A Constant in The Darkness

Chapter Twenty-One - Nothing Lasts for Long

Darlings,

Thank you, sweet, sweet readers, for lovely words and kind comments. I appreciate them so much.

The storm is here, my dears. Be brave.

Lovely beta n7of9, your editing skills are truly divine,

this particular chapter was really fucking tough, and for all your help, I can't thank you enough.

Disclaimer: I don't own it.

...

BPOV

What the fuck was I thinking? Oh my God, I felt like such an idiot, like a stupid, dumbshit idiot. I can't believe I tried to do that, to swallow, fucking swallow his spunk. Bella, you fucking idiot, you can't even swallow hot dogs, or chicken, or a wide variety of dairy products, why, oh, why would you think you could swallow that?

Stupid, stupid, stupid Bella.

I turned over to lie on my back, pulling my comforter up under my chin, unable to fall asleep. The mournful wind caused the large spruce outside to scratch against my bedroom window, a biting chill crept in through the nearly invisible cracks between the panes, so loud now I could barely hear the murmur of Charlie's television, still blaring from his bedroom.

I had entered the house to find the couch abandoned and I found myself thankful as all fuck that tonight of all nights Charlie had chosen to return to his bed. I was shitting myself as I silently unlocked the front door thinking of that first time Edward brought me home after staying out all night. The difference was that this time Charlie knew where I was and who I was with, but still, I didn't want to face him as I was sneaking in the house at five in the morning, ripe with fornication.

Surprised to find an empty couch, I had peeked in his bedroom to see him in his bed, the television blaring as usual and, not wanting to wake him up, I crept to my room, threw on my sweats and collapsed into my bed. My body was exhausted, my mind annoyingly awake, the whole blow job ordeal replaying in my head over and over again. The day had really been pretty interesting, to say the least. Charlie had made pancakes for breakfast and we watched the typical Christmas morning programming on TV. Charlie had already given me money for Christmas for winter clothes, saying I would never survive a Forks winter in my current wardrobe and Alice had helped me make the money stretch, taking me to one of her favorite thrift stores in Port Angeles last week. I had thought about just saving the cash as Edward and I were going to need every penny, but I desperately needed new clothes and shoes, finding that heavier threads really were essential for survival.

I didn't expect any other gifts, but Charlie had filled a stocking with a bunch of stuff: perfumes, soaps, sweet smelling candles, candy canes, and a pair of red and white striped socks. This stuff was trivial and not really needed, but it was the fact that Charlie had thought to put together a stocking for me that had made it special. Just like when I was a kid, the stockings were hung from the banister of the stairs and I found comfort in the fact that Charlie had remembered this, proving to me that he hadn't completely destroyed the memories of a time when he had been a husband and a father.

I didn't really have any money to get Charlie a gift so I cleaned every room in the house instead. I scrubbed the kitchen counters and sink, wiping the residue of pancake batter from the stove. I wiped the fine layer of dust from the pictures hanging in the living room, my parents' young and expectant faces peering at me from behind the film. I conditioned the wooden floors by getting on my hands and knees and rubbing the waxy cleaning solution into the grain and attempting to buff out scratches and scuffs. I cleaned the toilets and tiles in the bathroom and changed the sheets on Charlie's bed, even though they hadn't been used in months. I was exhausted but finished by lunch, my diligence paying off as I was done earlier than planned.

We had vegged around the house the rest of the day, I read some from my book and Charlie eventually found a movie he liked, that one with the kid with BB gun. He sat on the couch and laughed, a low chuckle echoing in the small space as he watched. Pulling the remainder of the laundry from the dryer, I put together an outfit from my newly washed clothes, choosing a black clingy sweater that I knew Edward was particularly fond of.

