She fucking slapped me.

I mean, there was one conflicting part of my conscience that was fairly confident I deserved that shit. Using her one failed sexual experience to punctuate my point was an unforgivably low blow. It was a completely inconsiderate, harsh disregard of her feelings. I knew this shit, and a little part of me hated myself for saying it, but the other part of my conscience reminded me that it served its purpose better than anything else I could have mentioned. This whole mental instability shtick was her thing, not mine.

I had prepared myself so completely for the bitterness and defeat that would inevitably follow after she realized how right I was. I was prepared to soften my features and kiss her head, and tell her it was okay. It didn’t matter to me if she sometimes had difficulty discerning real memories from delusions. I’d love her no matter what.

Thankfully, the bitterness was painfully present in her shining eyes as her lip trembled, and I was so goddamn relieved as I stared back at her and mentally primed my fantastic comforting skills, because she was basically conceding that she was in my room last night. It was like the rising panic that had been building since lunch suddenly dissipated. Her eyes were brimming with moisture and defeat, and I anticipated holding her while she cried.

For about two seconds.

Then her lip stilled and her jaw locked, and instead of bitterness, I saw only conviction and certainty. The sight of it made my stomach twist and churn as I barely heard the fabric of her arm shifting.

And then she fucking slapped me.

And it wasn’t one of those girly bullshit smacks either. It almost knocked me over with the force of it, and my cheek was still throbbing in pain and stinging from the outside in. I mean, shit. She really just… slapped the living shit out of me. It really fucking hurt.

More.

I felt a brief swelling of pleasure that penetrated my irritation and anger for an abrupt moment. It was interrupted by the look in her eyes when I met her gaze again. Courage. Conviction. Anger. She used to be timid and meek, but I couldn’t find that in her eyes as she stared back at me. That one conflicting part of my brain that believed I deserved it wanted to be proud of her, but the other parts of my conscience drowned it out.

She looked fierce and regal and confident, and now as I stand here rubbing my cheek and gazing into her wild eyes, I realized she reminded me of how she looked last night. Almost cocky, save for her sallow cheeks and dry lips and purple under eye circles that contradicted everything else. This made my head spin as I closed my eyes and tried to sort through all this shit again, because her conviction was seriously damaging my own.

What was real? Was this Bella standing in front of me? Or was that her last night? Or were they both Bella all along and she didn’t know it? Or was she just… fucking with me?

I just didn’t know anymore, and it was completely fucked up that I could be so confused about something so obvious. I mean, I saw her on my goddamn sofa. I saw her tits and my necklace, and the red was there. I could still recall with perfect clarity the way her hair fell on her shoulders and her pale shins peeking out from under the skirt as she curled up on my sofa. The memory of her silky voice and wicked red grin was clearer than any memory in my head. She was here.

So who is this?

I opened my eyes and scanned her form suspiciously. She looked real. She looked like how she did last night, and yet she looked completely different all the same time. Confidence mixed with an air of fatigue.

I pushed that back and stroked my cheek soothingly as my mind suddenly justified why she was acting so dramatically to my insinuation. Because the guilty dog barks the loudest and…

The truth hurts, doesn’t it?

Bella moved closer to me then, stepping over the clothing while her dark eyes flashed in anger once again. I dropped my hand and stood straight as she gazed into my eyes, and I heard her arm shift once more, and then I could feel the blinding sting of another loud slap against my cheek, knocking me sideways with the force as I hissed and fought to stay horizontal.

“It doesn’t hurt at all, Edward, because it’s not true,” I heard her hard voice in front of me, and vaguely registered that I must have said that aloud. I wanted to curse my brain filter for choosing a frustratingly inconvenient moment to fail me, but… I didn’t regret it. The truth hurts.

I used a few moments to enjoy the sting before allowing her to taint my pleasure, and I idly appreciated that this version of Bella was a fucking fantastic slapper. She didn’t even bother alternating cheeks on a motherfucker.

When I finally turned my face to look at her, she had removed her hoodie, and was tugging up the hem of her shirt. And… What. The. Fuck? This shit was some sick and twisted fucking de ja vu moment as I glared at her acrimoniously.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I growled, deciding it didn’t matter if either Bella was real, because clearly, they were the same. She pulled her shirt over her head, her hair swaying around her shoulders as she removed the sweater and tossed the fabric aside.

Her jaw was taught and rigid, and her face was tinged a pale pink as she stood there—fucking topless—again. My intellectual abilities must have been totally fucked because, for some unjustifiable reason, I let my eyes wander from her face, lowering to the necklace she still wore—which didn’t aid in my confusion at all—and travel down to her white bra. Her skin looked flushed against the pale fabric as her breasts swelled above it with every huff.

