Here you go Dee. It took me forever to find it…sorry! Stephenie Meyer owns the Twilight Characters
1
I was staring at the nutritional information on the back of the can of a liquid diet drink. I hated the disgusting thing, but it was the only food I allowed myself to have at night. I had lost an obscene amount of weight and wasn't about to let it creep back on.
Food ruled my world, I thought about it constantly. I counted calories, limited carbs, weighed everything, and wrote down anything that went into my mouth. I hated my life. It wasn't living; it was surviving, stuck forever inside the mind of a fat girl regardless of what I looked like on the outside.
My apartment wasn't a home; it was shelter, a place where I could hide from the cruelty of the world. People are mean and enjoy laughing at other people's expenses. I learned to stare at the ground with interest so I wouldn't have to see their smirks and wide eyes. I tried to ignore the loud whispers and muffled laughs.
Men were the cruelest. When I became determined to take off every extra pound they would honk their horns and yell rude comments as I walked. When I finally got fit enough to jog they would laugh and yell for me to give it up. Now they whistled and made sexual comments when I ran, I hated men.
Just thinking about them made me climb onto my treadmill and walk as I watched a movie. I always tortured myself by watching gushy love movies. I wasn't foolish enough to think anyone would ever fall in love with me; I just wanted to see other people fall in love.
Sometimes I would dream about a movie star or someone famous begging me to give him a chance, but even in my dreams I was smart enough to know they were only making fun of me.
I heard the door open in the apartment next door and groaned at the thought of my neighbor coming home. He was the lowest denominator of all men. I used to think he had a girlfriend that traveled but now I knew he worked for a phone sex line. He would speak loudly and I used to turn on music or take a shower to drown him out, now I subconsciously feed him lines to use.
We are both so similar and yet so different at the same time. We work out of our apartments, I work early mornings and he works late nights. Neither one of us ever had visitors, nor did we acknowledge any signs of life coming through the walls.
I could hear him whistling and was certain he could hear the loud hum of my treadmill. His phone rang and I turned up the television. His voice was a low murmur through the walls and he laughed wickedly. I had a picture in my mind of what he looked like, but never actually saw him in real life.
I could have easily passed him on the stairs or pulled next to him in my car, but I had learned over the years not to look at people in close proximity to me. When the news ended I climbed off the treadmill and looked at the drink again. I got some ice from the freezer and poured the pink, thick liquid into a cup. "Cheers," I said to myself and drank it down.
I took a shower and began my five hundred sit ups when I heard the neighbor grunting in unison with my counting. I stopped and he stopped. When I started again, so did he. I kicked the wall angrily, hating that he was making fun of me as I remained hidden in my own room.
"What?" he yelled loudly.
We had never conversed before and I didn't want to start a new habit. It was my sole goal to blend in with my surroundings, not start some feud. I got a jug full of ice water to kill my hunger and climbed in bed. I was beyond hungry; I was imagining large buckets of popcorn, or thick slices of pizza, as I drank the cold bland water.
I heard the neighbor making a noise that sounded like soft, muffled cries. I climbed onto my knees and put my ear against the wall. I knew the sound of aching heartbreak and made it myself often. I stared at the white paint and wished I had more courage.
I heard him blow his nose and clear his throat before crashing loudly onto the bed. The headboard bumped the wall and I knew we were only parted by a few inches of drywall and framing boards. I had the words poised on the tip of my tongue to ask him if he was okay, but what did I know about offering comfort to someone.
The headboard bumped the wall again and I heard his front door slam. I hurried to my front window to see if I could catch a glimpse of him going down the stairs. I pictured a heavy set man, with greasy dark hair and wearing a valor running suit. I pulled the curtain back and gasped as I saw him standing just outside his door, leaning his elbows on the railing with his head down.
I moved away from the window, knowing he heard me and most likely turned to look around. He had on jeans and retro tennis shoes, with long legs and a thin body. It was all I saw of him, but it was enough to know he was just the type of man who used to torment me in high school. I could smell cigarette smoke and wanted to dump my ice water on him for sending that smell into my apartment.
I got back in bed and drifted off to sleep only to awaken at three in the morning to head to the bathroom to pee. I could hear him talking on the phone, saying sweet things about love and desire and hoped the flushing of my toilet could be heard over the line.