Charlie drove us to the Cullens' house in his car and I was ridiculously eager to see Edward and even more excited for everyone to see the shirts I had made for them. Esme had helped me find the family crest at one of those genealogy websites. It kind of became our project and before I could say anything, she had purchased the t-shirts and the transfers and had already made one as a sample. She gave it to me as my own with a smile and a wink and I took it home with me to sit with my flannel and my bracelet, more physical manifestations of my eclectic, multifaceted family. "You are in my blood like holy wine..."

When we had arrived at the Cullens' I was more than curious to see Rosalie. She had to be about four or five months pregnant by now and I couldn't wait to see if her body had changed or talk to her to see what was going on. I had walked in to find her at the table with Emmett and I saw no evidence of said pregnancy - at first. It wasn't until she stood up to walk into the dining room that I noticed the slight curve of her stomach beneath her gathered, silky shirt. Her figure looked unchanged to the casual observer, but when she moved a certain way or if her shirt pulled across her stomach just so, you could definitely make out a round fullness to her belly.

Christmas dinner had been amazing, as usual, and Edward had watched what I ate, as usual. This didn't bother me as much as the persistent coaxing did. He tried to make me try the brussel sprouts and I didn't want to. Not because I was trying to avoid food, but because I honestly just think they're disgusting and it annoyed the shit out of me that he wouldn't just fucking let it go. I didn't say anything though, just kindly pinched the fuck out of his thigh and this caused the questioning to cease.

Charlie left after dinner claiming he felt a bit tired and I walked him out to his car before returning to the house, eager to hand out my gifts, my stomach a little nervous in anticipation. When they had finally opened them they all seemed pretty pleased, Edward smiling at the crest, Emmett throwing his on over his shirt, even Alice approved, claiming it would be perfect for the next camping trip. Everyone was pleased, except Rosalie. Tears erupting from her eyes, she ran from the room and I instantly knew that this had to be baby related, and since I didn't think anyone else was privy to that information and it was my present that prompted the tears, I followed her.

Rose was in the guest bathroom and I knocked on the door asking her if I could come in. I heard a muffled yes and I opened the door to find her blotting her eyes with a tissue.

"Are you okay?" I asked her. She looked at me, rolling her eyes and went back to blotting at her face.

"What the fuck do you mean by that?" she responded, her nose stuffy from the tears.

"I actually just wanted to know how you were doing, with the um…" I couldn't bring myself to say the words for some reason. I just couldn't spit it out. I could say it now, baby, pregnancy, fetus, budding soul now dwelling within your womb. See, it was easy to put words to it now. Instead I had just pointed to her belly, indicating what I meant.

"So, you can tell?" Rosalie had asked me, her face stricken with worry.

"No. I mean, only because I was paying attention. No, you look exactly the same." Rosalie breathed a sigh of relief, wiping her nose with the tissue.

"Good. We're going to see my parents tomorrow, they still don't know," Rosalie said. "I'm waiting until the last possible moment to tell them.

"How many…months…are you?" I felt like a total idiot. I had no fucking clue if I was even using the right terminology.

"Twenty one weeks. Five months. I'm due at the beginning of May," Rosalie said, excitement hinting her voice.

"So Emmett knows, right? Since you're planning on having it." I asked her, the words not really a question, more of an assumption.

"Of course, Emmett knows. Fuck, Bella, what kind of a person do you think I am?" Rosalie scoffed. She smiled as she inspected her makeup in the mirror. "That was a rhetorical question, by the way, so you can stop calculating your clever comeback." She wiped the mascara that had smudged beneath her lashes, using the tip of her manicured fingers, the red of her nails swiping across her cheeks.

I smiled back at her, relieved because all the witticisms I was coming up with were sounding pretty pathetic, even in my own head.

"I'm sorry the shirt upset you," I said, folding my hands behind my back.

"It wasn't the shirt, really." Rosalie smoothed the pleats of her blouse, looking at her reflection from the side, her hands folding over her belly. "It's the concept, you know? Being a Cullen. It's all I've ever wanted, like, since kindergarten; plus, these hormones have got me all fucked up, you know, feeling emotions or whatever, and then the fact I have to face my parents tomorrow, I don't know, I'm just totally fucked up right now."

