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I shuddered as he pulled me through the dark stone archway. The huge, ancient portcullis above was like a cage door, threatening to drop on us, to lock us in.

 

He led me toward a dark car, waiting in a pool of shadow to the right of the gate with the engine running. To my surprise, he slid into the backseat with me, instead of insisting on driving.

 

Alice was apologetic. "I'm sorry." She gestured vaguely toward the dashboard. "There wasn't much to choose from."

 

"It's fine, Alice." He grinned. "They can't all be 911 Turbos."

 

She sighed. "I may have to acquire one of those legally. It was fabulous."

 

"I'll get you one for Christmas," Edward promised.

 

Alice turned to beam at him, which worried me, as she was already speeding down the dark and curvy hillside at the same time.

 

"Yellow," she told him.

 

Edward kept me tight in his arms. Inside the gray cloak, I was warm and comfortable. More than comfortable.

 

"You can sleep now, Bella," he murmured. "It's over."

 

I knew he meant the danger, the nightmare in the ancient city, but I still had to swallow hard before I could answer.

 

"I don't want to sleep. I'm not tired." Just the second part was a lie. I wasn't about to close my eyes. The car was only dimly lit by the dashboard controls, but it was enough that I could see his face.

 

He pressed his lips to the hollow under my ear. "Try," he encouraged.

 

I shook my head.

 

He sighed. "You're still just as stubborn."

 

I was stubborn; I fought with my heavy lids, and I won.

 

The dark road was the hardest part; the bright lights at the airport in Florence made it easier, as did the chance to brush my teeth and change into clean clothes; Alice bought Edward new clothes, too, and he left the dark cloak on a pile of trash in an alley. The plane trip to Rome was so short that there wasn't really a chance for the fatigue to drag me under. I knew the flight from Rome to Atlanta would be another matter entirely, so I asked the flight attendant if she could bring me a Coke.

 

"Bella," Edward said disapprovingly. He knew my low tolerance for caffeine.

 

Alice was behind us. I could hear her murmuring to Jasper on the phone.

 

"I don't want to sleep," I reminded him. I gave him an excuse that was believable because it was true. "If I close my eyes now, I'll see things I don't want to see. I'll have nightmares."

 

He didn't argue with me after that.

 

It would have been a very good time to talk, to get the answers I needed—needed but not really wanted; I was already despairing at the thought of what I might hear. We had an uninterrupted block of tirre ahead of us, and he couldn't escape me on an airplane—well, not easily, at least. No one would hear us except Alice; it was late, and most of the passengers were turning off lights and asking for pillows in muted voices. Talk would help me fight off the exhaustion.

 

But, perversely, I bit my tongue against the flood of questions. My reasoning was probably flawed by exhaustion, but I hoped that by postponing the discussion, I could buy a few more hours with him at some later time—spin this out for another night, Scheherazade-style.

 

So I kept drinking soda, and resisting even the urge to blink. Edward seemed perfectly content to hold me in his arms, his fingers tracing my face again and again. I touched his face, too. I couldn't stop myself, though I was afraid it would hurt me later, when I was alone again. He continued to kiss my hair, my forehead, my wrists… but never my lips, and that was good. After all, how many ways can one heart be mangled and still be expected to keep beating? I'd lived through a lot that should have finished me in the last few days, but it didn't make me feel strong. Instead, I felt horribly fragile, like one word could shatter me.

 

Edward didn't speak. Maybe he was hoping I would sleep. Maybe he had nothing to say.

 

I won the fight against my heavy lids. I was awake when we reached the airport in Atlanta, and I even watched the sun beginning to rise over Seattle's cloud cover before Edward slid the window shut. I was proud of myself. I hadn't missed one minute.

 

Neither Alice nor Edward was surprised by the reception that waited for us at Sea-Tac airport, but it caught me off guard. Jasper was the first one I saw—he didn't seem to see me at all. His eyes were only for Alice. She went quickly to his side; they didn't embrace like other couples meeting there. They only stared into each other's faces, yet, somehow, the moment was so private that I still felt the need to look away.

 

Carlisle and Esme waited in a quiet corner far from the line for the metal detectors, in the shadow of a wide pillar. Esme reached for me, hugging me fiercely, yet awkwardly, because Edward kept his arms around me, too.

 

"Thank you so much," she said in my ear.

 

Then she threw her arms around Edward, and she looked like she would be crying if that were possible.

 

"You will never put me through:hat again," she nearly growled.

 

Edward grinned, repentant. "Sorry, Mom."