I got in bed and he had moved to his bed, too. His voice was light and teasing as he said, "Ooh baby, you are driving my body crazy."
"Only you affect me this way," I prompted him without realizing I had said it aloud.
"Sweetheart, only you affect me this way," he added and I quickly covered my mouth with my hand.
Maybe it was only a coincidence, all the conversations I had heard consciously and subconsciously gave me insight to his routine. He continued on telling her with detail what his body was doing and what he wanted her to do to her own body.
I closed my eyes and listened as I imagined taking his instruction. I felt my heart begin to race and my body reacted strongly to his suggestions. When he cried out with loud pants and filthy words I sat up and looked stupidly at the wall.
I heard the phone hang up and he sighed loudly, but it didn't sound like post sex relief, it sounded like sorrow or disgust. "Shit," he said as he punched something. I placed my ear against the wall again and heard him sniff a few times before it became quiet. I knew he was finished for the night and would be sleeping until almost noon.
I woke up again right on time at six in the morning. I dressed in running clothes and tried to be as silent as possible as I closed my front door. I stretched for a few moments and then began my morning run through the city streets of Seattle. I had no idea the distance of my run, but I knew it was past the McDonald's, turn at the Wendy's, and then to the small fish and chips stand by the wharf, before heading back home.
I imagined what I would order from each place if I lived on some imaginary planet where food had no calories. When I finished with my run I purchased a large black coffee and headed home. My exercise was far from over so I remained in my running clothes and logged onto my computer.
I worked as a reservation agent for a major airline. It was the only reason my phone ever rang. I put on the headset so the ringing couldn't be heard by the neighbors and began my hand weights routine. I logged off for lunch and made a salad with an apple, no larger than four inches across.
I heard my neighbor's shower start and tried to stop my mind from imagining his body, covered in soap, dripping with water. I had actually never seen a man's body, well a real man. I had seen plenty of internet pictures as I searched for what I felt would be the perfect body to try and replicate. Just thinking about it sent me right to the stationary bike.
His phone rang and I was glad it was too early for a work related call. I stopped peddling so I could listen to his conversation. His voice was hoarse and he cleared it often as he spoke.
"I'm fine; don't rag on me, Jaz."
"I really don't give a shit," he yelled loudly. "I'll do what I need to do."
I looked at the clock and realized my lunch hour was over so I logged back in and replaced my head set. I got a call right away just as the neighbor began yelling again. "One moment please," I said politely and put the caller on hold.
"I'm working," I yelled, completely out of character for me, but growing irritated by his escalation of noises over the past few days.
He became silent and I quickly went back to the caller. I was taking a credit card number when a loud pounding sounded on my front door. I spun around in shock and expected to see the door come crashing down. I had to make the customer give me the number again and quickly finished the call.
I looked back at the door and felt real fear. Maybe I angered him and he was some crazed man on parole or something. I sat perfectly still as I strained to hear any noise from his apartment. The rest of the day passed without any interruptions.
I made another diet drink and filled my tub with bubble bath to soak. I removed my clothes and looked at my ripped muscles and flat stomach, but all I saw were rolls of fat. I stood on the scale and breathed a sigh of relief to see it was still under the thick black line I had drawn with a marker.
I climbed in the bath and sat back just in time to hear the phone ring next door. He was now on the clock. His voice was smooth and he moaned often. I heard him come into his bathroom and could make out the words he was saying. "I love a woman with curves, voluptuous women know how to please a man, so the bigger the better."
"What a bunch of crap," I said loudly. I knew what he really wanted to say, because I had heard it many times from many men feeling the need to insult me publically.
"Hold on a sec, babe," he said and then yelled. "I'm working."
I knew better than to respond. I had been putting up with his 'working' for months, but he crossed a line and I couldn't keep quiet over this call. "You'll need a shovel to dig your way out of all that shit you're spouting."
"I'm not talking to you, so why do you care," he yelled hatefully.
"Because no man believes bigger is better, tell her to cut out the fries so you can tell her tits from her gut," I yelled back just as hatefully. I had been told that exact thing when I stood in line at McDonalds to buy a yogurt.
"Lying is the whole point, you idiot. They don't call to hear the truth."
"Maybe if they hear the truth they won't need to call some maladjusted freak to get their kicks."
"Then I would be out of a job, genius."