She met my gaze, arching an eyebrow and looking so goddamn arrogant. “What? You don’t think I can follow through?” she asked in a silky and provocative tone as her hands went to the button of her jeans, and I swallowed all fucking thickly, still staring at her chest, and wondering how in the fuck I could even focus on something like hormones at a time like this.  

I swiftly turned my gaze to the wall to avoid her temptation, narrowing my eyes at the black scuffs from the sofa as I finally realized her intentions. “I’m not in the mood, but thanks for the offer,” I replied dryly, still stroking the inside of my cheek with my tongue as I heard her lower the denim and kick it aside. I became suddenly agitated that she was going to attempt to prove me wrong... like this. Such a one-track mind.

I could feel her glare on my cheek for a moment before she abruptly stepped into my view. I scrunched my nose in annoyance at her bare hips and legs, and tried to think of anything else as she moved close enough to smell.

Then she was fucking taunting me with her flesh against my jacket and her hands grabbing my waist as she suddenly smashed her lips to mine. A deep growl built low in my chest, and I turned my face away, using one hand to push her shoulder back because I wasn’t in the mood for her stubborn bullshit. I wasn’t going to give her the opportunity to convince me any further. Wasn’t it enough that I was already fucking questioning it?

She wasn’t pleased with my refusal, and before I could even register what was happening, my face was met with another sharp smack that made my vision white as I stumbled sideways and began grabbing blindly for something to keep me steady.
 
I managed to find my footing, and I didn’t even fucking bother soothing my cheek this time. My lips twitched in equal parts annoyance and pleasure as I turned to meet her gaze with a bitter grin.

More.

She was still all fucking cocky and determined, striding toward me once again and lunging for my face as she grabbed my hair and sucked my bottom lip into her mouth. My hands twitched at my sides as I allowed her to suck it between her teeth.

I fought the urge to return the kiss, feeling her body against mine, and her tongue stroking my lip in her mouth. I completely resisted the urge to shove my fingers into her hair and draw her closer. I fought her temptation—just because I knew it would really piss her off when she didn’t get her golden moment.

But then her hands went to my jacket and started pushing it open, and I was growing tired of all of this nonsense and her foolish persistence to prove herself. With a frustrated growl, I shoved her back roughly by the shoulder, and it was a careless idea because she still had my lip in her teeth.

I could feel the searing pain as she was launched backward, her teeth slicing through my lip as it was pulled from her mouth with the force of my shove. I hissed, instinctively bringing my hand to the lip as Bella stumbled slightly and returned my irritated gaze.

I lowered my hand from my mouth and her eyes followed it, widening as I looked down at my palm. Blood. My sight zeroed in on the scarlet that stained my flesh, pooling around the creases in my fingers and smearing as I rubbed it in. Red.

I sucked my lips into my mouth, tasting the coppery substance and completely entranced by both the stinging sensation of my saliva meeting the wound and the red that colored my fingertips.

More.

Glancing up at her, she stood in her underwear, white instead of red, and was staring at my bloody hand in awe. She was wearing white, but she was red too, just like before. Those mischievous lips parting as her hand came to wipe away the residual blood on her mouth.

I suppressed a smirk when I realized how much Bella hated blood. No way in hell would she kiss me now. It had to have completely killed the moment for her.

I win.

Then she met my gaze, and her wild eyes made it apparent that the fact that she just cut my lip didn’t affect her resolve at all. She was still standing in the middle of my room, all fucking confident and quirking an eyebrow at me assuredly. It was almost like she enjoyed drawing blood and slapping the shit out of me.

It was admittedly a little sexy and her self-assurance mixed with the pleasure of the stinging pain involuntarily stirred my hormones further. This pissed me off. The last thing I needed was my dick conceding to her antics.

It suddenly reminded me of that cocky version from the previous night. Look, but don’t touch. The way she had swayed across my carpet and taunted me with everything I wanted but wasn’t allowed to have. How she had to make that comment about my room… just fucking knowing how much it would have bothered me. Pointing out all of my insecurities and making me feel undeserving of all of her red and perfection. They way she smiled wickedly and removed her shirt. The winking. The hair twirling. The games.

Red Bella. White Bella. Both taunting and tempting me when I can’t have it.

Fucking cock tease.

Her eyes snapped up to mine and flashed wildly again, her brown hair all framing her flushed face as her red lips twisted into a sneer and her chest heaved and… oops. Did I say that aloud, Bella? My lips twitched bitterly as I realized, yes. I did say that aloud.

She lunged for me once more, and I just fucking let her because Red Bella would be confused, and White Bella would be really pissed when I didn’t respond. She splayed a palm against my chest, shoving my jacket off my shoulders as I stood and inspected her lips. They were still stained with blood, and I was admittedly smug with her annoyance when I stood completely still.