"It's okay to be fucked up, you're kind of dealing with a lot. New apartment, new school, new…thing," I had pointed again to her belly, still unable to say the word. Baby. Baby. Baby. Yep, I could still say it fine now.

"It's a baby, Bella. You act like it's contagious or something. You can say baby and not get pregnant you know. Oh my God! You know how babies are made, right?" Rosalie looked at me with wide eyes, a feigned look of stunned pity upon her face. The emotionfest over, I opened the door to leave.

"Bella?" Rosalie had said, stopping me and I turned to face her.

"Thanks," she had said, not meeting my eyes.

"Anytime Rose," I replied, and left to rejoin the group still opening presents in the sitting room.

The presents were brilliant, not because of the actual items, but because of the amount of care and thought that went into each gift. Alice's photo book was by far my favorite, the pictures of my time in Forks peering at me from the pages. She had taken a photo of the school day-smoking restroom, the building gracing the front cover, and I had flipped through the pages in awe of the faces I saw; Edward's smiling eyes amazingly vivid despite the lack of color and the lines of his face shadowed and striking in the monochromatic color scheme. There were pictures of the four of us from prom, the night Edward discovered my secret, pictures Esme had taken while we celebrated Edward's birthday, the night I let Edward watch me puke, all of these fun and pretty pictures overshadowed by something inside me that was so ugly, something that picture by picture I could see blending into the contrast. While I hated that bathroom, I loved the conversations that took place there, the sister that I had found in that dreaded place. While I was petrified that night at prom, just fucking horrified for Edward to find out about my disorder, I had found such freedom, such relief in the exposure. And while I had never wanted anyone to ever see me at the very epitome of my self-disgust, accepting Edward's help had shown me that I didn't have to be solitary in this, I didn't have to do it on my own. "Then he comes home and he takes me in his loving arms…"

When Edward didn't give me a meal, I was a little perturbed. I thought it might have had something to do with the eating disorder and at first I was totally pissed, but then he had indicated he would give me my present later and I had no idea what this could possibly mean. I had completely forgotten about it when he handed me a sheet of paper and it wasn't until he said something that I fully realized what he was giving me. An apartment. A fucking apartment in New York! I was beyond elated, a multitude of emotions burning into ever inch of my being: relief, surprise, excitement, anticipation, nervousness…all of them radiating and propelling me towards Edward. I couldn't even find the words to express what I was feeling. Instead, I let my actions do the communicating, pulling myself onto him and relishing in our love, our bodies connecting, a true unity of souls.

We still needed to be careful so when he told me he was close, I slid him into my mouth, resolved to share this with him, take in his fluid, his essence. I honestly thought I could do it, accept every bit of it into me, swallow it and give Edward a way to feel that close intimacy of our union without the risk of pregnancy. I wanted to be able to do it so bad, a small part of me believing that maybe, under these circumstances, my body would be able to tell the difference and the eroticism involved would be enough to overshadow my compulsive stomach.

It wasn't enough. The moment the warm fluid hit the roof of my mouth, I gagged and had to pull away, a small amount smearing on my cheek as I wrapped him in my hand just fucking prayed I wouldn't puke, begging my body to cooperate. It wasn't the thought of it or even the taste, but the actual ingesting of it that had disrupted my sensitive stomach, and I had felt the contraction in my gut at once. Of course, Edward noticed and guilt immediately consumed me; guilt because my fucking brain couldn't forget about this issue even for Edward. I closed my eyes, trying to focus on anything but the burning in my stomach, and I realized that this was never going away, no matter how bad I wanted it to. I would forever live in fear of the upcoming meal, everyone worrying about whether or not I was going to purge, critiquing my food choices, and I would never be just a fucking normal person. I mean, I couldn't even suck off my boyfriend properly without this fucking disorder messing with my head.

