BPOV

Hungry. So hungry. My stomach growled harshly and I blushed as some people turned to look. I wasn't surprised they could hear. Subways are always so packed but always silent.

I grabbed my arm in an attempt to slow the bleeding but it just seeped through my fingers at a rapid pace, soaking my last good shirt. I wished I had a few dollars to go to a thrift store and stock up on new clothes. It was irritating to have to walk around society with a shirt that has blood splatters and tears covering it.

I looked around desperately, looking for anyone I could mooch a few dollars out of. My hair was already matted and my clothes were filthy to the extent of mold, so it was easy to look like what I was.

Homeless.

I didn't like looking pathetic and helpless. But after my father's house liquidated after he died, I had nothing left. I had no mother as far as I knew and my father had no siblings. His parents had died young so he had been my only family.

He had home schooled me since the day I turned five. He was an incredibly smart man, so it was no issue for him. But I had no friends. I was too clumsy to play a sport, there were no real social outings in my tiny town and I never had to go to school, so I never really saw anybody. Occasionally, I would go out to buy milk or some other home necessity, but as I ran out of money, I ran out of gas and the need to have coffee or alcohol, not that I drank much. But nonetheless, there was no money for anything recreational.

My father had been robbed of most of his money when he was forty. He had a jewelry shop and his partner stole everything, including his bank account. So he worked at a convenience store until he died of a heart attack, leaving me with nothing.

It wasn't his fault, but I couldn't help but be irrationally mad some days when I was picking dried fruit out of a garbage can. It was hard to not have anybody to blame, and on those days, I blamed him.

The subway lurched to a stop and I held onto the pole with my good arm to keep from falling over. As soon as the doors opened, I scrambled out of there as quickly as I could, not looking anybody in the eye unless they were wearing a suit over five hundred dollars.

I climbed the subway stairs until I reached the light of the city above me.

The one decision of my life that I will never regret is the one that brought me to New York. It was full of opportunity, people, stray coins, and most importantly, subways. Miles of subway tracks just below my feet. So easy to get away from the cops, angry civilians, everyone. I hadn't been caught once in New York.

But if I didn't hurry, I might get caught now.

I ran down the street, shoving my way through people and intercepting cars. I hoped that I was far enough away that nobody would suspect anything if a cop came running through a few minutes later, but you could never be too sure.

I looked behind me, anxious to see if anyone was following when my chest hit something hard, my ass landing on the ground and my injured arm cradled against my side.

I heard someone across from me moan and I instantly panicked.

"I'm so sorry, sir! I wasn't looking where I was going. Please, let me help you," I insisted so he didn't report me.

I stood quickly and reached out my uninjured arm to the man who sat rubbing his head in confusion.

He looked up at me curiously and understanding reached his eyes. He took my hand cautiously and I pulled him up, flinching slightly when he put his hand on my other arm to steady himself.

"It's quite alright, ma'am," he answered. He was British and oh-so gorgeous. His green eyes bored into my muddy brown ones and I couldn't help but glance at his bronze hair several times.

He broke his gaze to look down at himself and smeared his coat with blood when attempting to wipe off the dirt. He frowned and looked at me, his eyes darting to my arm and back to his hand.

"My god! Did I do that?" He asked in a panicked voice, fluttering his hand over my wound.

I shook my head. "I fell," I answered truthfully, not looking into his eyes.

"Jesus, what did you fall on, a knife?" He asked, grabbing my arm and taking a better look at the gash on my flesh.

I looked down, blushing a crimson red. "Um…"

He looked up at me, astonished. "You did? Here, let me get you fixed up," he insisted, grabbing my good arm and leading me off to the side of the walkway, away from the horde of people.

He reached into his blood stained coat and pulled out a small bag, small enough to fit in my pocket and opened it to pull out a tube of what looked like antibiotics and a large gauze wrap.

"Sorry about your coat," I mumbled guiltily.

"Not at all, dear girl," he assured. "It was my fault, really, for not noticing sooner," he shrugged. "It's replaceable. Your arm, on the other hand, is not," he said, smiling at his own joke.

I lowered my eyes to our shoes, hating the way they looked together. Classy leather shoes and ratty old converse from when my father was a child.

