48-49.doc

48 Monumental Macaroons Part 1

EDWARD

It took me thirty three hours of continual driving to reach the Fork's city limit. I didn't sleep or eat, and I only stopped to get gas when it was absolutely necessary. I probably violated every speed restriction in the process, but I couldn't be bothered by such trivialities.
The drive was unlike the one to Chicago I'd made four months earlier. Then, no matter how much I'd tried to convince myself otherwise, I'd been running away from something: from Bella and what we'd done to one another, from Carlisle, from Alice and Esme when they 'd found out-from every last one of my fuck-ups. But on this drive, I was running toward something and leaving something else behind. With every mile I put between my mother and me, I felt the portion of my soul devoted to her screaming in protest. In return, the part of my soul that needed mending-the part reserved for Bella, Carlisle, and everyone else-that part of my soul buzzed with impatience to rush to Forks.

The two conflicting sensations were warring with my every emotion, and I found it impossible to be either eager or grief-stricken for more than a minute at any given time. It was a lot like being pushed toward the west while being pulled toward the east. If I hadn't already made up my mind, I might have turned around.

When I finally arrived in Forks, I was a fucking mess of nerves. My mind had been so one-tracked during the drive that I hadn't even stopped to consider the time of day in which I'd be arriving. It was only eight in the morning, which meant that everyone would be at either work or school.

As I approached the familiar road that led to the white mansion-like home, I began scrutinizing every fern and domestic flora of the neighborhood for changes. There really wasn't much to take note of except that the trees now had leaves and needles. When I'd left, everything had been bare and just scarcely sprouting for the spring. Now it was lush, and even though the impending autumn was already beginning to take the leaves, it appeared lively and verdant.

I was getting sentimental over motherfucking foliage.

A self-depreciating smile tugged at my lips as I rounded the last corner and brought the house into view. But my eyes never had the opportunity to fully scrutinize it, because when I saw the Brandons' front lawn, my foot slammed on the brake and screeched the Volvo to a sudden halt in the middle of the gravelly road.

I was overcome with terror that I was too late and… shit. It was only just beginning to hit me as I gripped my steering wheel and gazed at the large "For Sale" sign on Bella's lawn that… it was entirely fucking possible that I'd never be able to get her back. It was the first time I'd ever allowed myself to really consider what I'd done to her.

From Bella's perspective, I'd… run away? Could she think that? Would she be wrong? The remembrance of that final day and what I had done hit me with a crushing blow of horror. I hadn't had the time in Chicago to consider it all fully because I was so occupied with my mother, but now… now it seemed like the most significant thing ever. Not only did I leave, and not only had she completely understood and had been supportive of my choice, but I'd broken the promise to return and had never even really kept in touch. I couldn't even bring myself to conceive the possibilities of how she likely felt about me now - of how she likely believed I felt about her.

Christ, I'd really made a cluster-fuck of everything.

Just as I was beginning to indulge myself in a really fucking horrendous meltdown full of self-loathing and regret, movement from the house next door caught my eye. I shifted my gaze to see a blonde head emerging from the door as Carlisle reached down to retrieve a newspaper. He didn't even glance up as he stepped back inside and closed the door. I was reminded that Carlisle could probably tell me where Esme and the girls had gone. It wasn't over, yet. I'd tracked my mother across the country. I could easily do the same for Bella. First, I had to get my shit together and face him, so I started toward the house and eased into the driveway.

And then, I was nervous as shit once again. I rolled my eyes as I actually checked my hair in the rearview mirror. My hair really should have been my last concern because my eyes were darkened from lack of sleep and still had the red and swollen remnants of my tearful goodbye and the agonized moments following. I spent a moment smoothing out my hair and the wrinkles from my clothing before I decided that it was a lost cause and exited the car. The air smelled of… wet and green and cool and life and just… home.

I was getting sentimental over motherfucking air.

I huffed in annoyance with myself and began approaching the house. It was a different anxiety than the kind I'd felt when I'd found my mother. This was impatience, not fear. I bounded up the steps, taking in the well-kept appearance with a subdued grin as I reached the door and paused in abrupt uncertainty.

