Title: The Therapist

Author: FSUgirl11

Rating: M

Genre: Drama/Romance/Supernatural

Word Count: 2,803

Characters/Pairings: Bella/Edward

Short summary: AU/AH Bella Swan is a physical therapy patient. Edward Cullen is her therapist... but is there more to him than meets the eye?

Any warnings: Mature content will eventually be included.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note: This is my first attempt at fan fiction. Let me know what you think. If there is interest, I will continue. If not, I will try another story!

I thought physical therapy was a joke. A sick, cruel, expensive joke forced upon me by some of the demons from my past. That is, until I met my therapist, Edward Cullen. He's beyond physically beautiful, but is there more to him than that? Why does he seem so intrigued by me, by my mere normal-paced recovery under his care? Sometimes he seems almost... nonhuman.

I can't say I ever believed in fate. Now, I am undoubtedly a believer.

Chapter 1

Dizzy

I didn't understand how I'd ended up here. Physical therapy seemed like big a waste of time to me, anyway. It wasn't real medicine—just a lot of really expensive stretching. I didn't want to be here. I didn't want to spend thirty dollars two to three times a week just to have someone else stretch my body for me. I could pay myself the thirty dollars and do it at home.

Sitting in the waiting room, I couldn't help but roll my eyes at the feigned calm atmosphere of the place. All the walls were painted pale yellow with a gentle white trim. Soothing music escaped from speakers hanging from ceilings all throughout the office. All the therapists spoke in muted yet encouraging tones, like all the therapy patients were battling stage four cancer. I wasn't battling cancer. Not physically, anyway.

James was like a cancer to me.

I flinched internally at the unexpected thought. I was trying very hard not to think his name, not to even let myself get caught up in rehashing all the ways these little therapy visits could have been avoided altogether. I was determined to try.

"Miss Swan?"

My head snapped up as I was effectively pulled from my inner conflict. At least physical therapy would be a welcome distraction from my disastrous home life, I thought humorlessly.

The nurse holding my file was simply stunning. Long blonde hair complemented her pale skin and vivacious eyes perfectly. I couldn't help noticing that her body was also very curvaceous, much to my own dismay. She was tall and lean and curvy; in short, everything I was not. I frowned. I didn't need another physical reminder of just how plain and non-captivating I personally happened to be.

"Miss Swan?" she asked again, this time sounding somewhat annoyed. I was obviously the only patient in the waiting room, and I'm sure she had my picture in that file somewhere, so I shouldn't have been surprised to find her staring irritably at me, probably wondering why I wasn't acknowledging her question.

My frown deepened when I realized that her silky voice was just as enchanting as her undeniable physical beauty, even when she was upset. How unfair.

I stood up too quickly, eager to seem mentally proficient even if I wasn't exactly my physical best, and practically fell over the small side table next to my chair. The nurse took a quick step forward and reached out to help steady me, her brow furrowing now in what looked like concern.

"Are you alright?"

I felt my face heat up. I was such a klutz. I already felt inferior in this beautiful woman's presence. I really didn't need the added embarrassment of almost injuring myself further in a physical therapy waiting room. How pathetic.

At my blush, all semblance of concern deserted the woman's face. "I guess we know how you ended up like this," she bit out, gesturing mercilessly first toward my limp left arm hanging in its sling and then toward my obviously braced right knee.

"I—I didn't… It wasn't my fault…"

"Oh, sure," the blonde goddess spat, rolling her pretty eyes and letting go of my right arm. "Tons of people who fall all over themselves just standing up from a chair never end up in physical therapy because of their own clumsy behavior." When I felt more blood rushing to my face, she laughed shrilly.

Her words surprised me, but they shouldn't have. It made perfect sense to assume that a klutzy person like me might actually get injured simply existing, especially someone as disastrously klutzy and danger magnetizing as myself. It actually made more than perfect sense. I suddenly doubted my previous conviction to immediately admit the truth about the cause of my injuries to my therapist.

"Rosalie," I heard someone say behind her. It sounded like a man, and he sounded like he was gently chastising my new friend.

I glanced behind her, sucking in a sharp breath at what I saw. I really wasn't prepared. Another beautiful person? Was this a physical therapy office or some sort of covert modeling school operation?

The man, while clearly older than Rosalie, was just as breathtaking as the curvy blonde, if not more so with the incredible kindness emanating from his eyes. He had short blond hair and eyes bluer than a crystal clear lake during summer. He smiled when he saw me watching him, and I instantly felt at ease. His smile was genuine, and I felt an odd sense of familiarity course through my veins. Nonsense, since we'd never met before, but I let the feeling wash through me all the same.

"Isabella Swan?" he asked cheerfully, directing me away from Rosalie. I decided I liked this man immediately after that. He was protecting me, almost like a father, from her raw, unexplainable bitterness, and I was grateful.

