forceful and desperate, the pleasure turning to unbearable sensitivity before his eyes rolled back and I watched the orgasm take over his every movement, feeling him pulse within me as he tightened his arms around my waist, my breathing becoming labored by the constricting embrace. He held me to him for a long time, our breathing heavy and gasping and my body heaving as I placed my head on his chest to listen to his frantic heartbeat.

Edward's hand tangled into my hair, his neck craning to press his lips against the top of my head. I was freezing so I pulled the comforter from the bed, wrapping it around us on the floor, a naked, tangled heap of legs and arms as I finally felt the encompassing authority of exhaustion oozing into my limbs, my eyelids heavy from the lack of sleep. I felt dizzy and the room spun as I felt myself floating in and out of consciousness, that dull ache in my heart silenced for the time being and allowing me the comfort of rest.

…

I awoke early in the morning to find myself in my bed, my body clothed in soft cotton. Edward lay next to me, asleep and still, his white undershirt twisted around his torso, his legs bare against mine. There was a small stack of books beside him, notes scribbled onto sheets of paper, and I realized I had fallen asleep very early in the evening. He must have dressed me and moved me to the bed to let me sleep comfortably, and I let my fingers sweep across the skin of his cheek, awed by Edward's nurturing soul, so peaceful beside me.

The bitter taste of remorse was fresh on my tongue; my sharp words had been hurtful and demeaning, but what followed overshadowed any of the words I could have said. Last night our love was angry and coarse, it was the culmination of all the emotions I had been swimming in for the last six days. It was stressed and frantic, desperate, and for all the wrong reasons. It was not what I thought our love should be, a fast and frenzied fuck replacing the more toxic emotions we had been choking on.

It was also incredibly gratifying.

It was an indescribable feeling knowing that Edward needed me like he did last night, that he desired me in the most primal and intimate of ways and that I could fulfill that need in him. It assuaged some of the guilt of my other shortcomings, making me feel that in some way Edward needed me the same way I needed him, that I could offer him something other than worry and distress. I knew that Edward enjoyed my company; our friendship developed early on was undeniable. But last night, the manifestation of our love was physical proof and affirmation of our cosmic connection. Even as I voiced the most poisonous of remarks, that irrefutable magnetism forced us together, despite his best attempts to deny it.

I knew in this moment that Edward would never leave me, the realization bringing relief in the fact that no matter what might befall me, I would always have Edward's energy to draw from. Consequently, a pang of disease began to burden my mind; Edward would never leave me, but that didn't mean that this was for the best. Just because there was this undeniable connection between the two of us, an attraction that superseded all other needs, it didn't mean that Edward should indulge. We truly were binary stars, crafted of the same elements, drawing from each other's energy, but what if I started to take more than my share? What if I began to collapse into myself and consumed the nurturing care that Edward offered until I exhausted it, destroyed the delicately passionate person that slept so serenely beside me? I couldn't ever let that happen, the very thought of it causing tears to fill my eyes and twisting my stomach in disgust, and I shook the thought from my mind, craning to place a small kiss upon Edward's parted lips. "There are still more reasons why I love him…"

No longer tired, my mind swirling with implications and affirmations, I left the warm bed to go to the restroom, inspecting my sallow face in the mirror, my eyes bagged and dark, creases etched between my eyebrows and around my mouth. I looked horrible, like something right out of a horror flick, and I quickly washed my face trying to scrub away some of the crease and worry invading my features.

I walked down the hall and stopped at Charlie's door, the silence of the house pounding in my ears. I longed for the sound of his television set and was overwhelmed with a sudden need for my father, to smell him, to feel his whiskers on my cheek, to hear his grumbly voice. I opened the door and walked into the room, letting the scents attack my senses. I flicked on the light to see piles and piles of Charlie stacked neatly throughout the room, but I knew what I wanted. I tentatively walked to his dresser, the soft pine musty as I opened the drawer and pulled out his shirts, inhaling them. I dug through the drawers looking for one of his flannel shirts, searching for soft fabric, but found a hard box instead, the polished wood oily on my fingers. My heart pounded as I pulled the box from the drawer, immediately noticing the familiar smell, my stomach clenched in tight anticipation and dread.

I shook my head in disbelief, opening the box to find a dark, smooth cherrywood pipe, the carbon deposits freshly caked on the bottom of the bowl. I brought it to my face inhaling the smell, tears slipping from my eyelids. The box also contained a bag of tobacco, the sweet aromatic blend overwhelming my emotions. I don't know how many times I had searched for this scent; I had visited smoke shops, harassing the annoyed cashier, asking for samples and inhaling them and just begging for one of them to spark some kind of recollection. I opened the bag before me, the fresh tobacco still slightly moist, and I saw him sitting on the front porch with the mouth piece situated under his moustache, the smoke swirling from his lips as he puffed on the stem. I sobbed, clutching the bag to my chest, my sorrow released in great gasps as I grabbed one of his flannel shirts from his drawer and moved to sit on his bed.

I wrapped the shirt around me, pushing my hands through the long sleeves, the material swallowing up my frame as I pulled the fabric to my face, committing that smell to memory and wiping my face with the soft flannel. I pulled a pinch of tobacco from the bag, wiping my nose with the back of my hand, trickling the strands into the bowl of the pipe until it was full, using a pencil on the nightstand to lightly tamp it down; I'd seen him do this hundreds of times when I was younger. I placed the mouthpiece to my lips and inhaled to make sure there weren't any obstructions. Finding none, I topped off the bowl, another slight tamp, and then I pulled a box of matches from the wooden box. Lighting one, I charred the top of the tobacco, taking a few shallow puffs and letting the fire burn out. I lightly tamped the tobacco down again and lit another match, pulling the flame over the dried leaf and puffing on the pipe, slow and rhythmic, extinguishing any open flame and letting the tobacco smolder. The smoke swirled around my face, the smooth, robust flavors of vanilla and almond on my tongue as I breathed in the aroma and felt something I hadn't felt in a long time, something that I had been searching for the entire time I had been in Phoenix, the craving that had prompted my move to Forks.

I felt like I was home.

…

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Joni Songs Referenced

Big Yellow Taxi

Clouds

The Circle Game

Willy

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