I knocked.

I knocked because even though it was home to me, I had no way of knowing if I'd be welcomed or wanted. With every second that passed, my heart raced with the possibilities that I wouldn't, and then my impatience turned fearful. I wondered, if neither Bella nor Carlisle wanted me, would I go back to Chicago? I shook my head in objection to the fleeting thought. I'd stick around and keep trying because they were worth it. But I was growing fretful. Really fucking fretful. I shifted my feet and tried to find something to do with my hands which hung limply at my sides. I was lightheaded with anxiety until the door finally opened.

Carlisle kind of blinked at me as I stood in the doorway and shoved my fists deep into my pockets to occupy them. He looked exactly the same, right down to the part of his hair and the crease of his slacks. As the silence grew on, my really fucking fretful anxiety swelled, and I struggled to find something intelligent to say. Those are always the moments in which I decide to say the most retarded fucking thing possible, so I wasn't at all surprised by what emerged from my mouth.

"Sup?" I asked, feigning coolness and internally kicking myself in the head as I gazed at his blank stare.

Carlisle seemed to be shaken from his astonishment at the sound of my dense greeting. "Sup?" he seemed to mock, his lips twitching into a sad smile.

I was grateful at least for the change of atmosphere as I grimaced. "I was afraid you'd be working," I mumbled while diverting my gaze behind his shoulder into the foyer.

"I have a late shift," he whispered absently, answering my silent question as I fought to remain comfortable under his calculating gaze. I nodded with a light hum and shifted my gaze to the toes of my boots. I nudged a dampened red leaf and balled my fists tightly in my pockets. He gasped, almost inaudibly and stepped back. "I'm sorry, come in. Please," he offered in a panicked voice, and I breathed a sigh of relief as I extracted my clenched fists from my pockets and stepped forward.

The foyer was exactly as I remembered and he walked ahead, leading me to the living room, occasionally peeking at me over his shoulder. When I entered, I was taken aback by the changes in the large room. The furniture had been rearranged which was the most obvious change, but there were also new drapes and decorations scattered around. It looked nice and comfortable. The new arrangement of furniture made sense in comparison to the space. It was more colorful and vibrant. He turned to me with a tight smile and gestured for me to sit on the sofa, so I sunk into it, sighing in contentment as the soft and plush upholstery cradled me. I suppressed a frown as I observed the room. It was probably the most notable evidence of how much time had passed. I didn't really like that.

He sat directly across from me in a large arm chair and propped his ankle on his knee. "How are you?" he asked casually, but his watchful stare betrayed his caution.

"Okay," I shrugged, still allowing my eyes to wander the room. "You?" I asked, really fucking hating this eggshell walk we were doing. I wondered how ridiculous it would be to yank a grown man from a beige arm chair and just… hug the living shit out of him. Probably… pretty fucking ridiculous, I decided.

"Good," he nodded, shifting his gaze to his lap and reaching up to scratch his eyebrow. I hummed in response, watching as his lips returned to that same forced smile. "How long are you in town for?" he asked, finally meeting my gaze before adding, "Where are you staying?"

My heart sank into my stomach as I realized that he assumed I was just passing through. "What makes you think I'm not staying here?" I asked with a certain double connotation that I wasn't certain he'd catch.

He raised his eyebrows, the brief spark of hope in his eyes immediately extinguished. "You knocked," he explained in a controlled voice.

I huffed and raked my fingers through my hair. "I didn't know if I'd be welcomed," I defended and instantly struggled to reign in my annoyance.

He sighed, an oddly sad sound, and rubbed his forehead back and forth. "This has always been your home too, Edward," he muttered, but appeared frustrated before visibly composing himself and meeting my gaze. "What do you need?" he asked. I furrowed my brows in confusion, so he explained with a blank expression, "Money? Documents? Clothing?"