"What a shame, you might actually make it through the day without crying," I yelled and instantly felt like I had overstepped the boundary of neighbor etiquette. I didn't mean to lash out at him; Lord knows I have my own sensitive issues he could take aim at.
I could hear him talking from further away and his voice was much softer. I climbed out of the bath and weighed again before putting on a baggy shirt and a pair of large boxers having to roll the waist to keep them up.
I got in bed and listened as he got into his own bed, the headboard hitting the wall. "I'm sorry, I know it's not easy to listen to my calls," he said and I looked up at the wall in surprise. I wondered if someone was with him or if he was actually talking to me.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Are you talking to me?" I asked.
"Yeah, I figure if you have to hear me having phone sex for hours I should at least know your name."
"You don't need to know," I said and lay back on my pillow.
"It's only a job, I'm not…I don't…"
"I'm not your mother," I said and wished he would stop talking. I had heard enough conversations from his walls to know he was not some innocent man pretending to be something different.
"What do you do?" he asked.
"I'm a vice cop," I said and he laughed loudly. I smiled at the realization I was being witty and keeping his interest.
"No, I think you're a writer or a blogger."
"Yeah, and you're a survey taker," I said with a laugh and he laughed along with me.
His phone rang and he groaned. "Goodnight, Blogger Betty," he called out.
"Goodnight, Survey Sam," I yelled back and heard him answer his phone with a cherry hello before his voice fell softly and his smooth persona came back.
2
I finished my run and was waiting in line at the Starbuck's for my coffee when a man rudely walked in front of me. I didn't say anything; I would never purposely draw attention to myself. I let him order and made sure to stay out of his way when he grabbed his coffee to leave.
"Excuse me sir," a young man said. "You rudely cut in front of the lady and I think you owe her an apology."
I looked at the man speaking and he smiled at me. He was so beautiful, most likely used to drawing all the attention he wanted. I shook my head and returned my gaze back to the ground when the rude man tossed a quick, "Sorry," at me and left.
"It's fine," I mumbled and wanted to run from the place.
I ordered a plain black coffee and the young man handed the girl behind the counter some money. "I'm treating," he said and I became very nervous. I didn't want to owe him anything, like conversation or pleasantries. I didn't know how to be civil with people who weren't calling me names.
The girl handed us both a coffee and I rushed from the store and realized he was walking right behind me. I glanced back and he said, "I'm not following you, I promise."
"No, I didn't mean to accuse you," I said and stopped walking so he could pass, but he took it as my desire to talk to him.
"I shouldn't be too tough on the rude man, since we all seem to be addicted," he said and raised his cup.
"Coffee is a diuretic," I said having no idea why I felt the need to share such information.
"It keeps me upright," he laughed and shook his head, "I'm not a morning guy."
I looked at my feet and wondered if he would be so nice if I was still overweight and needing a friend. I doubted it. He noticed my awkwardness and held out his hand, "I'm Edward Cullen; yes my father is Carlisle Cullen from channel six."
I looked at him again to see if I could find the resemblance. I felt the son was better looking although the man known as the voice of Seattle was not bad. "I'm Bella Swan," I said and shook his hand quickly, pulling back a bit too early.
He glanced at his hand as if expecting to see something repulsive hanging from it. "I respect your dedication to health," he joked and I glared at him. I felt he was making fun of my weight and I walked away from him.
"Did I say something offensive?" he asked as he jogged to catch up with me.
"Leave me alone," I said as tears formed in my eyes.
He dropped back and let me get way ahead of him before making his way to wherever he was going. I showered and couldn't help the tears that fell as I soaped my face harshly, trying to remove the puffy eyes and pinched face caused by several chins, that only I continued to see.
When I was toweling off I heard the neighbor coughing and I was shocked to hear him up so early. I was sure he was getting sick and that was why he sniffed and coughed so much. I took advantage of his stirring and used my blow dryer for once.
He coughed again for quite a spell and I looked over at the wall. "Are you okay?" I asked.
"I'm dying," he said and coughed again.
"Maybe you should stop smoking," I said without sympathy.
I heard a woman laugh and I moved away from the wall as if I could mentally ignore her better from a distance.
"It's the perfume, I'm choking to death," he said and coughed again.