Never, this would never be gone, never be over, never. Tears spilled over my cheeks as I forced myself into this realization. Just like Edward was tied to his impending threat, the threat of my disorder would always there as well. It would never go away and every day for the rest of my life it would be a struggle to contain it. How could I be a partner to Edward like this, how could I give him what he deserves? He didn't deserve to have to deal with this shit, his fucking girlfriend gagging and rejecting him during something so intimate, something that was supposed to express my love, something that I wanted to give him so badly. I couldn't fucking do it.

I felt like a complete disappointment, like I'd let him down, and the fact that I couldn't give this to him was so horribly embarrassing, my failure as a lover spilled all over his lap. I didn't know what to say, I couldn't even fucking look at him.

Suddenly, he was pulling me into him, pressing his mouth to mine, and I felt his tongue slide against my mouth, the desperation radiating from him, pulling and sucking, draining me of these feelings of malice and contempt, forcing them to subside to the concentration of care and love behind Edward's lips. I collapsed into him, my body relaxing against his, skin upon skin, as I whispered urgent apologies into his neck, trying to make him understand, hopefully reassuring him that this was entirely my fault, making sure he knew he had done nothing wrong.

Instead of letting me console him, he had comforted me. He doused me with compliments: brave, amazing, giving, and I found myself speechless in quiet wonder, undeserving of the boy before me but completely consumed by his nurturing. I let his words comfort me, I let his touch melt into pure ease as I kissed his lips, the small connection dulling the worry I still harbored. I let Edward soothe me, his fingers tracing sweet relief onto my back, and I made silent promises, promising him a future, promising him success, promising him normalcy, something better, something healthy. Most of all I had promised him love.

Slipping two tiny ear buds into my ears, I put my mp3 player on shuffle and, as predicted, Joni poured from the device, her words like a beacon drawing me to safe harbor and drowning the sounds of the turmoil outside my window. I finally succumbed to the darkness of sleep. "All muted and misty, so drowsy now I'll take what sleep I can…"

…

I awoke quite late into the afternoon, the all night excursion cloudy in my head and making my sleep heavy and dreamless. My muscles ached as I awoke, stiff and numb, I must not have moved at all during my sleep. I stretched my limbs, Joni's voice still in my head, and I pulled the earpieces out of my ears. Rain berated my window, the constant pounding repetitively irritating, and I rolled off my bed, needing to get away from it. I groaned as I stood up, my joints sore and strained as I walked to the bathroom to pee and then shower, letting the streams of warm water wash over me as I rinsed my body clean. I stepped out of the shower, the freezing cold swallowing me before I could wrap myself in a large towel. My teeth chattered and goosebumps invaded my skin as I shakily toweled my hair dry, kicking myself that I hadn't brought clean clothes with me to the bathroom.

I stepped into the hall and heard the faint but noticeable sound of a ball game on Charlie's TV, the cheering and the announcers' banter murmuring from the set in his bedroom. I followed the sound, reminding me of my first days here, a sound I hadn't heard in many months. His bedroom door was still closed and my first thought was that he must have left the television on when he left for work.

But this wasn't normal, the TV on with the door closed, and I hesitated at the door, my frame shaking involuntarily as I placed my hand on the knob.

I quickly turned the knob, swinging the door open. It hit the wall behind it with a thud, a small indentation from the knob embedded in the drywall. My eyes settled on the TV first, the set still playing a baseball game, the players scattering across the dirt and grass as the crowd cheered. And then my gaze drifted to the bed, Charlie still nestled under the covers, his position unchanged, the bed unchanged, the room unchanged.

He hadn't moved from that spot.

He still didn't move.

I stared at his chest. I didn't see the rise and fall of steady breaths so I called out his name, unable to move from the doorframe, unwilling to enter the room.