"What?" I asked while shaking my head, but he was already reaching into his back pocket to extract his wallet. "Jesus, Carlisle, I don't want money," I insisted in mortification. He seriously thought I'd come back here just to bleed him dry a little more? It was appalling. He met my gaze and sighed once again in frustration as he dropped his wallet. I was hurt and tired and disappointed as I stood. "Couldn't it be possible that I just wanted to come home?" I asked dreadfully as my eyes likely filled and brimmed with the pain of his humiliating assumption. I really didn't want to leave, but his insinuation was offensive and degrading. Maybe I should have gone with the hug, after all.

His blue eyes squinted for a moment, regarding my wounded expression carefully before his face and posture crumbled. "I'm sorry," he sighed remorsefully and looked away in shame. "I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. I suppose it's just been-" He paused with an exhale before meeting my gaze and shaking his head. "I'm an ass," he said simply.

I released my tense fists and eased back down to the sofa, his eyes following mine fluidly. "That makes two of us," I whispered and wondered while he shrugged if he'd caught my silent apology. "Must be a Cullen thing," I muttered under my breath and raked my fingers through my disgusting hair. Showering was definitely a high priority, and I pondered the comfort of my large bathroom as I met his gaze, his expression cutting me off mid-sigh. "What?"

His brows were deeply furrowed as he gazed at me in silence for many moments. When he finally spoke, his voice was strained with some unfathomable emotion. "Do you even consider yourself a Cullen?" he asked while visibly attempting to control his expressive reaction.

My heart sank a little more as I looked away. I tried to consider everything I'd likely put him through over the last five years to make that one little question so enormous to him. It was really unforgiveable. I'd done awful things, and my behavior had been monstrous… more often than not. I couldn't imagine ever just letting all that shit go and accepting any apology I might offer. Apologies were shit. Apologies were words laced with sincerity that felt empty regardless. Actions spoke louder than words, and I could speak louder than anything if you pissed me off hard enough.

I met his gaze, Carlisle nearly flinching from my angry stare, but I wasn't angry at him. I was angry at myself for never accepting his sincerity and making him so goddamn submissive to all of my asinine antics. As I recalled the feeling of utter misery I'd felt when my mother pushed me away, I decided I couldn't let him feel that anymore.

"My mother's a drunk," I confessed quietly and his brows creased further. I leaned forward with a sigh, resting my elbows on my knees, and began in a weary voice, "The night of the fire was their anniversary…"

It was everything Carlisle had ever wanted and more. I could now explain the full story from my side and hers as well, even though I was tired of talking about it and tired of living it and ready to move on. He was visibly taken aback as I abruptly plunged into my recollection of the fire and everything that happened following. His eyes, captivated and compassionate never left mine as I spoke. I could almost see him absorbing my words like they were the most important thing to him… ever. He never stopped to ask questions and I tried my best to make certain he'd have none. Everything, up until the day I'd been admitted into the hospital was explained in full detail, and his concentration didn't waver when I began recollecting the entirety of my stay in Chicago. His eyes grew wide and horrified as I explained the full gravity of my mother's condition, and I looked away in embarrassment as I told him of the townhouse and the way we had lived. When I told him of how I'd had to care for my mother, cleaning up her vomit and ensuring the simplicity of her hygiene, I felt vulnerable and ashamed. Deciding I couldn't possibly feel anymore humiliated, I even told him of my father's gravesite and the copious amounts of flowers I'd left.

It was a little soon to just start fucking… telling him everything. Admittedly, I'd just walked through the door and dumped it on him like a bucket of cold water. But I didn't have much of anything to offer anyone, Carlisle most of all.

I'd finally understood Carlisle's soul after caring for my mother for so long, and now he knew mine.

---

I think we were probably both exhausted after my mouth finally stopped moving. I relaxed my head against the soft back of the sofa and relished in the comfort of Carlisle's home. It wasn't just the expensive luxuries his money could provide. I couldn't really identify the exact cause, but it was more subtle and vague and just… secure-cozy even.

I was getting sentimental over motherfucking furniture. Shit, I really had to stop doing this.