I left my room and logged onto my computer. I wanted to yell hateful things to him and ask if she was fat so he could appreciate the better of her bigger. I wondered if she believed he was saying sweet things only to her and didn't know he practiced his craft nightly.
When I heard the woman leave I ran to the window and saw a gorgeous, tall blonde leave in a fancy car. I boiled with jealousy, not over the man, but wishing I could look even remotely like her.
My phone rang and I began my day trying my best to ignore the man who had absolutely nothing to do with me. He had me rattled and I ate two pieces of bread for lunch. By dinner I was in a panic and used both the treadmill and the cycle. He wanted to rattle me, so I would eat, and he could laugh. I wasn't about to let him control me.
His phone rang right at nine and I heard him groan as he let it ring several times. He let out a loud breath and finally answered it. It was difficult for him tonight and I knew it had something to do with the blonde. He wanted to be arousing his beautiful woman, not the pathetic fat woman on the phone.
He got rough and began speaking about causing pain and using crude language instead of the sweet tantalizing words he usually used. Maybe he was talking to a woman who wanted what he was offering. When he crossed what I felt was a line I sat up, becoming truly worried about him.
He was speaking so quickly and so loud that I could hear him spitting as he spoke. I got on my knees and placed my hand on the wall. "Hey," I said as I knocked softly. I heard the phone slam into the cradle as he continued breathing loudly.
"You're okay," I said against the wall. "It's gone now."
I heard his sobs and my heart ached for him. I wished I was the type of woman who men found comfort from. I would go to him and hold him as he cried. I wanted the blonde to come back and promise him she would take him far from the life he hated so much.
"Are you still there?" he asked and I leaned my forehead against the wall.
"Yeah."
"I can't do it all the time, they keep calling and I can't be what they need me to be," he said with tortured sobs.
"They're using you, they don't care about your heart," I said to make him rethink his occupation.
"No, I'm using them," he said and I had no idea what he meant.
"You wouldn't give them a second look if they walked past you on the street."
His phone rang and I sighed. "Don't answer it," I begged him but after the third ring he picked up the receiver and said, "Hello babe, I'm glad you called, I'm so hot for you."
I sunk back into my bed and covered my head with my pillow. I couldn't listen to him tonight, his lies were too apparent and I was afraid to hear something I wanted to believe.
Three days later I ran into Edward again. He held the door open to the coffee shop for me and when he smiled I looked at the ground. "Black coffee?" he asked.
"I'll get it," I said and he looked a little sad but I wasn't about to make our accidental meetings a planned thing.
"How far do you run?" he asked as we stood in line together.
"I don't know," I said with a slight smile.
"I'm betting it is far, I mean, you look like a runner," he said and I frowned and turned to him.
"What does that mean?" I asked.
"I mean you have long legs and a thin body."
I pushed past him and ran from the store. I didn't stop to see if he tried to follow or not. I just ran as if I was still on my route. I wanted to slap Edward, or yell at him. Why did men have to comment on our bodies? I wanted him to say I seemed smart, or kind, or interesting. I was so tired of fighting the battle with my body and he only reminded me why I had to keep it up. People noticed, and I wouldn't be able to stand to hear the laughter again.
I was an only child and my parents were overachievers who were never home. Food was my friend and my comforter; it loved me without judgment or harsh critique. I had tried every diet in the world, only to gain back the few pounds I would lose. I heard all the comments people thought of as helpful, "You have such a pretty face; you must be big boned, have you tried to stop eating when you're full?"
I didn't lose weight to find true love or to please anyone. I wanted the meanness to stop. I wanted to walk down the street without people yelling from their cars or pointing to their companions. I wanted to disappear, not fit in.
I had always planned to go to college but I knew the boys would only get meaner, so I took a computer class and got my job with the airlines. I am able to travel all I want, but why would I go to exotic places where you could lie on a beach, just to be ridiculed and laughed at by foreigners.
The day passed without any noise from the other side of the wall and I worried about the fact he didn't rise at noon. It was late when I finally heard him sniff and looked at the wall in shock. He usually took many calls on Friday nights, but his phone had yet to ring.
I climbed in bed and began reading my magazine about the latest celebrities. I knew the stories were false, but I could pretend they were about me if the star didn't want them. I was lost in the secret love nest of two famous Disney stars when I heard him speak.
