*PLEASE READ*

This picks up at the end of New Moon, chapter 23 "The Truth" — B/E have come back from Italy and Bella has just woken up. Edward and she are having THE conversation in her bedroom.

Until about half-way through this chapter I use actual dialogue straight from the book so Edward can illustrate his point/explanation. This story is about addressing the emotions Bella should have felt and how she should have changed in New Moon (IMO), so she's OOC, which means Edward is on his way next. Twilight, of course, is owned by He Who Must Not Be Named.

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

My brain was still half shrouded in sleep, and though coherency was still far away, I felt the sting of an acidic memory jab at me through the fog of fatigue and confusion. A memory that I had worked so hard to keep away was now threatening to consume me. I taught myself to never look back, and it had been my key to survival those past months. Allowing myself to think only in the present was now making this moment all the more confusing.

"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 mouthed quietly. It reverberated inside of me like it had been scratched into my heart with jagged glass.

"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 am. I lied to save you, and it didn't work. I'm sorry. But how could you believe me? After all the thousands of times I've told you I loved you, how could you let one word break your faith in me?"

Edward looked at me like I should have an answer. I just stared at him—trying to listen to what he was telling me and trying to interpret this new pang of something his words had suddenly stirred in my stomach.

"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 any way that I could exist without needing you!"

I swallowed thickly: my tongue felt like it was made of lead, and I couldn't have moved it if I tried. My eyelids closed as his words flowed in my ears and down my body in a wave of miserable ache. I had no words to speak. And I didn't want to. There was nothing to say; all this couldn't suddenly be true. He had lied to me before—all those times he said he loved me. My gut started to churn with that something again.

I realized then that Edward's hands were on my shoulders: touching me, squeezing me. His eyes were dark and his skin was somehow paler than its normal pallid hue. My head was starting to clear, the lethargy from sleep finally thinning, and the memories were becoming more and more specific, more definitive—all the memories.

My eyes locked with Edward's again—my own personal time machine from hell.

"Bella," he sighed. "Really, what were you thinking!" he pleaded, his tone colored with frustration and disbelief.

Is he blaming something on me?

He tightened his grip on my shoulders and shook them slightly.

The something in my stomach exploded out to the rest of my body as my brain screamed Stop it! at him.

Suddenly, I hated his hands on me.

I whined quietly and couldn't believe what I was feeling for him. So very…annoyed. Burning, silent tears filled my wide eyes and streamed fluidly down my cheeks, running down my neck or falling straight off my jaw.

"I knew it," I realized aloud. "I knew I was dreaming." There was no way—I had never been this intensely irritated with him…or maybe anyone. I was beyond irritated actually; I was now working at keeping it at bay. I couldn't stand the tone he was using with me, the way he was pressing his fingers into my back, how he looked so expectant; like he wanted something from me. This has to be a nightmare.

"You're impossible," he complained. "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 winced at his confession. My ears prickled and I shuddered at his words. Fat, stinging tears continued their procession down my burning face as I yelled at the top of my mental lungs: Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! At the moment, only the word "love" coming out of Edward's mouth was the very blackest kind of blasphemy. He had no right saying these things to me now—maybe ever. Before I knew it, I was fuming. I was hurt again—that gaping void in my chest was brought to the forefront: raw and excruciating. He left me. He abandoned me after he promised to love me forever. Cringing, I shivered a disgusting gloom that permeated down to my bones.

I looked at Edward's face in the dim light, his expression tinged with weariness. Still so beautiful. So perfect. It hurt more to look at him, so I averted my eyes to my lap.

"You don't believe me, do you?" he spoke, sounding so disappointed and defeated. "Why can you believe the lie, but not the truth?"

"It never made sense for you to love me," I assured him frankly, finding a tone I didn't know I had. "I always knew that," I continued, because it wasn't just painfully obvious anymore—it was the fact that had dictated my life and broken my heart.

His eyes narrowed, his jaw tightened.

"I'll prove you're awake."

Two cold hands cupped my face in their powerful grip, and I saw determination set on his face. His black eyes fell to my mouth and he dove in for the contact. My body raged with fiery protest. I twisted in his unyielding grip and probably would have broken my neck in his hands if he hadn't loosened them so quickly.