With a sigh I met Carlisle's gaze, and he was eyeing me intently. There was pity in his stare, and I really hated it, but I didn't recoil or get pissed off like usual. He could pity me if he really wanted to. I was one pitiful son-of-a-bitch, after all.

He straightened in his chair, having had relaxed during my lengthy recollection and gazed at me with utter sincerity. "Thank you," he replied softly, and I felt a foreign heat creep up my neck to the tips of my ears. He cleared his throat, disrupting my moment of embarrassment, and smiled. "We could discuss it later, when you're more rested, if you'd like," he added, and I really wasn't sure what was left to discuss, but I nodded my agreement. He pursed his lips, regarding me thoughtfully as I relax against the sofa and asked with doubtful eyes, "You really want to stay, then?"

I groaned internally, knowing I'd have to swallow my pride and just say the words because he deserved that much. When he'd adopted me, I'd never asked. His desire alone had led me to be taken into his home. It was off kilter and unfair to have that kind of upper-hand when he was the one offering me something of value.

I sighed and straightened, my limbs feeling heavy and stiff as I met his gaze and held it firmly. "Can I please stay here and… live with you, Carlisle?" I asked with earnestness, injecting every ounce of my desire for this side of the fence to penetrate my voice and longing stare. There was once again that weird sensation of heat at the tips of my ears as I watched his lips screw up into a knowing smile. My plea wasn't really necessary, and he'd never make me beg and grovel for admittance into his home. That wasn't really the point of it, though.

His smile grew wider, nearing a chuckle, until it abruptly wavered, and his face paled. I furrowed my brows, watching as he stood from his chair and diverted his nervous gaze to the staircase across the room. "I… have to make a brief call. Will you wait?" he asked in a bizarrely anxious voice, pleading with his gaze. Confused, I nodded and watched him cross the room and ascend the stairs.

Truthfully, I was a little mortified that I'd went through all the bullshit of sacrificing my dignity and he hadn't actually given me an answer. I bit back the fear that rose and waited for him to return. Eventually, I grew anxious and felt an overwhelming need to see my space once again-some kind of evidence that I had a space in the house to begin with.


I rose from the sofa and quietly climbed the stairs, absorbing all the little details that had changed since my absence. I found that all of the windows had new drapery and were… well… a little fucking extravagant and feminine for my tastes, but… if that was what Carlisle liked… whatever. The second floor hallway had new rugs running the length and I suppressed a mocking snicker at Carlisle's weird, new decorating fetish. I supposed since Emmett and I had been gone from the house, he'd probably been bored out of his mind. Emmett. I sighed as I walked down the hall passing his door, and made a mental note to get a phone number from Carlisle.

As I passed the door of Carlisle's study, his hushed voice halted me, and I stood closely to the open sliver to overhear his conversation like an intrusive asshole.

"What do you mean?" he whispered and fell silent. There were no other sounds emerging as I strained my ears to hear him. "Because… it's important to me, and considering our… special circumstances, I need to know," he paused, and my brows furrowed at the context of the one-sided conversation. After many moments of silence, I wondered if he'd hung up before he eventually spoke again, in a firm and uncharacteristically demanding voice, "For all intents and purposes, he's my son, and I'll expect you to extend him the same respect that I give to your children, I will not tolerate-" His voice abruptly stopped and I almost considered entering to ask him who the fuck he was talking to before he sighed. "I'm sorry-I know, I know. I don't mean to be defensive, but can you honestly-I don't want to argue either," he agreed with the second-party and abruptly chuckled, relieved. "Now, that, I'd probably pay to see. Jasper did mention charred effigies," he chuckled again and his mention of Jasper ripped me from my focus and I once again surged with longing to see my bedroom.

I crossed the hall and climbed the second staircase, still carefully observing the little changes throughout the house. I stopped at my door and gazed at it pensively before gripping the knob and opening it.

I wasn't really certain what I'd been expecting; the destruction of my last memory, or the comforting norm of its usual appearance before that day. What I saw was really neither. It was mostly clean and the furniture was in the same location, but it was different. As I entered, I noted the brown comforter on the bed, a brief flash of remembrance forcing me to recoil and clench my eyes shut against the shuddering memory of my last moments on that bed.