 

"Thank you, Bella," Carlisle said. "We owe you."

 

"Hardly," I mumbled. The sleepless night was suddenly overpowering. My head felt disconnected from my body.

 

"She's dead on her feet," Esme scolded Edward. "Let's get her home."

 

Not sure if home was what I wanted at this point, I stumbled, half-blind, through the airport, Edward dragging me on one side and Esme on the other. I didn't know if Alice and Jasper were behind us or not, and I was too exhausted to look.

 

I think I was mostly asleep, though I was still walking, when we reached their car. The surprise of seeing Emmett and Rosalie leaning against the black sedan under the dim lights of the parking garage revived me some. Edward stiffened.

 

"Don't," Esme whispered. "She feels awful."

 

"She should," Edward said, making no attempt to keep his voice down.

 

"It's not her fault," I said, my words garbled with exhaustion.

 

"Let her make amends," Esme pleaded. "We'll ride with Alice and Jasper."

 

Edward glowered at the absurdly lovely blond vampire waiting for us.

 

"Please, Edward," I said. I didn't want to ride with Rosalie any more than he seemed to, but I'd caused more than enough discord in his family.

 

He sighed, and towed me toward the car.

 

Emmett and Rosalie got in the front seat without speaking, while Edward pulled me in the back again. I knew I wasn't going to be able to fight my eyelids anymore, and I laid my head against his chest in defeat, letting them close. I felt the car purr to life.

 

"Edward," Rosalie began.

 

"I know." Edward's brusque tone was not generous.

 

"Bella?" Rosalie asked softly.

 

My eyelids fluttered open in shock. It was the first time she'd ever spoken directly to me.

 

"Yes, Rosalie?" I asked, hesitant.

 

"I'm so very sorry, Bella. I feel wretched about every part of this, and so grateful that you were brave enough to go save my brother after what I did. Please say you'll forgive me."

 

The words were awkward, stilted because of her embarrassment, but they seemed sincere.

 

"Of course, Rosalie," I mumbled, grasping at any chance to make her hate me a little less. "It's not your fault at all. I'm the one who jumped off the damn cliff. Of course I forgive you."

 

The words came out like mush.

 

"It doesn't count until she's conscious, Rose," Emmett chuckled.

 

"I'm conscious," I said; it just sounded like a garbled sigh.

 

"Let her sleep," Edward insisted, but his voice was a little warmer.

 

It was quiet then, except for the gentle thrum of the engine. I must have fallen asleep, because it seemed like seconds later when the door opened and Edward was carrying me from the car. My eyes wouldn't open. At first I thought we were still at the airport.

 

And then I heard Charlie.

 

"Bella!" he shouted from some distance.

 

"Charlie," I mumbled, trying to shake off the stupor.

 

"Shh," Edward whispered. "It's okay; you're home and safe. Just sleep."

 

"I can't believe you have the nerve to show your face here." Charlie bellowed at Edward, his voice much closer now.

 

"Stop it, Dad," I groaned. He didn't hear me.

 

"What's wrong with her?" Charlie demanded.

 

"She's just very tired, Charlie," Edward assured him quietly. "Please let her rest."

 

"Don't tell me what to do!" Charlie yelled. "Give her to me. Get your hands off her!"

 

Edward tried to pass me to Charlie, but I clung to him with locked, tenacious fingers. I could feel my dad yanking on my arm.

 

"Cut it out, Dad," I said with more volume. I managed to drag my lids back to stare at Charlie with bleary eyes. "Be mad at me."

 

We were in front of my house. The front door was standing open. The cloud cover overhead was too thick to guess at a time of day.

 

"You bet I will be," Charlie promised. "Get inside." i'"Kay. Let me down," I sighed.

 

Edward set me on my feet. I could see that I was upright, but I couldn't feel my legs. I trudged forward anyway, until the sidewalk swirled up toward my face. Edward's arms caught me before I hit the concrete.

 

"Just let me get her upstairs," Edward said. "Then I'll leave."

 

"No," I cried, panicking. I hadn't got my answers yet. He had to stay for at least that much, didn't he?

 

"I won't be far," Edward promised, whispering so low in my ear that Charlie didn't have a hope of hearing.

 

I didn't hear Charlie answer, but Edward headed into the house. My open eyes only made it till the stairs. The last thing I felt was Edward's cool hands prying my fingers loose from his shirt.

