Italics are flashbacks, regular font is present time. And yes, I know this is an OC thing for Bella to do, that's why it's fan fiction.

My ceiling was laughing at me tonight. I had woke up screaming…how long ago? I wasn't sure. Time had ceased to mean anything except that it was passing, and I scraped along with my numb, empty shell. But as I stared at the ceiling, I was certain I had seen a mocking smile in it's cracked patterns. Somehow, this caused a shimmering of hurt. My room…a place of comfort…had finally turned on me. My last friend. But how was that a surprise?

I couldn't breathe. I didn't want to think. I didn't want to eat, I didn't want to sleep, god damn it all, I didn't want to be anymore…

Slowly, I raised one of my hands to my face. In the gloom light of my room, it seemed to glow. Only in this lack of light would my now sallow skin look remotely pretty. I choked back a manic smile that was threatening to explode into uncontrollable sobs…I had known someone who had glowed in the dark before…maybe I was closer to being like that person than I had ever been before…I was certainly pale enough. But beautiful, I was not. Not that I ever had been. A reason why he had le-

I sat up gasping, my arms involuntarily wrapping around myself, trying to hold myself together. A futile plan, but trying couldn't hurt. What could hurt - and had - was letting my god damn mind get so out of control. My thoughts should've stopped a long time ago. But it had been two days since he had last crossed my mind. So this was an improvement.

But not the pain. That would never improve.

Slowly, I detached one of my arms from around my torso and contemplated my hand again. Standing out from the white flesh I could see deep blue veins protruding, tracing patterns of spider's webs under my skin. My blood rushed through these cursed arteries, and it was their fault that….that a certain person was gone. I wished I could just make the blood go away. A perverse thought crossed the back of my mind. 'Maybe he'll come back then.'

Ha ha ha. That was almost funny. But it had given me an idea. It's not like I could feel anything but pain anyway. Maybe this would distract me from my deteriorating mind…from my wretched thoughts.

I sat on Edward's bed, comfortably wrapped up in his arms, as we listened to his stereo. But it was on low, and we were mostly just talking, and joking around.

"Come on, you know enjoyed picking up tips," I teased, giggling and flushing accordingly.

"Oh yes," he replied, rolling his eyes. "Honestly, you try being the mind reader sometime, and getting a front row seat to see how Emmett and Rose make up…"

I laughed again. "Aw, poor you," I giggled.

His eyes widened innocently. "I know! I feel bad for myself, actually."

"Well, you think you got problems," I said, rolling my eyes, mocking him. "But I walked in on one of my friends' brother having sex with his girlfriend on the kitchen table once, in plain view of the front door I might add, which he didn't even freaking lock! My poor innocence was taken from my eyes that day!" I wailed dramatically, shaking my head pathetically.

Edward threw back his head and laughed. "Consider yourself lucky," he chuckled. "I've seen much worse."

I glared at him and huffed. "Fine. Make light of my troubles then."

He gave me a mocking smile, then turned to glance at the clock. "It's getting late," he stated, "Time for a certain human to get her rest."

I looked around innocently. "Hmm…it seems this 'human' you speak of isn't here, currently. Oh well, we should probably keep ourselves awake until she gets back." I grinned and leaned toward his face for a kiss.

He obliged me, and cupped my cheek, moving his lips softly against mine for a moment. Then he broke away, while I groaned. "Seriously, Bella, beddy-bye time for you."

"Fine," I scowled, but perked up a bit as I nestled against his stone hard chest, his arms wrapped around me, and my long sleeved sweater protecting me enough from his cold skin.

"You'll be here when I wake up, right?" I asked, my voice noticeably smaller. I couldn't help asking this question now and again. After all, he'd only been back a month…and I couldn't bear it if he left again, even though I was certain of his love now. Anything could happen, anything could change.

He sighed and took one finger to place under my chin, lifting my face to look into his eyes. His eyes were dead serious as they looked at my pleading ones. "Always, Bella, always. I love you." And he pecked my lips softly.

Considerably appeased, I nodded and closed my eyes, letting myself drift asleep.

I stumbled to the bathroom. Charlie was still asleep, my screams no longer woke him. Tonight, that was convenient.

"Are you still proud of me dad?" I whispered, my throat hoarse from lack of use. "Well, you won't be after this."

My vision was still clouded, my ears still plugged, but even though this was my first time doing this, my body still went to auto pilot. Kneeling at the cabinet under the sink, I pulled out a pack of extra razors used for shaving. Grinning slightly, but what really looked like I was gritting my teeth in pain, I pulled out a pair of scissors and smashed the end of them on the plastic surround the razors, cracking it, and allowing me to pull just the razor out. It glinted in a friendly way in the dim light of the bathroom, twinkling innocently at me. My friend…my precious friend…We'll do wonders.

I sank to the floor, leaning against the door, my legs sprawled in front of me. My breathing started to come faster, my hand trembling as my hand with the razor hovered , quavering, above the skin directly below the crook of my arm. Could I really do this?

'He doesn't love you, you know. And I hope you're not doing this to prove anything to him, because he doesn't give a damn.'

My answer was in that sentence my mind had produced. Yes. Yes, I could.

Slowly, I placed the razor across the skin below the bend of my elbow, the veins staring at me in my forearm. Even more slowly, I pressed the razor down and dragged it slowly, tortuously, across my flesh, making me gasp, pleasured by the satisfactory pain produced.