"Are you there?" he asked with pain.
"Yeah, are you sick or taking a night off?"
"How old are you?" he asked and I instantly tensed.
"I'm an adult," I shared.
"I'm twenty-five," he said and I smiled before saying, "Me, too."
"Did you watch Muppet Babies when you were younger?" he asked and I chuckled.
"I was obsessed with Rugrats."
"I wanted to be Sabertooth from X-men," he said with his own chuckle. "Were you an Angelica fan?"
"Oh God no, my mother would never allow that. I wanted to be Dr. Lipschitz. He was a professional but got to see all the little kids."
"Hum…now look at us, you can't please your mother and I'm still working for the bad guy."
"Do you remember Zoobilee Zoo?" I asked him with a smile on my face.
"Yeah, I loved Lookout bear and I thought Whazzat Kangaroo was so hot."
Of course he would, she wore a tight costume showing off her perfect body. He wouldn't think the Cockatoo was hot, she was covered in a bird costume. I seethed in silence and he finally spoke again. "Am I bothering you?"
"No," I said harshly.
"What do you look like?" he asked and I closed my eyes and pictured my body, the one I carried around for over twenty years which he would never find hot.
"I'm ugly," I said softly and he remained quiet.
I felt my tears fall from my eyes and slide into my hair. I finally got up and walked on the treadmill for an hour. His phone began to ring and he spoke with a soft melancholy voice all night. I wondered why he wanted to talk about cartoons. Maybe it was his desire to return to an innocent time in his life, when a mother took care of his needs, instead of woman always wanting something from him. I felt a bit sorry for him, until I went to bed.
I could hear him plainly as he spoke from his bed. "Sweetheart, I think your body is beautiful. Raphael painted well rounded woman because only a real woman is built like that. I want to run my hands over your soft body, feeling every curve."
I turned onto my side and stared into the darkness. I wanted to send a fat woman to climb into his bed and see if he felt the same way. It was easy to lie to people who need it so badly. I assumed most of his callers used to be slim and beautiful, until time changed them, and needed to remember what it used to be like for them.
I wondered what he would say to me, who never had a single date, or a man say anything sweet to me. What lies would he use to bring me pleasure? I closed my eyes and pictured someone like Edward Cullen holding me and telling me I was thin. I wondered if I would let myself believe the lies for just a moment of pleasure.
I heard the neighbor panting loudly as he gave out explicit instructions of what he was doing to the woman's soft body.
Yes, I would believe the lies.
3
The weekend moved quickly and the phone calls were many. I drove up the coast and jogged along the sandy beach for a more intense run. It was raining softly and I heard someone coming up behind me. I turned to see Edward Cullen walking with a hoodie up and his hands in his pocket. He recognized me and smiled.
"Hey, we seem to run into each other all over," he said and I gave a small smile.
"I run here sometimes," I explained.
"My parents live over there," he said and pointed to a beautiful house along the beach.
We stood in an awkward silence until he finally said, "May I take you to lunch someday?"
"I work," I said stupidly and he laughed.
"Yeah, I work too, but you have to eat don't you?"
I glared at him and said, "Funny," as I stormed off.
"Wait," he said and reached out for my arm. "I'm not trying to offend you; I'm asking you on a date, that's all."
"Me, on a date?" I said and crossed my arms to keep him from touching me.
"Yes, why would that surprise you?"
"Okay, fine. I'll meet you at the Sizzler tomorrow at noon," I said and turned to run off.
I had no intention of meeting him. I knew he was setting me up for something, maybe he was in a fraternity or something and this was part of a big prank. I wasn't about to become his joke. I never gave him another thought and spent lunch cutting a lean chicken breast into thin strips to broil over my tomato slices.
I was talking to a customer around two when I heard the neighbor's door slam loudly. I jumped from the noise and heard him cussing and mumbling, but the customer was talking in my ear so I couldn't catch any actual sentences.
He turned on his television, which he hardly ever did and I heard the clinking of glass. I assumed he made himself a drink and I pictured him watching X-men with a juice box, it made me smile.
I was walking briskly on my treadmill when I heard a knock on my door. I stared in fear, knowing my lights were on and the television was loud. I knew Edward Cullen had connections, but I never thought he would look up where I lived and come to my door.
I walked to the locked door and said with a shaky voice, "Yes."