I stepped further into the room, diverting my gaze away from the bed and observing everything warily. It didn't really feel like my room anymore and that really fucking bothered me. It felt different and lighter. The new, sheer white curtains hanging from the French doors amplified the rays of sun and illuminated the room, casting light where I'd always known shadows to linger. Belatedly, I began noticing things-little things like a pair of sneakers by the door that weren't mine and a hair brush lying on the dresser. Articles of my clothing peeked out from the laundry hamper that used to be located inside the closet, but was now sitting just beside it. There was a very small, dark shirt draped across the arm of the sofa, and I furrowed my brows at this article of clothing that was definitely not mine. It almost looked like it belonged to a girl. I'd just bent to pick it up when I heard footsteps and turned my head to find Carlisle standing in the doorway.

My eyes were questioning as they swept the room. He simply stared at me as the realization struck me. "Someone's been living here," I observed and was surprised at the hint of jealously that seeped from my voice. I wondered if he had found someone else to take in, and then… given them my room? It pissed me off and my hurt was palpable as I met his gaze with an accusing stare.

He grimaced, running his fingers through his hair as he nodded. "See, that's the thing…" he trailed off cautiously as I held his gaze. I raised my eyebrows expectantly, needing some kind of explanation as to why he'd just… give my shit away. Before I could grow fully enraged that someone had been in my room and had probably gone through all of my shit, he sighed, "This is Bella's room now."


---

We had gone downstairs because Carlisle felt uncomfortable being in Bella's room. We were standing in the kitchen where he'd insisted on getting me a drink since my mouth had gone bone dry.

Since the night I left. Bella had been living in my room since the night I left. I couldn't really wrap my head around it.

"Esme and Alice were spending so much time here anyways," Carlisle continued his explanation as his back stuck out from the fridge. "It just didn't make sense for her to keep the mortgage up. She can be very frugal as long as her children aren't involved," he babbled while extricating a glass from the cupboard. "Alice was in the guest room on the third floor, but once Emmett's room became available, she wanted the space." He stood in front of me, holding out the glass of… something as I gaped at him.

"I'm sorry. Could you go back to the part where Bella is living in my fucking room?" I asked, not necessarily angry, but still confused. His brows furrowed and he began re-telling the same explanation before I stopped him. "Why didn't you tell me?" I accused, narrowing my eyes. "All those times I called, why didn't you ever say anything?" I asked while setting the glass down on the counter.

His eyebrows rose before his lips turned up into a smirk. "So that was you calling?" he asked, folding his arms over his chest.

I rolled my eyes. "If I'd known, I would've-" I paused as I wondered… what would I have done? I definitely would have said something. All those nights I'd spent just sitting there in silence, and Bella was right here. It was staggering.

He sighed and walked to the other side of the kitchen while speaking. "If I'd told you, it would have been an unfair exploitation to get you to speak to me." He paused before adding with a glance over his shoulder. "I wanted to know that you'd speak because you were ready, not because of a reaction to Bella," he finished and picked up a clear bag from the counter.

I supposed I could see his point, but… goddamn it. I could have been listening to her voice too. It kind of pissed me off. I couldn't deny my relief, however. Bella hadn't moved away. Not only had she not moved away, but she'd chosen to live in my bedroom. Maybe she had been waiting for me all this time. The possibility made me simultaneously elated and heartbroken. Elated, because it meant she'd wanted to be close to me, and heartbroken, because I had kept her waiting for so long, and now I had no way of knowing if she'd forgive it.

Carlisle stopped in front of me and raised his wrist, glancing at his watch. "My shift starts in ten minutes, but we'll discuss arrangements this evening when everyone is home," he instructed, and my stomach filled with anxious twinges realizing who "everyone" included. Bella would be here. This evening. I barely retrained a completely emasculating reaction to this notion. "I'll be home first because Esme has the drive and Alice and Bella have… prior engagements. In the meantime," he continued, and pushed the bag his idle hand held into my chest, smiling brightly. "Have a cookie."