“Take it off,” she ordered breathlessly, tugging the arms of my jacket until she found a clever way around my stiff posture and managed to slide it off despite my resistance. I kept my eyes on her lips, refusing to stare at her tits, or waist, or perfect hips that were being hugged by her little white panties.

Once she had the jacket removed she began kissing my jaw, opening her mouth and nipping at my stubble as her hands rubbed up and down my chest. I suppressed a satisfied smirk as I stood still and resisted rather easily by fixing my attention over her shoulder on a hole in the wall that was caused by a projectile textbook. AP History, of course.

She grew impossibly more agitated as she fisted her hands into my shirt and pulled me closer. “Come on,” she growled against my neck, licking and kissing, and then suddenly her hand began traveling to the one place that was already giving her the reaction she desired. Fucking traitor.

I hissed softly through my clenched teeth as she pressed her palm into my crotch, rubbing and stroking while she licked my neck and began nipping with her teeth. I could feel her smile against my skin when she discovered how much she was affecting me, and I felt humiliated by the way my eyes hooded and my lips parted involuntarily at the feel of it.

That lesser part of my conscience was suddenly tired of fighting the pleasure of it or maybe just tired in general, but I was too tired to decide and really, too tired to give a shit about making the decision. I knew it was weak, but for a brief moment, I allowed myself to surrender to the overwhelming sensation of pleasure, turning my face slightly to her hair and inhaling as my hand lifted to ghost over her waist. My head began nuzzling itself into her hair as she pressed harder, eliciting an involuntary groan as my fingertips grazed the flesh of her bare hip.

And then finally I had to pull away, because she was going to win this game by doing some shady shit like that. I’d be damned if I’d let my lack of rational decision-making skills give her the upper hand and make me feel both sexually frustrated and insane simultaneously.

Plus, there’s always the possibility of…

Her hand met my cheek once again, and since I saw it coming—because honestly, both Bellas were a little predictable—I kept my neck stiff and didn’t turn my face as the sting and white pain resounded through my cheek.

More.

I kept my eyes locked on hers, feeling a little victorious when her face fell and she growled in frustration. Yes. There’s a lot of that shit going around, isn’t there? I stood silently while she huffed and appeared to be contemplating as her eyes shifted around the room. She looked utterly fucking flustered and calculating as she tucked her hair behind her ear and furrowed her brows in concentration.

I could see the wheels turning in her head as she bit her lip, running her fingers through her hair, and I hated to break it to either Bella, but this shit wasn’t going to work, so they might as well hang it up.

Suddenly something flashed in her eyes, her brows rising and smoothing as her gaze slowly traveled to mine. Her lips curled up into a wicked and knowing grin as her eyes darkened infinitesimally. Very Red Bella, I mentally noted. I suppressed a grimace at that grin as she stepped towards me, clasping her hands behind her back and popping her lips merrily. My eyes narrowed in suspicion as she nearly skipped to my front.

She gazed up into my eyes, tilting her head with the sweetest and most innocent expression she could surely muster after borderline beating my ass. I almost felt compelled to grin back at her because I knew better, and her sweet expression was tainted with sallow skin and purple eye lids that reminded me she wasn’t as strong as she was attempting to appear.

“It’s okay, Edward. I understand,” she replied with a faux coy smile and wide eyes as she licked her lips and shrugged her shoulders. “I’m sure after I go to therapy and get well enough to touch other men—” Already my throat was tightening and my fists were clenching as she brought one finger to my chest and swept it up to my chin. “One of them will be more than happy to accommodate my needs.” Her lips turned up into a sweet, lazy smirk as she tilted her head further and my stomach lurched.

Her eyes searched mine as I fought the urge to reach out and grab her to keep her here. We stood staring for many moments, and my chest fucking ached with the thought of someone else seeing that bra. White, red, it didn’t fucking matter. It was all supposed to be mine.

With another shrug, she turned and bent down to pick up her pants.

This was so different from Carlisle and Esme splitting us up.

If I let her go, it would all be gone, and I felt a phantom tickle of loss in the pit of my stomach that grew into something old and familiar like the memory of hugging my knees while I watched my life go up in flames. The feelings of letting it slip away when I could have just held out a hand.

I felt so fucking suffocated as I tried to resist the instinct to stop her that I began gasping for breath, fisting my hands into my jeans at my sides to ground myself. She began walking away, and I clenched my eyes closed in agony as I contemplated allowing her to leave. Something burned painfully in my throat as I imagined being devoid of all of her sleep and cookies and lust and love and affection and comfort.

Unbidden, the vision passed through my mind, and I saw the same thing that made my teeth grind and my chest constrict painfully. She’d get better, just like they wanted, and she’d know some other motherfucker’s hands and love and affection. Once she realized how much better she could do, she’d have no need for a crazy, possibly hallucinating piece of shit like me.