23. THE TRUTH

 

 

I HAD THE SENSE THAT I'D BEEN ASLEEP FOR A VERY long time—my body was stiff, like I hadn't moved once through all that time, either. My mind was dazed and slow; strange, colorful dreams—dreams and nightmares—swirled dizzily around the inside of my head. They were so vivid. The horrible and the heavenly, all mixed together into a bizarre jumble. There was sharp impatience and fear, both part of that frustrating dream where your feet can't move fast enough… And there were plenty of monsters, red-eyed fiends that were all the more ghastly for their genteel civility. The dream was still strong—I could even remember the names. But the strongest, clearest part of the dream was not the horror. It was the angel that was most clear.

 

It was hard to let him go and wake up. This dream did not want to be shoved away into the vault of dreams I refused to revisit. I struggled with it as my mind became more alert, focusing on reality. I couldn't remember what day of the week it was, but I was sure Jacob or school or work or something was waiting for me. I inhaled deeply, wondering how to face another day.

 

Something cold touched my forehead with the softest pressure.

 

I squeezed my eyes more tightly shut. I was still dreaming, it seemed, and it felt abnormally real. I was so close to waking… any second now, and it would be gone.

 

But I realized that it felt too real, too real to be good for me. The stone arms I imagined wrapped around me were far too substantial. If I let this go any further, I'd be sorry for it later. With a resigned sigh, I wrenched back my eyelids to dispel the illusion.

 

"Oh!" I gasped, and threw my fists over my eyes.

 

Well, clearly, I'd gone too far; it must have been a mistake to let my imagination get so out of hand. Okay, so "let" was the wrong word. I'd forced it to get out of hand—pretty much stalked my hallucinations—and now my mind had snapped.

 

It took less than half a second for me to realize that, as long as I was truly insane now, I might as well enjoy the delusions while they were pleasant.

 

I opened my eyes again—and Edward was still there, his perfect face just inches away from mine.

 

"Did I frighten you?" His low voice was anxious. This was very good, as delusions went. The face, the voice, the scent, everything—it was so much better than drowning. The beautiful figment of my imagination watched my changing expressions, with alarm. His irises were pitch-black, with bruise-like shadows under them. This surprised me; my hallucinatory Edwards were usually better fed.

 

I blinked twice, desperately trying to remember the last thing that I was sure was real. Alice was part of my dream, and I wondered if she had really come back at all, or if that was just the preamble. I thought she'd returned the day I'd nearly drowned…

 

"Oh, crap" I croaked. My throat was thick with sleeping.

 

"What's wrong, Bella?"

 

I frowned at him unhappily. His face was even more anxious than before.

 

"I'm dead, right?" I moaned. "I did drown. Crap, crap, crap! This is gonna kill Charlie."

 

Edward frowned, too. "You're not dead."

 

"Then why am I not waking up?" I challenged, raising my eyebrows.

 

"You are awake, Bella."

 

I shook my head. "Sure, sure. That's what you want me to think. And then it will be worse when I do wake up. If I wake up, which I won't, because I'm dead. This is awful. Poor Charlie. And Renee and Jake…" I trailed off in horror at what I had done.

 

"I can see where you might confuse me with a nightmare." His short-lived smile was grim. "But I can't imagine what you could have done to wind up in hell. Did you commit many murders while I was away?"

 

I grimaced. "Obviously not. If I was in hell, you wouldn't be with me."

 

He sighed.

 

My head was getting clearer. My eyes flickered away from his face—unwillingly—for one second, to the dark, open window, and then back to him. I started to remember details… and I felt a faint, unfamiliar blush warm the skin over my cheekbones as I slowly realized that Edward was really, truly here with me, and I was wasting time being an idiot.

 

"Did all of that really happen, then?" It was almost impossible to reassign my dream as reality. I couldn't wrap my head around the concept.

 

"That depends." Edward's smile was still hard. "If you're referring to us nearly being massacred in Italy, then, yes."

 

"How strange," I mused. "I really went to Italy. Did you know I'd never been farther east than Albuquerque?"

 

He rolled his eyes. "Maybe you should go back to sleep. You're not coherent."

 

"I'm not tired anymore." It was all coming clear now. "What time is it? How long have I been sleeping?"

 

"It's just after one in the morning. So, about fourteen hours."

 

I stretched as he spoke. I was so stiff.

 

"Charlie?" I asked.

 

Edward frowned. "Sleeping. You should probably know that I'm breaking the rules right now. Well, not technically, since he said I was never to walk through his door again, and I came in the window… But, still, the intent was clear."

 

"Charlie banned you from the house?" I asked, disbelief quickly melting into fury.