"Charlie?" I called out, my voice hardly loud enough over the television, the fucking announcers laughing at some stupid fucking joke.

"Charlie?" I called a bit louder. My heart pounded in my chest and throbbed in my head as I awaited his response. Charlie didn't move.

"Dad?" I stepped into the room, the wood floor groaning beneath my naked feet, wet footsteps pressed into the grain. "Dad?" He didn't move.

I couldn't breathe and my chest tightened in panic as I tried to figure out what the fuck was happening. What is happening, why isn't he moving, why doesn't he hear me?

"Dad!" I yelled, thinking my volume was the problem, rushing to the television and turning it off. I turned to him, freezing, shaking, gasping, my towel still clutched around my body.

"Dad? Dad? Dad?" I had reached the bed now, looking into his fat mustached face, the lines around his purple mouth and dark circled eyes once etched deep now flaccid as I scanned his face for signs of life.

"Daddy?" I whispered, his face frozen and unflinching. My daddy didn't move.

No! No, no, no, not now. Not now, not now! No. I couldn't breathe, my heart beating in my head, the pounding deafening in the quiet house, the still thundering rain sloshing against the window. I couldn't see, my blurred eyes unable to focus, and I put my hand out to touch him. I gripped his thick arm, shaking slightly.

"Daddy?" I yelled, my head piercing from the volume. I shook hard, his arm stiff and heavy underneath my fingers. I was too weak, I could barely move his weighty hand.

"Fuck! No! Dad! Dad!" Goddamn motherfucker! Wake Up! I pounded into his chest with my fist, the thick flesh a hollow drum, my weak arm beating in vain. "Don't you fucking leave me Charlie, don't you fucking do it." I sobbed, great tears blinding and stinging, his t-shirt clutched in my fingers. I needed help, Charlie needed help.

Pulling the towel tight around my chest, I ran to my room to get the cell phone from my nightstand. I tried to turn it on but the fucking piece of shit was dead. Fuck! You have got to be kidding me! I threw the phone against the wooden floor, the splintering of plastic satisfying as I raced down the stairs, missing steps and sliding down the last three, the edge of the wooden stairs slamming into my tailbone and the middle of my back as my legs buckled beneath me. I tried to stand up, pain radiating in my back and legs as I pulled the towel around me again, frantically running to the phone in the kitchen. I picked up the phone, my hand shaking as I pushed the buttons.

"911 emergency," a woman's voice rang into my ear.

"I need help. He's not moving, I tried to wake him up and he's not moving," I said, blinded again by tears brimming in my eyes, my voice cracking into the receiver.

"Is the victim conscious?" the voice asked.

"No, no, he needs help," my voice shaking, my breath caught in my chest.

"Miss, I need your address. We're going to send a unit right away," I heard the voice ask.

"Um, it's…um…on K street. 775 K Street. It's a white house…with chipped paint… and a big spruce in the front and a red truck in the driveway and-" my voice quivering, I gasped in between descriptions, searching for markers so they wouldn't miss the house.

"Miss, we're sending a unit. Can you tell me what happened?" the voice calmly asked.

"I don't know. He was sleeping, I thought he was just sleeping. He didn't wake up. He won't wake up." I closed my eyes and Charlie's face flashed behind my lids, swollen and still, and my eyes shot open, the image fused to my brain and causing my stomach to twist and ache. "What should I do?" I asked the voice.

"Are you alone?" the voice asked.

"No, my dad's here. He needs help!" What the fuck? I thought that was obvious!

"Yes, but is there anyone else there with you?"

"No. It just the two of us," I said, but I needed someone else. I needed him now. I needed to call him, right now. "I have to go. I need to call Edward." I hung up the phone, dialing another set of numbers, my fingers calm now.

Edward answered the phone.

"Hello?" his voice smoothed over the receiver.

"He's not moving. Edward, he's not moving," I calmly said into the phone.