With a shuddering gasp, I opened my eyes and followed her form as she folded her pants over her arm and began collecting her shit off the floor. My eyes grew heavy as I followed her movements, my gaze scanning every little detail and scar on her flesh, recalling how it felt beneath my hands and lips.

Those slender legs and pale thighs. Her arms, shoulders, neck, and the perfect bumps of her spine as it descended and disappeared beneath her white panties. Her petite waist and they way her hip bones gently jutted out above the fabric. She didn’t look this skinny before. Before everything got fucked up and everyone found out, we were happy. If she stayed, we could find that again, and I’d do everything in my power to make her smile, but…

If she left, it’d all be gone.

I recalled every detail of her flesh before it became impossible to contain the urge any longer.

She’s my girl. My mind screamed it possessively in my ears as she approached the door with her clothes in her arms. My gasping breaths turned deep and laborious as I walked forward, involuntarily allowing my instincts to control my movements, and the barely familiar spark igniting something deep and animalistic as I sprang across the floor.

Her red lips still held a hint of a lazy smirk as I surrendered shamefully and lunged for her, grabbing her waist from behind in an angry desperation, not startling her at all as I crushed her back to my body. Her shoulders went slack as I wrapped my arms entirely around her waist and tightened my grip to bury my nose in her neck. Smelling my flowers and cookies.

I could feel her breathing accelerate, that tinge of excitement in her eyes that confounded me as I spun her around and pressed her against the wall beside the door.

Our noses touched and she bit her lip, visibly suppressing a smile as she sighed in contentment and my hand reached blindly at my side. I found the door knob and slammed it shut angrily, the walls vibrating, as her red lips twitched and she writhed against my hips triumphantly. I fumbled with the knob, locking it hastily while my eyes raked over her shoulders and my teeth ground together at the thought of her nearly leaving me.

Really pissed off about that, my fist met the wall beside her head as I met her gaze and felt the drywall give out against my knuckles. Once again, her eyes flashed in excitement, and even though she was assuming some fucking meek position below me, she still looked arrogant and smug as she began lifting my shirt. She kind of looked like a bitch, but… at least she was my bitch.

My girl.

I shoved my dusty fingers into her hair and crushed my lips to hers with a growl as I forced my tongue between her lips. She moaned, encouraging this festering instinct that made my chest ache as she fought to lift my shirt.

It was depraved, all of the thousands of ways I unwillingly imagined taking her as I tore my lips away and ripped my shirt off over my head. Against the wall, on the floor, over the back of the goddamn couch she may or may not have occupied last night. It didn’t matter, just as long as I made her mine, I didn’t give a shit where we did it.

Deciding to enjoy this brief lapse of sanity, my fingers went to her bra straps, tearing them away roughly, and I vaguely registered that my hands trembled while I pushed them down her arms. She moaned at my aggressive movements against her flesh and arched her back off the wall so I could access the clasp and remove it.

And I really fucking tried, panting against her face and fumbling with shaky fingers as I worked to remove it. I could feel her getting impatient, arching her back further into me to grant me more space before I just started pulling until it finally snapped.

With a grunt, I tossed it aside and palmed her breasts between us.

Mine.

She hummed and let her head fall back to the wall, that small smile still playing on her lips as I dug my fingertips into her flesh and tried to stop my hands from shaking.

She suddenly put her hands over mine, gazing into my eyes as my teeth ground and a growl built low in my chest again. She leaned in close to my ear as I pushed her farther into the wall, trapping her while she kissed my earlobe.

She sighed into my ear as my hands still trembled between us and I panted into her neck. “I’m your girl.” She breathed intentionally while bringing my earlobe into her mouth, and I vaguely remembered that whole brain filter problem. Could she hear me saying all that shit? I decided it didn’t matter, because she was telling me she was mine.

All mine.

I groaned into her hair at the sound of her saying that and suddenly her lips were back on my neck, parting against the skin as I dug my fingertips deeper into her flesh. I felt her teeth on my skin as she bit down gently, likely hoping to spur me on.

“Harder,” I growled into her hair, ordering her to make me hers. Obediently, her teeth sank in deeper, but I kept repeating my request until the sting was something pleasurable, and with the growing pressure, my breathing turned to hisses and my vision suddenly changed. I had no idea why, or what was happening, but something wasn’t right.

It was like walking through a movie screen where I could feel and hear everything, but I couldn’t connect to my limbs after that initial instant of pain and possessiveness. I didn’t realize it until I tried to lessen my grip, and found that I couldn’t. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to, but I let my hands grip her ass and carry her to the bed. My movements felt automatic and rigid but I couldn’t find that thread that attached my thoughts to my body.