But even more satisfactory than that, was the effect. It was instantaneous. Huge droplets of blood began dotting themselves along the cut, more and more beginning to bleed out as I looked on with perverse curiosity. It had been so easy, so easy to cut myself. What did that say?

As I watched the crimson regret stain my skin, a nagging voice began at the back of my head. 'Hey, aren't you sensitive to blood or something?'

I let out a manic type of small giggle, though it hardly counted as such. It was cracked, unnatural, insane. 'Oh honey,' I thought, leaning my head back against the door and closing my eyes as I enjoyed the throbbing ache in my arm that was beautifully distracting, 'I'm too fucking far gone to care at this point. I'm too far retreated into myself. But at least I can feel something. Feel something…good god, it's been so long.'

Struck by a decidedly perverted idea, I stuck one finger in the red paint my body had so generously released. Pulling back, I could see my finger was stained with red. I smiled an unnatural smile, as if I'd forgotten how to do it. Which was probably true.

Taking my stained finger, I slowly spelt a word out on the wall next to me, dipping my finger back in my still bleeding cut when called for, before finally pulling back.


I stared at the glistening word with adoration for a moment, watching the glistening message that my mind was screaming at me in my head. For a long time I just looked on at it, before I wiped it clean off the wall. Couldn't have Charlie seeing that…it would cause him unnecessary pain that he at least did not deserve…

For the rest of the night, and nights after that, I satiated my hunger for the need to feel by creating pretty patterns of cuts all over my skin. I was sickened, repulsed by myself, and somehow, I enjoyed that. I reveled in the self-hate, welcoming the new emotion, adding it to the tortuously small list. Something, anything, was fine. But I so enjoyed these negative emotions. Because I knew I deserved it, just like I deserved to be forgotten and abandoned, deserved to bleed, deserved to hurt, god I fucking hurt so much…

"Bella," said a musical voice, laced with concern. Groggily, I opened my eyes, and looked over at my personal savior.

"Yes?" I asked.

"Bella," he said, "Could you please lift up your sleeve some more?"

I glanced down, and in horror, saw that the sleeve of my sweater had risen up somewhat, revealing part of a half-healed pink line. I quickly retracted my arm and tugged my sleeve down to my hands again.

"It's nothing, don't worry about it," I mumbled, observing the bed sheets.

"If it's nothing, then you won't mind me checking for myself," he said, frowning, and catching my hand in a tight grip, his other headed toward my sleeve.

"No, Edward!" I cried, panicking. "Please, don't!"

He glanced at me, and I could see fear in his eyes, for what he was now expecting to find.

His hand slowly lifted up my sleeve, and my breathing quickened. The first healing line came into sight, and his posture stiffened. But he kept pushing it up and up, until all of my shame was visible to him. All the criss-crossed lines of my fall from grace, my hasty retreat from sanity.

I bit my lip, full of shame, as Edward stared at my arm for a long, long time.

Finally, he let my arm fall. I glanced up at his face fearfully, and my fear was confirmed. He was glaring at me, his eyes full of glorious anger and hurt.

"How," he asked, his voice shaking as fury laced his tone, and I was reminded of his voice in my head, when I wanted to hear that anger, that reassurance that he cared. "Could you do this to yourself?"

Tears filled my eyes and I stared solemnly at the bed spread. But I closed my eyes as I answered, my voice hollow. "I just…wanted to feel something, again."

I heard the crumbling of bed sheets as his hand curled into a trembling fist around them. "This was…you did this after I had…left?" His voice was choked.

I merely nodded glumly, a tear slipping past my barricade of eyelid.

Next moment I was cradled in my angel's arms, my face pressed against his chest, as he smothered his face in my hair. "Bella," he gasped furiously, "My god, never ever do that again, do you understand me!? I'm not worth that! Jesus…I can't believe you hurt yourself because…over me…" His shoulder's started to shake and he dry sobbed into my hair.

"Edward," I whispered, "I'm so sorry. I'm so so sorry. It's not your fault, please, I was just being mental. I didn't think, I didn't know, that you'd be back. Please, it's not your fault. I'm sorry…and I stopped a long, long time ago."

"Not my fault?" he spat, but his fury was directed at himself. "Yeah right. I left you broken, and I left you bleeding, but I had no idea how literal…Promise me. Promise me that no matter what, you'll never hurt yourself again. Bella…" but he shook his head and trailed off, either not knowing what to say or possibly too choked up to speak.

"You'll never leave me again," I stated, rubbing my hand up and down his arm soothingly, "So I'll never have another reason to. And I am sorry. You were never supposed to see this."

He kissed my forehead, his lips still trembling. "You should be sorry. But not for hurting me. God Bella, do you have no concern for yourself at all?"

I shrugged. "I'm working on it," I muttered, casting my eyes away. If only he knew how much self-hate still lingered, how low my self-esteem truly was.

He swallowed hard, then picked up my arm again. "I'm so sorry, love, so sorry," he whispered, and proceeded to kiss every scar lacing my arm, each kiss a grievance, and a promise.

My scars will heal. Just like my heart already had, miraculously. And one day they would only be another distant memory, just like I hoped the recent past would one day be. All scars fade, and these were no exception, especially now that I had my love to heal them - and me - again. My help had come.