 

His eyes were sad. "Did you expect anything else?"

 

My eyes were mad. I was going to have a few words with my father—perhaps it would be a good time to remind him that I was over the legal age of adulthood. It didn't matter so much, of course, except in principle. All too soon there would be no reason for the prohibition. I turned my thoughts to less painful avenues.

 

"What's the story?" I asked, genuinely curious, but also trying desperately to keep the conversation casual, to keep a firm grip on myself, so I wouldn't scare him away with the frantic, gnawing craving that was raging inside me.

 

"What do you mean?"

 

"What am I telling Charlie? What's my excuse for disappearing for… how long was I gone, anyway?" I tried to count the hours in my head.

 

"Just three days." His eyes tightened, but he smiled more naturally this time. "Actually, I was hoping you might have a good explanation. I've got nothing."

 

I groaned. "Fabulous."

 

"Well, maybe Alice will come up with something," he offered, trying to comfort me.

 

And I was comforted. Who cared what I had to deal with later? Every second that he was here—so close, his flawless face glowing in the dim light from the numbers on my alarm clock—was precious and not to be wasted.

 

"So," I began, picking the least important—though still vitally interesting—question to start with. I was safely delivered home, and he might decide to leave at any moment. I had to keep him talking. Besides, this temporary heaven wasn't entirely complete without the sound of his voice. "What have you been doing, up until three days ago?"

 

His face turned wary in an instant. "Nothing terribly exciting."

 

"Of course not," I mumbled.

 

"Why are you making that face?"

 

"Well…" I pursed my lips, considering. "If you were, after all, just a dream, that's exactly the kind of thing you would say. My imagination must be used up."

 

He sighed. "If I tell you, will you finally believe that you're not having a nightmare?"

 

"Nightmare!" I repeated scornfully. He waited for my answer. "Maybe," I said after a second of thought. "If you tell me."

 

"I was… hunting."

 

"Is that the best you can do?" I criticized. "That definitely doesn't prove I'm awake."

 

He hesitated, and then spoke slowly, choosing his words with care. "I wasn't hunting fot food… I was actually trying my hand at… tracking. I'm not very good at it."

 

"What were you tracking?" I asked, intrigued.

 

"Nothing of consequence." His words didn't match his expression; he looked upset, uncomfortable.

 

"I don't understand."

 

He hesitated; his face, shining with an odd green cast from the light of the clock, was torn.

 

"I—" He took a deep breath. "I owe you an apology. No, of course I owe you much, much more than that. But you have to know,"—the words began to flow so fast, the way I remembered he spoke sometimes when he was agitated, that I really had to concentrate to catch them all—"that I had no idea. I didn't realize the mess I was leaving behind. I thought it was safe for you here. So safe. I had no idea that Victoria,"—his lips curled back when he said the name—"would come back. I'll admit, when I saw her that one time, I was paying much more attention to James's thoughts. But I just didn't see that she had this kind of response in her. That she even had such a tie to him. I think I realize why now—she was so sure of him, the thought of him failing never occurred to her. It was her overconfidence that clouded her feelings about him—that kept me from seeing the depth of them, the bond there.

 

"Not that there's any excuse for what I left you to face. When I heard what you told Alice—what she saw herself—when I realized that you had to put your life in the hands of werewolves, immature, volatile, the worst thing out there besides Victoria herself—he shuddered and the gush of words halted for a short second. "Please know that I had no idea of any of this. I feel sick, sick to my core, even now, when I can see and feel you safe in my arms. I am the most miserable excuse for—"

 

"Stop," I interrupted him. He stared at me with agonized eyes, and I tried to find the right words—the words that would free him from this imagined obligation that caused him so much pain. They were very hard words to say. I didn't know if I could get them out without breaking down. But I had to try to do it right. I didn't want to be a source of guilt and anguish in his life. He should be happy, no matter what it cost me.

 

I'd really been hoping to put off this part of our last conversation. It was going to bring things to an end so much sooner.

 

Drawing on all my months of practice with trying to be normal for Charlie, I kept my face smooth.