The sudden realization was startling and immediately blanketed my every thought with dread and fear as I kept attempting to loosen my grip.

I could feel myself ripping off her panties with her teeth still attached to my neck. The sensations were there as I unbuttoned my pants and hastily slid them down. It all felt oddly amplified in touch, but I couldn’t change the course of their movements anymore.

She felt silky and smooth yet rough as my hands grasped her hips, my fingertips dug into her flesh, and even though I knew it had to be hurting her, and I should be more careful, the caution just… wasn’t connecting to my fingers.

I trapped her beneath me on the rumpled bed, and my hips were shoving her into the mattress as my vision tried to fix on something, but everything was clouded and murky. I figured I could completely panic over the total loss of control or just submit, and let it play its course. I wasn’t sure I had any other choice, and it scared me shitless as she removed her teeth from my neck.

And then she tried to move out from under me, sliding out from under my arm, and I could hear my voice growl something oddly unintelligible to my own ears as I grabbed her wrists and held her down. Then the telltale panic began gripping me because this was so utterly… fucked, and I was completely helpless. I felt my lips against hers, licking and forcing as I grasped her wrists and heard a soft moan from beneath me.

I could feel rather than see her smile against my lips as she opened her mouth and assured me she just wanted to get a condom. Of course, my mind knew this, and it was trying to tell my body to back the fuck off for two seconds, but was unforgivably uncertain of its capability to do so. I fought against it and used every bit of resolve I could possibly access to lessen my grip on her wrists.

I was thankful that I still had an inkling of rationally connected thought to let her go… just enough to allow her to slide out from under me. But I was right behind her with my arms around her waist, letting her guide me to the dresser that I only opened with one hand.

The drawer was just a clutter of colors blurring together into fuzzy shapes and my hands felt for it while my other held her waist and my face buried itself into her hair. I could smell it, and I could feel it against my lips as my hand found the box and began dragging her back to the bed hastily, and I used the smell to soothe my anxiety.

Her drowsy giggle sounded in my ears as I pushed her in front of me, and I idly wondered if she was going as insane as I was. She had no fucking idea how truly fucked this all was. I wanted to open my mouth and tell her something was wrong, and we could do it later when I had control of my actions if it was really that important. But every time I opened my mouth, I couldn’t even understand what I was saying.

Whatever it was, it made the blurred shape of her lips curl up into a grin as I spun around and sat on the bed, pulling her into my lap facing me. I couldn’t decide why my body wanted it like that, her on top instead of me, but it obviously did and the better part of my working conscience was grateful because this position would lessen the chances of her being hurt.

After a few moments of my hands pulling and digging into her flesh, I began feeling her sliding the condom onto me, my face still burying itself into her hair as my hands pulled her hips closer. Ready and apparently growing frustrated with the idle pace of her fingers working the latex.

She was leading, which felt odd to me since she didn’t have the experience, but I wasn’t sure she had a choice, because my hands wouldn’t do anything but pull her closer to where my body wanted her. My fingertips kept digging deeper into her hips, and I could hear my low grunt as she lifted herself and got into position.

My mouth opened, and I couldn’t understand what I was saying, but it made her moan as she dropped her lips back to my neck. There was white and green in my vision as I gazed over her shoulder, and I could feel this ache as my hands dug deeper into her sides. Without even a moment to expect it, they shoved her down onto me.

She met my lap as my hands forced her down, and I’m positive I was as shocked as Bella with the rapid movement. It was too fucking fast. Too hard. I didn’t like it one bit. I could feel her gasp into my skin as her body grew rigid and I didn’t know if it was shock or panic, but I hoped and fucking prayed my body would let me have control again if she said that word.

I wanted to stay still, give her time to react before I decided how much to fight this goddamn incapability of controlling anything. But my hips began rocking slightly and my tongue was on her neck as my fingers dug deeper into her hips. As my tongue met her flesh she began breathing heavily, and I could feel it against my skin, shuddering and hot. I was begging her with my kiss on her neck as much as I could possibly manage.

Please, don’t fucking say it.

Not because I wanted to keep going. Not because I wanted her to be right and prove herself. Not because I could hear myself groaning in pleasure at the oddly amplified sensation of everything, and not even because it felt absolutely fucking perfect to that part of my conscience that had control.

I didn’t want her to say it because I was going to be such a fucking monster when she did, and I couldn’t let her up. My hips kept rocking against my will, and I tried to convince myself my hands were holding her hips steady until I knew she was okay. But I couldn’t decide how true that was.

My eyes never closed, or even blinked as my nose began nudging her earlobe and I could feel her breathing steady against me again. I couldn’t determine if it was a positive sign or if I should start… attacking my own mind to let her go.