"Please don't," I whimpered frantically, squirming under him.

"Why not?"

My eyes clamped shut and my face contorted at the feel of him so close. Edward removed his hands and I dropped my head into mine, sobbing from the sheer, absolute pain that pervaded through my body with the unwanted gesture his cold lips provided.

"Bella," he whispered in a helpless, disbelieving voice. I could hardly hear him, the sobs becoming violent. He put a hand on my back to soothe circles.

"No!" I finally shouted, hitting his stone arm hard to get it away and hurting myself in the process.

"Jesus Bella, tell me what you're thinking already! Please!" he pleaded desperately.

I took a moment to work at getting my crying back to silent, knowing I wouldn't be able to stop it now, and Edward sat next to me on my bed and didn't touch me again and didn't say another word. I resituated myself so I wouldn't be facing directly towards him anymore, hoping it would help me rein in my disorientating confusion of emotions. Edward didn't move: he was as still as a statue, but his eyes never left me. After a few minutes my breathing was heavy but regular, and my tears became sparser, my eyes remaining watery.

"Bella, I'm begging you."

"I don't know."

"You have to believe me, I left to protect you. I thought it was the only way. Bella, I lov—"

"Stop!" I said firmly, raising a hand and finally turning to look at him, only to look away again quickly.

He looked so small. Edward Cullen—all strength and soundness sat at the edge of my bed and looked downright lost. I still loved him, desperately, so naturally it hurt to see him looking so vulnerable and wounded. I knew he thought he probably had confessed his heart out and got nothing back in return but silence and tears from me, so I could imagine his current suffering. But I still couldn't bring myself to feel anything but pure, transfixing anger.

"Edward."

"Yes?" he responded anxiously, the hope coloring his tone making me feel sorry for him again. My pity for him only making me more angry in return. I looked over at him, his brow furrowed and his rigid body leaned towards me.

"I think you should leave."

I've never shut the door on Edward's fingers, tripped him or elbowed him in the ribs: I've never been able to cause him any physical maladies. But from the look on Edward's face the moment I suggested he leave, you would have thought I just stabbed him in the throat.

He turned his eyes away, and I saw him blink several times. I got up and went to stand by the window. Outside the night was pitch and the street was hardly visible as a lonely street lamp illuminated little of its vicinity. My body was tense with anger that had found no outlet, and I was doing everything I could to keep from turning around and screaming at Edward. I didn't want to scream, and I had no idea what I would be screaming even if I could. I knew I needed to be alone.

"I'm so sorry Bella."

I didn't hear Edward come stand beside me, and when he did it felt surreal standing with him there: in my bedroom looking out that window that had provided for our relationship for so long. How that same window had become an object of bitterly painful memories after he left. How it was still painful. I didn't say anything in response, I just turned to him and took in how the moonlight and the yellow hue from the street lamp cast mysterious and dramatic shadows across his angular features. How very much he looked like a romantic black and white movie. The pain on his dejected face was cleaned up, and he had painted on his favorite stoic façade. I rolled my eyes.

"What? You don't think I regret every minute? Bella, I was coming back, one way or another. I couldn't do it; I could hardly function—"

I raised my hand to stop him. I didn't need to hear about how "hard" it was for him to function. He had no idea.

"I'm not saying that I don't think you're sorry, I just don't know what you're sorry for."

"What's that suppose to mean? I'm sorry that I left. It was wrong of me, for so many reasons."

"Edward, I—" I couldn't tell him that I still loved him, even though it was radiating through every bone in my body. I couldn't tell him that I wanted to believe him so desperately that I could feel it in my teeth. "I just need time."

It was quiet for a moment as we both stared out into the silent night. The scene was still, and it looked more like a desolate picture we were reflecting on than any sense of reality.

"Do you hate me?" His voice was so low I could barely make it out.

My eyes closed slowly, his words cut me and broke through the deep anger that still fumed beneath the surface of my control. I knew what it felt like to have someone you love not care about you. I knew the agony. I wasn't angry enough to want to inflict that on him.

"Of course I don't hate you, Edward. I just need to think."

I turned away from the window and knew he would be gone as soon as my body hit the bed.