 

"Edward," I said. His name burned my throat a little on the way out. I could feel the ghost of the hole, waiting to rip itself wide again as soon as he disappeared. I didn't quite see how I was going to survive it this time. "This has to stop now. You can't think about things that way. You can't let this… this guilt… rule your life. You can't take responsibility for the things that happen to me here. None of it is your fault, it's just part of how life is for me. So, if I trip in front of a bus or whatever it is next time, you have to realize that it's not your job to take the blame. You can't just go running off to Italy because you feel bad that you didn't save me. Even if I had jumped off that cliff to die, that would have been my choice, and not your fault. I know it's your… your nature to shoulder the blame for everything, but you really can't let that make you go to such extremes! It's very irresponsible—think of Esme and Carlisle and—"

 

I was on the edge of losing it. I stopped to take a deep breath, hoping to calm myself. I had to set him free. I had to make sure this never happened again.

 

"Isabella Marie Swan," he whispered, the strangest expression crossing his face. He almost looked mad. "Do you believe that I asked the Volturi to kill me because I felt guilty?"

 

I could feel the blank incomprehension on my face. "Didn't you?"

 

"Feel guilty? Intensely so. More than you can comprehend."

 

"Then… what are you saying? I don't understand."

 

"Bella, I went to the Volturi because I thought you were dead," he said, voice soft, eyes fierce. "Even if I'd had no hand in your death"—he shuddered as he whispered the last word—"even if it wasn't my fault, I would have gone to Italy. Obviously, I should have been more careful—I should have spoken to Alice directly, rather than accepting it secondhand from Rosalie. But, really, what was I supposed to think when the boy said Charlie was at the funeral? What are the odds?

 

"The odds…" he muttered then, distracted. His voice was so low I wasn't sure I beard it right. "The odds are always stacked against us. Mistake after mistake. I'll never criticize Romeo again."

 

"But I still don't understand," I said. "That's my whole point. So what?"

 

"Excuse me?"

 

"So what if I was dead?"

 

He stared at me dubiously for a long moment before answering. "Don't you remember anything I told you before?"

 

"I remember everything that you told me." Including the words that had negated all the rest.

 

He brushed the tip of his cool finger against my lower lip. "Bella, you seem to be under a misapprehension." He closed his eyes, shaking his head back and forth with half a smile on his beautiful face. It wasn't a happy smile. "I thought I'd explained it clearly before. Bella, I can't live in a world where you don't exist."

 

"I am…" My head swam as I looked for the appropriate word. "Confused." That worked. I couldn't make sense of what he was saying.

 

He stared deep into my eyes with his sincere, earnest gaze. "I'm a good liar, Bella, I have to be."

 

I froze, my muscles locking down as if for impact. The fault line in my chest rippled; the pain of it took my breath away.

 

He shook my shoulder, trying to loosen my rigid pose. "Let me finish! I'm a good liar, but still, for you to believe me so quickly." He winced. "That was… excruciating."

 

I waited, still frozen.

 

"When we were in the forest, when I was telling you goodbye—"

 

I didn't allow myself to remember. I fought to keep myself in the present second only.

 

"You weren't going to let go," he whispered. "I could see that. I didn't want to do it—it felt like it would kill me to do it—but I knew that if I couldn't convince you that I didn't love you anymore, it would just take you that much longer to get on with your life. I hoped that, if you thought I'd moved on, so would you."

 

"A clean break," I whispered through unmoving lips.

 

"Exactly. But I never imagined it would be so easy to do! I thought it would be next to impossible—that you would be so sure of the truth that I would have to lie through my teeth for hours to even plant the seed of doubt in your head. I lied, and I'm so sorry—sorry because I hurt you, sorry because it was a worthless effort. Sorry that I couldn't protect you from what I an. I lied to save you, and it didn't work. I'm sorry.

 

"But how could you believe me? After all the thousand times I've told you I love you, how could you let one word break your faith in me?"

 

I didn't answer. I was too shocked to form a rational response.

 

"I could see it in your eyes, that you honestly believed that I didn't want you anymore. The most absurd, ridiculous concept—as if there were anu way that I could exist without needing you!"

 

I was still frozen. His words were incomprehensible, because they were impossible.

 

He shook my shoulder again, not hard, but enough that my teeth rattled a little.

 

"Bella," he sighed. "Really, what were you thinking!"

 

And so I started to cry. The tears welled up and then gushed miserably down my cheeks.

 

"I knew it," I sobbed. "I knew I was dreaming."

 

"You're impossible," he said, and he laughed once—a hard laugh, frustrated. "How can I put this so that you'll believe me? You're not asleep, and you're not dead. I'm here, and I love you. I have always loved you, and I will always love you. I was thinking of you, seeing your face in my mind, every second that I was away. When I told you that I didn't want you, it was the very blackest kind of blasphemy."

 

I shook my head while the tears continued to ooze from the corners of my eyes.