After the death of Belle's parents in Solace, Belle doesn't think anything else could possibly go so wrong in her life. Despite her booming business, flourishing relationship with Harry, and overall happiness with her life, Belle can't quite escape...
Chapter Song: Kindly Calm Me Down by Meghan Trainor
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~ Same Day ~
⪻⪻⪼⪼
Edward practically hasn't left my sight since leaving the bakery.
I sat next to him in the backseat of Harry's Range Rover on the way home, clutching him to my side as Harry drove us. I helped him get changed into his pyjamas and get ready for bed - leaving him only long enough for him to use the toilet. After following him around like a puppy, I brought him into our room to sleep, terrified of even the thought of him being out of eyeshot. Now he's sleeping soundly in our bed, curled up beside me. He hasn't let me go since lying down, his head resting on my lap and arms wrapped around my legs as he sleeps. I just can't bear the thought of him being anywhere but within reach of me, not after everything that's happened.
I'm still on high alert, even hours after the incident now. My ears pick up every little sound around us and my brain immediately thinks it's danger coming our way. Dusty scurried off somewhere in the flat the moment we'd entered the flat and I nearly had a heart attack, clutching onto Harry for dear life until he was able to explain that it was just our pet. She's since sensed that something is off with us and has settled herself on the end of our bed, almost guarding Edward and me. Harry, on the other hand, practically has to announce his presence so I don't fall into a panic thinking a stranger is in our home. I know he's in the kitchen, but that doesn't mean my brain doesn't go to the worst-case scenario.
"He asleep?" If I hadn't heard his footsteps coming down the hall I surely would've jumped out of my skin. My eyes take him in, studying his features and everything about him. He looks tired underneath the facade of being a present protector. He's holding two cups of steaming tea and places one on his bedside table before walking around the bed to come to my side.
"Yeah, just dozed off." My voice is still hoarse from all of the screaming I had done earlier and my eyes feel heavy from all of the crying. I don't want to sleep though, I don't know if I even really can at this point. I just want to make sure Edward's okay, even if that means staying up all night just to keep a watchful eye on him.
Harry sets my tea down on my bedside table, smiling softly at snoozing Edward practically on top of me. I pet the sleeping boy's hair, thanking the heavens above that he's relatively unscathed, aside from the emotional and mental trauma we've both endured. His features are smooth, void of any emotion, as he rests, and for that I'm grateful.
As Harry walks towards his side of the bed, getting ready to crawl in, I speak up again.
"Can you lock the door?" I request, eyes scanning to the closed bedroom door. Harry smiles gently down at me, his eyes full of love and a little bit of pity.
"'Course, baby." He quickly locks the door, trying the handle to show me that it is indeed locked before finally crawling into bed next to me, Edward's body resting between us.
"You did when we came in," his tone isn't accusing, it's merely soft and patient, "and you checked it twice before taking your shoes off." My eyebrows furrow as I try to remember doing that, but my brain is too jumbled to remember the action. I barely even remember the journey up to our flat or Harry helping me change into some comfier clothes earlier.
"Right, sorry, I just -"
"You don't have to apologize, Belle, it's okay." He reaches over slowly, tugging my hand from my mouth where I was picking at my chapped bottom lip. I honestly didn't even notice I was doing it until he tore my fingers away. He holds my hand in his and that's when I realize it's still shaking and I'm not sure it's even stopped. "Do you want me to run you a bath? Might help you relax a bit."
"No, I don't want to leave Edward."
The mere thought of leaving Edward alone has my breathing accelerating and my heart pounding so loud I can hear the blood rushing in my ears. What if I had left him alone in the front of the bakery, or even the kitchen? What if I hadn't been able to get back to him in time? What if? What if? What if? All the what if's weigh heavily on my panicked mind and I'm aware that I'm working myself up, but I can't help that I'm spiralling. It's like the events from the night have hit me all over again. There was a real possibility that we wouldn't have made it out of there alive.
"Belle, baby," His voice barely permeates my eardrums, sounding miles away. Hęll, it doesn't even sound real; it's almost like perhaps I'm imagining it all together, "look at me." Suddenly his hand is on my face and it's like a slap back to reality. My eyes find his worried gaze immediately before falling to my free hand that's crushing Edward's t-shirt in my fist. I loosen my hold before Harry nudges my line of sight back up to his face. "You're safe, you both are. You're with me. I won't let anything happen to either of you, understand?"
"You can't promise that." I feel light-headed now and like I'm on fire. It takes everything in me to control my actions as I wiggle out from under Edward and away from Harry, immediately pacing the floor. Miraculously, Edward stays asleep, getting comfortable in the spot I'd just left. "What would have happened if they had gotten through the door? What if I had just been frozen and didn't do anything? They could've hurt Edward, oh god they could have killed him. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if something were to have happened to him."
I feel sick. Just recognizing how sick I feel my stomach churns and I'm rushing to the toilet. I'm violently throwing up until there's nothing left in me, then I'm dry heaving like crazy, unable to calm myself down.
"Deep breaths, love." Harry is on me like glue, crouching down behind me as I keep my head buried in the toilet. "Let's just take some deep breaths; follow along with me."
He purposefully breaths louder and verbally instructs me how to come down from my panic attack, just like he's done with me so many times in the past. He even helped me the night we met; it's his thing: helping me.
His hand rubs soft and reassuring circles on my back until, eventually, I'm no longer dry heaving with no end in sight. I'm just leaning against the toilet with my head on the seat, crying softly to myself as I stare down at my own sick.
"I'm just going to get you a glass of water, okay. I'm not going anywhere, just right to the sink." He does as he says and within seconds he is next to me again. "Come here." He coaxes me from the toilet bowl, wiping my mouth with some tissue before flushing away any evidence of my bodily fluids. I can't even find it in me to be embarrassed that he has to see this side of me, though I know he doesn't care.
He then pulls me with him to sit against our large tub, holding me close as he hands me the glass of water. My legs are draped over his lap and he has to assist me in holding onto the glass. My hands are shaking so badly that the glass could very well fall from my grasp and shatter. And we don't need any more broken glass tonight.
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