I nodded dumbly, unable to find my voice in the wake of so much beauty. Was I being ridiculous, or were these people really just that stupefying?

"I'm sorry, Dr. Cullen." I was shocked at the sudden shift in Little Miss Perfect's tone. She sounded unabashedly apologetic. My new savior, Dr. Cullen, was clearly some sort of head doctor around here. "Please forgive my behavior."

The kind doctor chuckled softly, waving his hand in my direction. "You don't owe me anything, Rosalie, but I think you certainly owe Miss Swan a sincere apology."

I watched Rosalie clench her fists at her sides, obviously tensing just at the thought of apologizing to someone as plain and klutzy as me. I felt like she thought I deserved whatever injuries I got. "Sorry, Miss Swan," she hissed through clenched teeth.

I nodded, more than happy to accept her apology if it got me away from her hot gaze.

Dr. Cullen smiled warmly at Rosalie before gesturing forward. "Shall we?"

Again, I could only nod as he led me down a few winding hallways, all painted that same maddeningly mundane pale yellow with pristine white trim.

"You guys sure do like yellow," I commented absently. I was astonished when Dr. Cullen laughed and actually responded.

"You catch on quick, Miss Swan." We continued moving briskly through the mazelike building, and I actually started getting dizzy. "May I call you Isabella?"

"Bella," I corrected automatically.

"Bella," he smiled. He sounded pleased. "Suits you."

"It does?" I'd never really thought so. Bella meant beautiful in Italian; I was certainly anything but.

Dr. Cullen only nodded, clearly disentangling himself from our conversation. We'd reached our destination.

"If you'll have a seat on that chair, your therapist will be with you in just a few moments."

I immediately complied, eager to satisfy the kind doctor. Before he could leave the room, I said sincerely, "Thank you, Dr. Cullen." I didn't elaborate, certain he'd know what I was trying to really say without having to outright call one of his nurses a complete bitch.

"Carlisle," he offered simply, smiling, and I nodded, knowing that meant he understood my appreciation.

He left the room then and shut the door quietly behind him, remaining considerate but clearly very busy. Probably with saving other patients from Nurse Rosalie's distasteful demeanor, I thought derisively. What a kind man. If only he weren't quite so old…

I mentally slapped myself. Dr. Cull—Carlisle was a literal work of art, inside and out. That much was clear in only the first five minutes or so of knowing the man. I, on the other hand…

My dark thoughts were interrupted by the frenzied arrival of who I assumed could only be my therapist. He opened the door and shut it behind him quickly, grabbing my file from the holder on the inside of the door. I hadn't even noticed Carlisle leave that there. I must be really letting this whole therapy thing get to me.

My therapist was moving and fidgeting so rapidly around the room as he flipped hazardously through my file, I couldn't even get a good look at him at first, but when he finally faced me and stilled, I felt like I'd had the wind knocked right out of me.

I'd been wrong. So very wrong. This was not a covert modeling school operation. This was an overt dwelling for the gods.

My therapist had insanely messy copper bronze hair, the type of messy hair that looks as though it's in a constant state of stunning disarray. He ran his hands through it a couple times as he presumably read over my file, squinting at a few of the details and causing me to blush. What did it tell him about me that caused him to look so incredulous?

He looked up, and my heart stopped. His emerald green eyes were so alluring, more alluring than anything I'd ever seen before or would probably ever see again. They pierced me with such an intense look I had the eerie feeling those eyes could see right through to my soul.

When he finally tore his eyes away, scanning my file more scrupulously, I felt my own gaze shift down. I took in his broad shoulders, the way his turquoise scrub shirt clung desperately to his perfect chest, the way that perfect chest tapered into the most sensual, narrow hips I've ever seen in my entire life… I felt my breath quicken of its own accord. I was starting to feel dizzy again, but I didn't care. God help me, but I let my eyes travel below those hips.

"Miss Swan?"

The velvety soft, masculine voice was my undoing. I felt an intense wave of dizziness crash over me, threatening to drown out my consciousness. I laid my head between my knees, trying to fix my ragged breathing by taking deeper, more concentrated breaths.

I felt my therapist at my side within a second, and I knew I wasn't going to be getting any less lightheaded anytime soon when he put his hands on either side of my stomach. I didn't know why. What could he do about my dizziness like that?

"Are you alright, Isabella?" He sounded concerned. And now I was Isabella? Hadn't he called me Miss Swan just seconds before? I decided I didn't care what he called me, so long as he kept his hands on my sides.

Still keeping my head between my knees, I whispered, "Just Bella."

His hands tensed a little. I couldn't imagine why. "Bella, can you sit up for me? And can you tell me what hurts?"

When he said it like that, with that velvety soft yet still masculine voice, I couldn't see why not.

