“Bella?” a sweet, musical murmur asked from my bed.

“Hmm?” I responded, as I crawled under the covers next to Edward. There could only be so many reasons he wanted to talk to me.

The fear of his leaving again rose to the surface. It blocked off all other thoughts, brought tears to my eyes, and strangled my throat – leaving speaking outdated. Worst of all, it caused the fresh cut to burn. I pressed my arm into Edward’s chest, hoping the cold would soothe the pain.

My hopes were short lived as his left hand took mine and placed it in clear view for both of us. In the process, he had moved himself to the edge of the bed. My tears fell at the obvious rejection and he moved his hand to wipe them away.

“Bella,” he whimpered with pain laced into his voice. Perhaps he wasn’t leaving – yet.

I managed to end the stream of tears, though the salty wetness continued to sting my cheeks and blur my vision.

Content with my new, slightly more stable state, his hand returned itself to my lower left arm. It found its way to the end of the sleeve of my pajama shirt and pushed it up to the elbow.

I gasped in surprise at the revealing gesture. He knew I had been cutting, and he knew I had just done so again. But why hadn’t he said something before? Almost two weeks had gone by since we’ve gotten back from Volterra. The tears threatened to escape, but his silent look of acceptance and peace kept them at bay.

With gentle, calculating movements, his fingers glided across my scarred skin from my wrist to my elbow and back. My gaze flickered between my arm and his face. The honey topaz of his eyes reflected pain but never disappointment. I was slightly relieved knowing that I wouldn’t be yelled at for the dangerous actions I had taken in his absence. Even more relief came when his palm covered the newest cut, providing some ease from the searing pain. At the same time, his stop had alerted me to the fact that he knew exactly what I had just done. I wished for nothing but escape from the nightmare that was currently ensuing.

“Bella…” his choked voice trailed off. He didn’t know what to say, and neither did I.

“I’m sorry,” I squeaked the first thing that came to mind.

Now his eyes flickered with disappointment – though it was short lived. I cringed – a natural response to the thought of him leaving again. I hated to have that memory burned into my very being. The pain I suffered before could only be mimicked by a repeat of the words and actions that had taken place just months prior. So he had promised he would never leave. It still never failed to scare me every time he seemed upset or unhappy with me.

Those perfect lips parted to speak but quickly shut again as he returned his body next to mine; leaving our arms sandwiched in the middle. “Don’t be sorry, love,” he whispered into my hair. Dozens of kisses followed his soothing words.

I relaxed into his strong hold. The gentle kisses, peaceful tone, and love in his eyes gave me some comfort in such a tension-filled time. Moreover, if he did decide to leave, I wanted to remember as much of him as I could. I wanted to enjoy tonight despite the dreadfulness of our few-worded yet full conversation.

“You know, we are going to have to talk about this.” He gave a gentle squeeze on my arm to make sure I understood what he was talking about.

I stiffened at the thought. Perhaps he would still leave me. He was certainly still disappointed, whether or not he admitted it. Talking was the last thing I wanted. The last thing I thought I needed. Remembering was the worst, and having to take the time out of an otherwise busy and pleasing life was more than I wanted to do.

One last tear was shed and I managed to slip in a nod of understanding as my body and mind drifted to sleep at the sound of my lullaby. I welcomed the escape to unconsciousness with open arms. To leave behind the painful moments we had just spent was more than I could have hope for.