But then she lifted her face from my neck, and I could barely make out the fuzzy shape of her lips as they curved up into a smirk and she rocked back into me victoriously.

The sound that escaped my mouth alarmed me as my hands gripped her impossibly tighter. I could see her lips growing into a wider smile—white between red—as she rocked again to intentionally recreate my reaction.

I couldn’t make her eyes out clearly, and it was difficult to judge her expression, but the smile appeared fairly self-proud, still a little arrogant and self-assured as her fingers began tugging at my hair. I allowed her pleasure to calm my panic minutely. She looked so smug, spurring me on, that the functioning part of my conscious wished I possessed the capability to roll my eyes at her.

What do you want? A gold fucking star? I thought in annoyance at her smugness and watched as her smile grew impossibly larger.

Her lips moved in a fuzzy blur as she spoke low and softly. “I much prefer silver, but thanks for asking.”

Just as I remembered that goddamn missing brain filter and was contemplating using it to explain that something wasn’t right with me, my hands suddenly moved lower, and took two fistful of her flesh to lift her up, trembling as I felt the amplified sensations and suddenly shoved her down in another abruptly rough movement.

Apparently, all my body needed was a sarcastic remark to feel assured that she was okay enough to continue. I wanted to feel relieved that my body, even its baser state, realized that she was precious, but I couldn’t feel relieved at all.

Because it repeated the lift and shove so fucking aggressively that I was utterly terrified, trapped inside of my mind as I watched the shape of her lips and listened to our grunts of pleasure. My hands kept repeating it, and I tried to get away from the feelings and sounds of skin clapping as her voice grew louder and echoed in my ears.

I think it was frantic and urgent, but I turned away, trying to block it out so I didn’t have to see myself acting so fucking animalistic. I only paid attention to the sounds my girl was making, and even though they were obviously not the cries of panic or fear, it didn’t make me feel any better.

Her knees caressed my hips as I moved her, and even though I knew she wasn’t, it felt like she was rubbing me with sandpaper. Every tiny touch was exaggerated and staggering with her breath against my face that felt like fire as she panted and yelped.

Something obscure and terrifying began building in my stomach and my hands moved faster and tighter as I felt her flesh around my fingertips. The intensity of it made my heart hum it was thumping so erratically, and my panic grew to epic proportions as I foolishly began focusing on my own movements and sounds.

It was so desperate and guttural, almost as if my body were trying to purge itself of something as my hands and hips worked furiously. It was so fucking appalling that I was wondering if the building pressure wasn’t nausea, because I would have loved to have vomited in that moment as I heard and felt myself fucking my girl like some goddamn savage.

The building pressure was coupled with her lips once again on my neck, her teeth sinking into that same spot, and the pain of it amplified everything impossibly more as my hands began shoving her onto me with more force, my grunts transforming into desperate and sharp grating snarls.

It could have been hours, or it could have been minutes as my hands and hips began moving almost violently, filling my ears with the lingering slapping of skin and grunts and muffled whimpers as my arms burned with exertion.

I felt and listened powerlessly as it escalated, until suddenly, everything shifted and plummeted so unexpectedly that it made my stomach twist. The pressure abruptly ruptured into a blinding implosion that I thought would surely ruin me.

Everything felt agonizingly painful and fractured as my body convulsed and my mind instinctively recoiled away from every sensation. It wasn’t pleasure at all, and the amplified sensations all felt so excruciating that I wasn’t shuddering and cringing in satisfaction of an orgasm.

It was total fucking torture, and I fought to jerk away from it as my guttural sounds suddenly turned to agonized cries into her shoulder. My body, skin and limbs, stung with a violent reverberating buzz until I could feel moisture on my cheeks against her skin, and it was finally over.

My mind went blank for an immeasurable amount of time as I was gradually surrendered control of my movements. My face came first, and I buried it deep into her shoulder to fight off the residual memory of the agonizing sensation that still left lingering twinges of stinging pleasure.

My hands came next, and I removed my fingertips from her flesh so hastily that I could barely register the motion in my fuzzy mind as they moved to embrace her around the waist. I could vaguely realize that she was panting into my neck, her teeth still lightly attached to the tender and throbbing bite wound as I clung to her for dear life, wincing with every sudden movement.

Bella must have thought I was just really enjoying the whole fucked up experience because I could feel her lips curl up into a smile on my neck as she slid them over her teeth and sighed. I wasn’t sure if I should be pissed off about it, resentful, vindictive, or any of the other emotions I would have expected to feel after having so much pain inflicted on me.