"Dizzy," was all I could manage to gasp out, though. I sat up slowly, and I was glad I did. A dizzy spell ten times as strong hit me when I was fully upright, and I moaned.

If I'd thought my therapist had tensed before, he really tensed now. When I went to put my head back between my knees, though, he stopped me, sliding one arm up my side and carefully over my shoulder until he was gently grasping my right upper arm. I figured he just didn't want to make any sudden movements with me so incapacitated with dizziness, but I still shivered at the caress-like ghosting of his hand up the side of my body.

"Does that feel better?" he asked softly, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. His mouth was directly beside my ear. His hot breath on my skin did things to my body I didn't want to examine too closely right at the moment, so I just shrugged.

I grimaced. I suddenly wanted more than anything to please this man, but I just couldn't do it.

I didn't look up at him when I spoke. "Not to discredit your therapeutic abilities, but I still feel about the same."

I realized vaguely that he moved to kneel between my legs, still not removing his right hand from my side and his left from my arm. My heart stuttered in my chest at this new position, and I tried to calm it down by mentally rationalizing the relocation. He was my therapist. He wanted to calm me down. To do that, he had to know what was wrong. Proximity would be a consequence of such a need.

Thinking of needs, however, I couldn't help wondering why exactly he had to kneel so intimately, well… where he was currently kneeling.

I felt his grip on my arm tighten slightly as his brow furrowed in concentration. Up this close, I couldn't stop myself from staring, bemused, at his utter physical perfection. His face was pure beauty. His chiseled jaw line, in particular, was causing my pulse to jump in strange ways. I watched, fascinated, as it flexed when he clenched his mouth in complete concentration.

After a moment, he looked up at me expectantly, inching his face almost imperceptibly toward mine when I didn't say anything right away. I felt… dazzled. I didn't know how else to explain it. The new, closer proximity wasn't helping my pulse, and neither was the tantalizing scent of his warm breath on my face. What the heck was the matter with me?

"Now?" he asked, voice deep and quiet.

I struggled to understand his question. When I realized he was asking about my dizzy spell, I blushed, because I did feel suddenly better. I had a feeling it had something to do with that beautifully chiseled jaw. I clenched my right hand when I realized I was suddenly dying to reach out and touch it. Was I absolutely insane? This man would no doubt jump back in complete disgust of my inappropriate behavior if I did. He was my therapist, nothing more. Obviously that kind of thing would be completely unprofessional for him to condone, let alone reciprocate…

I kept trying to rationalize with myself about all the reasons why I shouldn't touch this beautiful man's face before I even knew his name, but nothing was working, so I turned my attention to his question as a distraction. He was also starting to look genuinely frustrated at my lack of response.

"Yes," I said a bit breathlessly. Inwardly, I grimaced. I sounded ridiculous.

"Yes?" he asked quietly, his eyes searching mine for the truth. It was true. I did feel better, but I didn't think it had so much to due with whatever therapy he was trying to offer me with his hands—what kind of therapy was he trying to offer, anyway?—as it did his insanely good looks and mind-clouding nearness.

"Good," he finally smiled, but he didn't move away. Those green eyes were still probing mine, still detecting some falsehood or strangeness, which one I wasn't sure. When he leaned slowly forward, I felt hypnotized. Instinctively, I closed my eyes, parted my lips, and held my breath.

When I didn't feel anything for a few moments, I opened my eyes. He was suddenly gone, pushing away from me and turning around to face the medical equipment on the other side of the small room. The loss of physical contact felt inexplicably horrible, like a sharp blow to my head. The dizziness didn't return, but it was replaced with a cold, empty feeling I just couldn't understand.

Feeling unreasonably naughty, I took the opportunity to gaze longingly at his back and eventually his behind. Seeing that his backside certainly matched the physical beauty of his front, I quietly sighed. I'd never been more envious of a pair of turquoise scrub pants in my entire life.

This man was a living, breathing Greek god. And I suddenly felt more inferior and foolish than I'd ever felt in my entire life. Had I honestly thought this beautiful creature was going to kiss me? Who was I kidding? We'd barely just met.

"Bella," I heard him gently rasp. He sounded all shaken up and off kilter, like I secretly felt inside, but I couldn't fathom why he sounded that way.

"Yes?" I sounded worse.

Still without facing me, he whispered, "I think it would be wise if we rescheduled today's session. Please tell the receptionist that today was a free-of-charge introductory meeting. I apologize for any inconvenience."

With that, my therapist literally raced from the room with my file—still without ever looking at me—opening the door in a flash and slamming it shut behind him with a resounding smack.

Stupidly, I felt tears sting my eyes. I didn't know if they were hurt or angry tears, but I figured they were probably a little of both. Either way, they were most definitely mixed in with my sudden, intense feelings of complete and utter rejection.

What had I possibly done to scare my therapist away so fast?