I gazed down at the bag in my hands as he exited the house, the clear plastic familiar and cool in my palm. The black ink on the front of the bag had Bella's careful title gracing the little white rectangle. Monumental Macaroons. I smiled.

A million thoughts raced through my head as I wandered the empty house, fingering the new, heavy fabrics that graced the walls and reacquainting myself to the mansion while clutching the bag of cookies in my hand. I made a few plans, like deciding to finally take a shower and cleaning out the Volvo. But once I was left alone and all distraction had ceased, my thoughts turned to my mother, and I wondered what she was doing. I imagined her drinking as she often would have been just beginning to do this time of morning, and a sudden panic invaded my chest.

A million possible and equally ridiculous scenarios flooded my brain, and even though I realized how random they might have been, it worried me.

What if she fell down the steps? What if she asphyxiated on her own vomit when she passed out this evening? What if she didn't get enough to eat and starved? What if… what if something happened and I never knew and she had no one else to help her? What if my concern and worry over her well-being ruined any chance I had at enjoying anything?

There was only one way to assure she'd be cared for, and I knew I only had to ask Carlisle to make some calls, and it'd be taken care of. I'd done enough research on home care when I was in Chicago to know that it was the most realistic option. They wouldn't be family, and I had no way of knowing if she'd accept it, but I'd try. And Carlisle would be pleased that I offered him the opportunity to ease my anxiety. I'd put what I could in his hands because I knew that sharing what I carried on my shoulders would only bring us closer. I cursed having to dump it on him, even though I realized he'd be more than happy to help.

Really, I cursed my enlightenment more than anything. I hated it more than the alcohol my mother drank or the feeling of seeing my girl screaming and bloodied on the gym floor. It was necessary, but that didn't make me hate it any fucking less.

Once I chose, there was no middle, and no going back. The fence separating the two sides had become an impenetrable and massive barrier. There'd be no letters between my mother and me. No silent phone calls or promised visits. If I ever spoke to her again, it'd be because she found me, and I knew better than to expect that. The link between us was severed irrevocably when we released from that embrace inside of her bedroom.


If I didn't know the damage it would cause, I could still keep in touch. I could have a semblance of happiness and normalcy with Carlisle while still reaching out to my mother. I could continue my futile attempts of convincing her to recover. I could experience milestone after milestone of my youth and feel the resentment of knowing that she won't be there to experience them with me. I could spend my coming years growing attached to an impossible vision of a life in which she was present and healthy and happy because I would still have hope. I could hate her and myself when it never happened.

I'd never be capable of happiness-of making anyone else happy. It would become a vicious circle of obligation and resentment and I'd be responsible for all of my mother's self-loathing when she failed to make my visions of our happiness come to fruition. The only way to please anyone was to sever the tie and never look back. All or nothing - the crushing reality of decisions. Monumental, indeed.

I continued to curse the enlightenment that forced me to see this logical truth instead of heeding the aching desire to have it all. It wasn't about being selfish or selfless for once. It was about accepting that ideals weren't achievable, and choosing the best possible alternative for everyone involved.

Where I gained, I lost. My confidence in my decision hadn't faltered since I'd left Chicago, but it didn't ease the pain of knowing that I'd abandoned every single ideal that I'd been grasping towards for the past ten years. It didn't erase the pain of losing my mother, once and for all.

BELLA

The smell of gym and leather ignited my senses and my fist flew to the bag in front of me with ease. It smacked dully, but didn't really move or shift under my minimal strength. That didn't matter to me. I kept jabbing and my hands felt like marshmallows with the boxing gloves I wore.

Alice's were pink.

She grunted from my side while making her own jabs and her reddened face was almost comical. She had this little scowl on her face as she punched her bag like it had personally offended her in some way.