"I don't think you have a face," my neighbor said with slurred speech. "I think you are only a voice to torment me."
"Me," I gasped, "What about your clients?"
"They tell me things," he said and then laughed with disgust. "They tell me way too much, they don't speak from behind the wall cryptically."
"You're drunk," I said to let him know I was not going to be opening the door.
"Yes, I'm drunk and I want to see your ugly face," he laughed.
"Leave me alone," I said softly and left the door.
I heard his body collapse into the door and he spoke with his mouth against the frame. "Women always tell the same lies. I'm ugly, I'm fat, and nobody understands me," he spoke in falsetto.
"Well guess what sweetheart, nobody gives a fuck. There is always another woman waiting to take your place. You all want rich, successful men, who look like movie stars, and worship you as you spend his money without a thought to what he needs."
I felt rage explode inside me and rushed back to the door. "Are you kidding me? Men judge, and laugh, and comment, as you stand with your bald heads and beer guts, expecting us to look like supermodels so you can grunt and sweat all over us. We don't need your money or your lies, we can always make a phone call for what we need, can't we asshole."
"Touché," he slurred. "You can call me. I know what you need."
I knew he was drunk and wouldn't remember what he was saying, but I also wondered if he really did know what I needed. I had no idea, but his experience may know things I didn't. I bit my lip as I gathered the nerve to ask him. I shut my eyes and quickly said, "What do I need?"
My entire body was tight with fear he would say something horrible to add to the weight of comments I constantly carried with me, engraved into my flesh as if they were tattoos.
"You need to feel loved," he said as he slid down the door to sit against it.
I mirrored his action on my side of the fortressed closure. "How?" I whispered against the crack in the frame.
"You need someone to hold you and tell you you're beautiful, regardless of how many laps you do on the treadmill. You need a man to take you to a public place and show you off proudly instead of letting you hide behind the door."
My tears fell steadily as he spoke the truth to my denial.
"You need a man to make love to you and scream your name as if calling on the gods for help as he falls madly in love with you."
"That man doesn't exist," I said softly and honestly.
"Yeah, my need doesn't exist either," he replied just as softly.
"What do you need?" I asked him.
"I need someone to save me," he said and he sniffed a couple of times.
I wanted to tell him I could easily save him. I could move him in with me and give him time to find a decent job, or enroll in school, but he would never take me out into public proudly or scream my name in passion. His need was easy, and it hurt to know he would be saved someday as I continued to hide behind my door.
"Sabertooth can always switch sides," I said as I wiped my tears away.
"And Dr. Lipschitz can get his own series," he said and I laughed at the way he said the name in his drunken state.
"The reality is Sabertooth is only interesting because he is the bad guy, and Dr. Lipschitz will always be relegated to a side character, never coming into the open," I said and tried to be lighthearted about it, but my heart was anything but light.
"And the phones keep ringing," he said as he struggled to stand. I looked over at my headset and knew he was right, we were stuck as the pathetic people we were.
"Yes, they do," I said and left the door to get back on the treadmill.
He continued to drink during the night and his calls were extra saucy. He laughed and teased and seemed to be enjoying himself, but I'm sure the women were not happy. His sincere sounding musings were gone and a sarcastic lover would be easy to find. His clients wanted his lies and in his condition he could not give them what they had paid so dearly for.
When he finally fell onto his bed he kept erupting into giggles and it made me laugh. It was actually quite funny what he did for a living. I'm sure the women pictured a James Bond character, dressed in a tuxedo as he lived a life of intrigue and danger, not the boy who longed to be Sabertooth and thought Whazzat Kangaroo was hot.
They also didn't know the pain they caused him as he tried so hard not to cry in his empty apartment. When they dialed the number and gave their credit card they assumed they were being sent to an exotic location where a loving man awaited their desires to please his own. My customers were the same, traveling great distances to visit an ideal, whether it was family, a possible sale, or new sights, we both offered illusions.
I fell asleep to the sound of his laughter.
I woke up to the sound of his vomiting and loud swearing. I headed into the bathroom and heard him beg his maker to let it stop, only to begin the process all over again.
"Take a hot bath to sweat it out and drink some orange juice," I suggested loudly.
"I can't drink anything," he moaned.
"You need the vitamins," I explained, "Do you have a sports drink?"