I couldn’t really feel anything but the lingering buzz of turmoil, until my chest began feeling heavy and burdened with something suffocating. Then unexpectedly, a loud and strangled sob suddenly erupted from my throat, making my body heave against her damp skin. I tried to suppress it for as long as possible. Holding my breath and squeezing her tightly, before I decided it was just fucking useless. Surrendering for the fifth time that day, I allowed the pressure in my chest to rupture and release at its own fucking will.

I had no will today.

I used her shoulder to stifle my sobs as my body began rocking unthinkingly to soothe itself. My tears soaked her flesh, and she must have –finally – realized that something was wrong, because her whole body went rigid, and she tried to pull back. I held her firmly in place against me, and I wasn’t doing it to keep her there. I was just holding her tight because I was scared shitless that I wasn’t grounded enough to my own body anymore.

Her breathing grew rapid, and I could feel her hands on either side of my head, trying to pry my face up. “What’s wrong?” she asked in an alarmed and breathless voice as I rocked her in my lap. I just shook my fucking head, because how do you explain something like that? My chest produced the deepest and most pathetically desperate sobs, as if my body needed to rid itself of the remnants of whatever the fucking couldn’t purge. Even though it was humiliating, I allowed myself to expel every cry into her shoulder because pride was so far from being a priority, it was just embarrassing.

I could feel Bella’s alarm escalating as she continued her fruitless attempts to pull away and look at my face, but I held her tight, maybe too tight, and I couldn’t bring myself to really give a shit.

She eventually stilled her attempts with a huff and resumed caressing my hair as she rested her cheek on my shoulder. “Please, Edward. You’re scaring me,” she pleaded in a desperate and strangled whisper against my neck, and if I weren’t busy sobbing uncontrollably, I would have fucking laughed at her.

Now I’m scaring you?

She let me rock and cry for many moments until she suddenly lifted her cheek with a gasp. “Let me hum you to sleep,” she spoke rapidly and assuredly as if she just knew this would fix me. Her fingers began stroking my hair with more familiar and intentional caresses.

Her offer tumbled around in my head as I finally allowed my sobs to diminish with deep and calming breaths of flowers and cookies mingled with sweat.

Sleep.

It sounded really fucking useless to me for some reason.

I turned my face to rest my cheek on her shoulder as I stared blankly out the window, still lightly swaying us back and forth. I used my mostly recovered visual clarity to scan the bare trees outside the window until I finally realized that… I wasn’t tired.

I wasn’t energized or refreshed and my body still felt completely exhausted from the skin on my toes to the tips of my hair, but I wasn’t tired. I was just… here. Nothing more and nothing less.

There were black birds flying and chirping as they perched on the bare branches of the trees by the river, and as I swayed me and my girl lightly on the edge of my bed in the destruction of my room, I let go, and I gave up.

“I’m not tired,” I replied in a grating whisper that sounded dead even to my own ears, and I had no idea what the fuck was wrong with me, but I felt so detached that it was endlessly relieving. I reasoned, maybe this was what it felt like after someone finally gives up.  Just... done.

I stilled my rocking and removed my arms from her waist, nudging her hips gently to indicate I was ready to let her up. She hesitantly leaned back, finally capable of seeing my face as her hands ceased their ministrations on my hair. When her confused gaze met mine, her face swiftly transformed into a horrified and appalled expression. I supposed I must have looked pretty shitty, but I just nudged her once more until she had climbed off of my lap because she looked perfectly okay. I was thankful I didn’t have to worry about that, and it was odd how the mortification I should have been feeling towards what just happened never really came.

I could feel her wide eyed gaze on my face as I collected my pants and pulled them on gingerly, still hyper sensitive in certain areas. And then I just grabbed my jacket, searching the pockets for my cigarettes, and walked to the balcony doors.

I paused as I approached, my hand lingering over the knob. “Are you okay?” I asked in my hoarse monotone voice, just because I had to. Just because she was more important than whatever happened to me, and I wasn’t sure I could ever really give up on that.

I didn’t turn to look at her as she answered with a small and strained, “I’m fine,”—emphasis on the “I” —because I couldn’t look at her hips where I just knew I’d see my hands. I could deal with that shit later if I really had to, but right now I was letting it go.

The April air still held a hint of chill, but was mostly damp with humidity as I stepped outside and lowered myself against the white siding of the house. I pulled my knees to my chest and gazed blankly over the yard and black birds that flocked the trees along the river bank. The wind felt cold and soothing against my bare damp chest as I lit a cigarette, but I didn’t smoke it.

I just let it fucking burn.
 

A/N: So, this didn’t get all of the questions answered (what did Edward needs Carlisle’s help for?), and I really wanted to go on, because in reality, this was only ¾ of what it was meant to cover. Sadly, I was afraid to overload everyone’s minds with so much information at once, and this is terribly long. A lot to take in.

I’m going to cover some things that grant explanations and insight into what’s happening to Edward, and not because I feel the need to, but because so much time and effort went into research that I can’t NOT explain it.