Irina's hard voice broke my scrutiny. "Eyes forward, Swan," she admonished from across the gym and I refocused my attention to my punching bag. I took a deep breath and tried to do what Alice was doing-what Carmen had encouraged us to do. I envisioned it as an offender and began jabbing. I probably looked like a total spaz with my fists flailing ahead. These boxing classes weren't really meant for the purpose of perfecting my form. It was just supposed to be cathartic and releasing. And it was.

My lackadaisical approach to her sport displeased Irina. "Keep your shoulders straight, Swan," she instructed, and I inwardly growled as my punches grew harder and stronger. Anger was always a good emotional projection for this activity, as Carmen often reminded me.

This was only my third class for boxing. It was a little too early to say whether or not I enjoyed it, but I couldn't deny the release it granted me. Unlike Alice, I preferred it to yoga-or as I call it, "Limb Torture." My favorite so far would have to be the Judo courses. Judo was really intriguing and low-impact. It wasn't about my own strength, but using others' strengths against them. It was okay to be a little girl in Judo. In boxing… not so much.

"You're hitting high again!" Irina scolded in obvious annoyance, but the triple ding of the overhead bell indicated that time was up. I inwardly smiled. Saved by the bell. Irina took her position a little too seriously.

Alice huffed and turned to me with a big grin. "I'm getting really good at this!" she exclaimed and held up one, hot pink gloved fist enthusiastically.

I rolled my eyes, sweating a little and awkwardly swatting a dampened lock of hair from my face while slapping her glove with my plain, red one. "Sure, Al. If I were a punching bag who met you in a dark alley, I'd be petrified," I mumbled, making her smile slightly waver. Guilt consumed me at managing to deter her enjoyment of the activity. "I'm playing," I smiled. It felt hollow. It probably appeared so, too. There was another hollowness, one that wasn't visible and concrete to the people I loved. I was thankful for its hidden nature and that I could carry its burden on my own.

Alice shrugged, and we spent our time extracting our gloves and tape in the locker room. Alice was too good to me. When I'd told her of Carmen's plans to enroll me in all these classes, she was eager to accompany me. It was sweet and selfless of her to be so supportive when I was obviously awful company. Her enthusiasm rarely faltered in regards to it. She had gone pretty full-out with picking out necessary-and occasionally pink-equipment and researching ways in which to excel. It brought a pang to my empty chest that my spirit commonly spoiled our afternoon lessons.

She was unusually quiet on the ride home as I gazed out at the green vegetation that blurred past, and I hated myself for upsetting her. It was late September and getting cold again. I wasn't certain if I welcomed the change of season or resented it. I wanted to freeze the summer and remain in the stagnation that had given me hope, and yet I wanted it all to pass and become a distant memory.

"Want to do something for the weekend?" Alice's voice broke me from my silent reflection and I shrugged in response. We didn't usually do anything on weekends. Mostly, I just did nothing whatsoever. Tomorrow morning, we'd have yet another lesson with yet another instructor and that would keep me occupied for the morning until I repeated it.

My existence was dull and full of schedules that were meant to keep me distracted and focused all at the same time. Mondays were Carmen, Tuesdays were Judo, Wednesdays were my evenings with Carlisle, Thursdays were Carmen, Fridays were boxing, and Saturdays were yoga. It was an empty loop of school, offices, gym, the kitchen, and the bedroom.

I hated to appear ungrateful of everyone's support. Carlisle, Alice, Esme, and even Jasper were beyond fantastic. Carmen had spent numerous amounts of hours constructing the perfect course of treatment, balancing traditional medicine and her own methods of therapy into something I'd gain maximum benefit from. In the grand scheme of things, it was effective, as far as I could tell.

I still couldn't enter the closet, but I could feel myself growing more comfortable with attempting, having already given up on trying weeks prior. I'd thought I had a breakthrough the previous day when Jasper somehow convinced me to give him a brief fist bump. I'd been annoyed with him as we sat in the lunchroom and he'd extended his hand across the table, gently encouraging. At the time, I couldn't comprehend his sudden interest, and Alice had been incensed with his persistence. I mostly did it so that she'd cease her shrill protests in his ear, but a little ache in the distance of my mind wanted...