"Bella? Who's not moving? What's going on?"

"It's Charlie," I said quietly, a quiet static hum into the receiver.

"Charlie's not moving? Bella, is he okay?" Edward's voice was muffled and I could hear movement and rustling on the other end.

"They're sending a unit," I mumbled.

"Bella. We're on our way, okay? Just stay there. We're on our way. Is he breathing? Do you know CPR?"

"Yes. Yes. I know CPR. I can do that." I dropped the phone, rushing up the stairs again, two at a time, thankful Renee had dragged me to those classes last year. She had to be certified to teach and had made me attend the classes with her.

I reached Charlie's room breathless from the stairs and climbed onto his bed. I tightened the towel, tucking it securely under my arm, and tried to remember what I had learned. Tilt the head back, plug the nose, cover the mouth and blow. His mustache tickled my nose and I was ten years old again and he was kissing me good night, sweet tobacco and aftershave, and I breathed into my father. I breathed into him again, his chest swelling with the influx of air. Again, again, inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, forgetting the fucking numbers and just breathing into my father's mouth. Pulling away, I placed my hands on his chest and over his heart and pushed down, trying to imitate the action as I remembered. But I was weak and Charlie was large and I couldn't do it. It didn't make any difference. I didn't have enough strength. I wiped at my mouth, tears running onto my cheeks and spilling onto my father's t-shirt.

In the distance I heard a siren and I fell off the bed, stumbling to my room to look out my window, looking for a familiar vehicle, this time hoping to see the red and white blurring down the rain slicked pavement.

Flashing lights, blaring siren, the ambulance stopped outside Charlie's house, my house. Two men raced through the door carrying bags of equipment and I heard them call out as they entered the house.

I ran to the top of the stairs, "We're up here! In here!" I shouted to them and they rushed up the stairs, their feet squeaking and thundering as they ran up the steps.

They rushed into Charlie's room, stripping the bed of the blankets and sheets I had just neatly tucked there yesterday, billowing fabric flying through the air as they adjusted my father so they could better access him.

"Shit, it's Chief Swan. No pulse. I'm going to intubate." Tubes being forced into his mouth, white pads stuck to his chest, wires connecting him to a small machine, a green line buzzing on the screen.

"Miss?" He was speaking to me. I shook my head, seeing the man in front of me. "Miss, Charlie Swan is your father?"

"Yes," I breathed. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.

"I know Charlie, I know he had surgery a couple months ago. Has he had any problems with his heart lately?"

"Um, no, he has sleep apnea and um, he takes a lot of medication for his heart. But he was okay, he was getting better." I thought of the stacks of meals piled in the freezer.

I heard a voice, "Shock advised", two stickers on Charlie's skin, his shirt cut open now, the scar from his heart surgery running down the middle of his chest. With the push of a button the electricity shocked into my father. More chest compressions, two overlapping hands pressed into his scar and then the forcing of air into his lungs. Shock advised, then compressions, then air.

And then I saw Charlie cough and sputter and turn to his side.

I saw him recovering like a miracle, getting another second chance.

I saw a graduation cap gracing my crown as he wrapped his immense arms around me, the long gold gown ruffling in the summer breeze, Charlie's hug smothering me with his soapy smell.

With a neatly tied bow tie around his neck, I saw him in black and white surrounded by rows of white tulle and orange blossoms, lilacs and freesia, my father on my arm as I carried a bouquet of white roses, my dark hair curled and flowing into creamy vintage lace. Lifting my veil, he kissed my cheek before placing my hand into Edward's.

Then at the hospital, gathered around my bed, the table beside it overwhelmed with pastel balloons and bags of fuzzy stuffed animals, all my family squeezing into the small space, and in Charlie's massive arms was a small bundle, a tiny hand wrapped around his calloused finger, his lips pressing into the tiny cheek, his mustache tickling the new skin, I'm sure.