"No," he moaned.
I went to my fridge and got two Gatorades and sat them by his front door. I went back to the bathroom and told him relief was waiting. I got back in bed and listened as he opened his door and came back to start the tub. I was just drifting off when he came back to his bed.
"Thanks," he said and soon began snoring loudly.
I tried to be extra quiet the next morning and let him rest as much as possible. I was shutting my door very softly when a woman walked past and knocked on his. I looked up to see the gorgeous blonde and she smiled at me.
"He's pretty hung over," I said to warn her or maybe to hope she would leave him alone.
"Good," she laughed and knocked harder. I glared at her insensitivity, but beautiful women could act however they wanted and men would always forgive them.
I put in my ear buds and headed out for my run, pushing myself extra hard after seeing his girlfriend. I wondered if she was the reason he had the job he did. It would take a lot of money to keep her happy and she obviously had no interest in saving him.
I also wondered if he used the practiced lines on her, or if he had genuine prose to tell her of his love. I could definitely picture him screaming her name, hell; she probably screamed her own name, too. I got my coffee and began the short walk home when I saw Carlisle Cullen, surrounded by reporters. He had microphones stuck in his face and he seemed very angry about something.
I headed to the crowd of people and tried to hear what was being said. "I stand by my story and I will testify if I am needed," Mr. Cullen said and then pushed his way from the crowd.
I didn't watch the news very often, preferring my love stories since I didn't actually participate in the world. I wondered what was going on in my city that had everyone in such an uproar. There were several people on the sidewalk I could ask, but speaking to strangers face to face was not something I dared to do.
I headed home and got my hand weights from the bedroom when I heard my neighbor talking softly to the woman. I was so tempted to listen but I only had a few minutes before I needed to log onto my computer. I was trying to juggle the weights and my coffee and dropped one right on my toe.
I cried out in expletives as I hopped around on one foot. I looked down to see my second toe very misshapen. "No," I cried out loudly, panicked that I wouldn't be able to run or walk on the treadmill. I could feel my body ballooning as I stared at the throbbing toe.
It couldn't be broken, it just couldn't be. I tried to ignore my foot and get lost in work, but the pain was becoming unbearable so I logged off my computer and headed to the city clinic. I filled out forms in triplicate as my foot continued to swell. When I was called back and asked to step on the scale I refused to look at the number.
I hobbled to an examination room and a young doctor came in without even looking at me. He read my chart and glanced at my foot. "I can tell it is broken, do you want an x-ray to confirm or do you want me to just set it?"
"Is it going to hurt?" I asked and he looked at me like I was an imbecile.
"Yes, it's going to hurt," he answered dryly.
I knew he would never treat the blonde woman this way. He would probably offer to suck her toe all better. "Go ahead," I said and braced myself.
I refused to cry out. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of hearing my pain when his bedside manor had been so cold. He taped my toe and placed a thin sock over my foot and told me to stay off it for ten days.
"I run," I blurted out and wanted to hear him say running would be fine, standing on it was the only thing I needed to avoid.
He looked at my chart and finally directly into my eyes. "You are too thin, are you menstruating?"
I huffed with appall, a doctor should be beyond making fun of people, let alone their own patients.
He took hold of my arm and looked at it carefully. "See the build up of soft hair; it is your body trying to insulate itself. You are actually starving to death."
I jerked my arm out of his grasp and wanted to run out of his exam room, but I could hardly even walk. I felt tears sting my eyes and I looked at the ground as my heart was beating frantically.
"I would like for you to remove your shirt," he said and put the stethoscope in his ear.
Doctors were like policemen, you never considered telling them no, or refusing an order. I hesitantly pulled my shirt over my head and he frowned at the sight. I didn't expect anything different. I had been taken from doctor to doctor as a child by my mother, desperate to make her imperfect daughter perfect.
"How many calories do you eat a day?" he asked and I only shrugged.
I knew, I knew with exactness. I could tell him the caloric intake of every single day over the past five years.
"Whatever it is, double it," he said and I gasped loudly. "If you don't gain three pounds by next week I'm going to hospitalize you."
I felt like the world became a fun house mirror right in front of my eyes. Everything was distorted and skewed as people laughed and pointed. I walked to my car, using only my heel on the injured leg, and drove home as I sobbed.