And…  shit dude… a big “Yo!” to the peeps at the psych forums for answering my questions and not treating me like a total freak when I spent two days posting about nothing but masochism and painfully excruciating orgasms. I’m so past pride right now, it’s laughable.

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-The hallucination of Red Bella was psychosis, definitely brought about by the extreme sleep deprivation mixed with amphetamines. A wiki search for psychosis will answer any of these questions, and will explain some of his other behavior abnormalities during this chapter.
-Red Bella is a manifestation of two things. The first being that, as far as Edward has seen, Bella was at her best on Valentine’s Day. She was happy, sleeping, and assumedly healthy, so it makes sense for him to see her manifested subconsciously in this way. But because she is from his mind, she takes on his characteristics subtly. She is his ideal version of Bella, yet projected with unintentional traits of himself. (i.e. Calling him ‘Cullen’, raking her fingers through her hair, the smirks.)
-Edward’s possessive nature upon Bella’s threat could be seen as some form of separation anxiety disorder. Even though it seems odd, Bella represents a maternal force in his life. We all know where this is going. Cue the Oedipus complex, eh?
-When Edward loses control of his functions, and has a sort of ‘out of body experience’, this is called depersonalization. It is fairly essential to this chapter, and is a result of the psychosis and sleep deprivation mixed with amphetamine usage.
-Most people won’t catch this in the correct context, but his brain is mixing his pleasure/pain responses due to various dysfunctions of his neurological health at the given time. I won’t go into terms like somatosensory pathways and nociceptors, but I will say that positive stimuli induces negative reactions (his pleasure is painful), and negative stimuli induces positive reactions (his pain is pleasurable).
Bella’s response is likely easier to comprehend. It could possibly be seen as some variant of abreaction, but I don’t need to get scientific with this. She is getting an unimaginable level of vindication for fighting back in the face of a perpetrator. It is empowering for her, and she gets a high from feeling strong, as opposed to weak and helpless. In fact, if I wanted to get really psychological and justify her preference for submission to Edward’s dominance even after this realization, I could totally look to Frued.
“People become masochistic as a way of regulating their desire to sexually dominate others. The desire to submit, on the other hand arises from guilt feelings over the desire to dominate.” – Sigmund Freud

Yes. I need a life.

Other important notes involve the significance of red, all over this motherfucker. Red this, red, that. Red red red.

Psychologically, the color red is a stimulant, and has been shown to increase appetite and physical energy. Studies have shown that red can increase blood pressure and even perspiration. It’s been noted as a negative stimulant for many psychological disorders, including, but not limited to, psychosis and schizophrenia. 

Metaphorically, the color red symbolizes temptation, energy, fire, arrogance, hunger, anger, lust, and passion and holy shit… why am I still talking about this? Seriously. Make. Me. Stop.

I could go on and on, but I need to address questions now that will inevitably flood my inbox in the next three seconds. Go.
-Bella’s not pregnant.
-Edward’s not going to attempt suicide or OD in any, way, shape, or form.
-Edward’s not fundamentally insane. His mind is just shutting down from the lack of sleep.
-Jacob is not in this fic. Ever.
-You may be assuming that Edward is going to Daddy C. for therapy purposes. I’m neither confirming nor denying this at this time. Is spoiler, and one reason why I was so miffed with having to end this chapter here.
-Edward did NOT rape Bella.
-Edward did not significantly injure Bella.
-Edward is not meant to be villainized, and this was not my intention.
-Bella was not meant to be villianized either.
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Plug for TLYDF because I have a rec coming on the 8th, and an article on the 18th.

Shoutouts: MGU, Twilighted, Ravelry, IMDB peeps, the WA Facebook group(s), PublishWA LJ, the 30STM fan site gals and fellow Leto fangirls, the Baby Center gals, children’s clothing forum thingy people (seriously, give me a name), everyone in Poland, VBC, life in a tizzy, robsessed, the dA crowd, Touchstone and her awesome collages, all the PMers and reviewers, and some one or group that I probably forgot. I did use my list this time though.

My special friends, Smellyia, emibella, DT, JDSK, Gustariana and my pity for her prehistoric electronics, Ava, siDEADde, OCDindeed for pushing Gail to make that E/J outtake because I’m glad to have someone on my side in this, and everyone I’ve been hiding from since last update.

Most of all, a big fat thanks full of hugs and kisses to Angel for making this whole chapter possible. She stayed up with me for days and nights, slaving over her gchat and helping me perfect everything. She listened to my nonsensical ranting about psychological shit that she could care less about and basically made this chapter awesome by reading every scene a million times. I [heart] you so hard, Gail.

Reviews are better than Moore and Connery combined.