I saw it all: at little league games giving tips for the perfect swing, at birthday parties pulling the piñata, at family camping trips, at summer barbeques, my children on his shoulders, on his lap, dancing on his feet.

"Bella? Oh my God, Bella?" A warm velvet voice behind me and then a heavy damp coat thrown over my bare shoulders.

I blinked, Charlie's room blurring back into existence. My legs shook, my teeth chattering together as I stood in the doorway.

"I'm calling it. He's cold, man. Jesus!"

The man bent over my father placed the radio to his lips. "We have a DOA, tried to resuscitate, no response. I'm calling it in to the coroner."

"Miss? Bella?" A blank face before me, strong arms around me, and I could see his lips moving, my eyes staring at his lips forming the words, tongue between teeth, but I couldn't understand. All I could hear were incoherent pieces of information: I'm sorry…unable to revive…gone for quite a while…cardiac arrest…called in a coroner…don't disturb the body.

Tight arms surrounded me, my face engulfed by a damp t-shirt, and I breathed. A great gasp of air invading my lungs, my head swirling with honey and lilac and soap, the rain thickening the scent as it emanated from every facet of his being and sparked my awareness.

"Edward?" I looked up to find his lovely green eyes, rimmed in red, the contrast striking against his pale skin. "Your eyes look like Christmas."

"Bella, come on. You have to put some clothes on. You're skin is like ice." Edward tried to turn me away from the room but I didn't want to leave. What if Charlie woke up, he would want to see me.

"No! They're waking up Charlie. I need to be here for when he wakes up." I tried to pull myself from his arms.

"Bella…Bella…" Edward's face twisted in pain and his eyes welled over with tears as he brushed his hands through my wet hair, grasping my face between them as he kissed my forehead.

"He's not going to wake up, Bella," he gasped a sharp breath, a sob from his chest, and he held my face firmly. "He's gone. Charlie's gone."

My mother's words rang in my ears. "Daddy's gone. He's gone."

"Gone? Like dead gone?" I asked him aloud. Edward nodded, tears trailing down his sharp features.

I looked around me, taking in the entire room. The paramedics were sullen while packing up their equipment, shoving things neatly into their bags. Carlisle stood by the bed, Alice in his arms sobbing, his own tears slipping from his cheeks into her dark hair. The bed vacant of sheets, my father's body in the middle of the mattress, his chest still exposed, his arms pulled away from his sides. His muscles no longer strained, his skin fell in abnormal shapes, distorting his face so that I hardly recognized him. It wasn't him. It was an empty shell, a huge, broken, empty shell. I felt my breath heave in great gasps and my chest tightening, and I clutched the jacket around my frozen frame. The burning in my stomach churned, pressure welled in my head, an ache in my chest, pure agony seizing my heart, excruciating and burning right through every cell in my body. I had to get it out, I had to make it stop. My mind finally catching up with my body, I felt my body heave, my legs crumbling as I crouched on the floor sobbing, a perfectly circular pool of vomit now before me, and I wiped at my mouth with my trembling hand.

Arms lifted me from the floor and carried me into my bedroom, laying me onto the soft bed. I felt soft material moving up my legs and warm flannel pulled over my head, and then I was surrounded by arms and legs and cotton sheets, my face smothered in that sweet, sweet smell of relief. I felt my eyelids heavy with anguish, the tightness in my chest still stifling as I sobbed into Edward's t-shirt, his hands smoothing through my hair as his own body shook with grief.

I pulled my face away from his chest, wanting to see his face, to find his comforting gaze, and there it was, beautiful and all encompassing before me, soothing and easing the pounding in my brain.

"Charlie's dead, Edward," I told him, my voice raspy and unfamiliar. "He's gone."

…

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A/N

I know bbs. Whatever you're feeling…believe me, I feel it too.

Joni Songs Referenced

My Old Man

A Case of You

I Don't Know Where I Stand

Chinese Café/Unchained Melody