"Do I not amuse you?" He asked as he spread the antibiotic on my arm.

"No, it's not that. Just not in a very humorous mood right now," I explained.

He nodded thoughtfully. "Everyone has those types of days." He wrapped my arm in gauze and pinned it together at the end.

At that moment, a police officer came running up to us and flashed his badge. A shot of nervousness made its way up my spine and to my brain, making my face flush.

"Miss, I'm sorry to have to ask this, but were you just running from us at the subway station a few blocks back?" the officer asked in a stern and commanding voice.

I didn't answer, instead shuffling my feet and looking down at my newly wrapped arm.

"Miss?"

"She was not."

I looked up at my savior in surprise, trying to hide it to avoid suspicion from the cop.

The cop raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"She's been with me for the past half an hour. Hasn't left my sight," he said matter-of-factly.

"And may I ask what you were doing?"

"Catching up. I saw her at a restaurant and thought I remembered her from somewhere. As it happens, we went to the same high school," my man defended.

I stood, stunned by his words. Nobody had ever defended me before, not even my father.

The cop nodded, suspicion erased. "Alright then. If you see a woman about your height and features, please let a nearby cop know. They will contact me," he insisted.

We both nodded and I breathed a silent sigh of relief.

"Good day," my savior said to the cop and he rushed off in search of a culprit he'd never find.

I sighed out loud, looking my savior in the face.

"Thank you so much. You don't understand-"

He held up a finger to silence me. "Listen. I would like to know what you did. How about I take you to lunch and you tell me about yourself and the incident?" he suggested kindly and I wasn't surprised by how much my stomach growled when the thought of lunch came up. I hadn't had lunch in years.

But he wanted to know why I'd run. I could eat first and then tell him and that would be the key to food. I nodded slowly, letting him take my arm and lead me down the street.

"So, what is your name?" he asked.

"Isabella," I said tentatively, still nervous about what he would do when he found out. "Why do you carry around that bag full of bandages with you?"

He smiled. "My name is Edward Masen and I'm a doctor," he explained.

I nodded slowly, thankful that I had run into a doctor. Literally.

"So, Bella, where do you live?" Edward asked, opening a door to a random cafe and leading us inside.

Bad question.

"…Around."

Good answer.

"Where is 'around', might I ask?"

Bad question. Again.

"Nowhere."

He stopped in his tracks, his arm slipping loose from mine as I kept walking. I walked to a table and sat myself down, waiting for him to regain his senses.

He finally blinked and walked over to the table I was sitting at and sat down.

"What do you mean… 'nowhere'?"

I bit my lip and blushed, not moving to give an answer. I was hoping we could get to this later.

"Answer the damn question, Isabella," he demanded.

I flinched away from him and made a move to get up. If I had to deal with this, than I didn't care if I got food or not.

Okay, I cared. A lot.

Edward's hand shot out and latched onto my arm, ensuring that I stayed put.

"Tell me, Isabella."

"I don't live anywhere, okay?" I said softly, turning my head so he couldn't look into my eyes.

"You mean…"

I didn't respond. I made another move to get up and he didn't stop me until I was nearly behind him.

"Isabella…" he trailed off.

"Bella, please."

Avoidance.

He frowned at me. "Bella, then. Please, sit down. Let me treat you to lunch then you can tell me what you did. Then, we'll talk about… more important things," he suggested.

I thought for just a moment. Food always came first. He wouldn't report me to the cops because of my… situation and maybe he would help me out a bit by giving me a few bucks. Doctors made a lot of money, right?

I nodded and went back to the seat I was sitting in before.

Before I could pull up the menu, Edward pulled over the waiter.

"Do you think we could get a table that's a little more… private?" he asked.

The waiter looked at him curiously but did not question it, just led us to a booth near the back. He gave Edward a questioning glance and when he nodded, he walked away.

He motioned for me to sit down and did so himself. The waiter came back quickly and asked us what we wanted to drink.

"Isab- Bella. What would you like?"

Eh.

I was taught at a young age that people tried to trick you no matter what you do. Whether it was a test or just to see how stupid you were, they always had something up their sleeve. Basically, don't trust anyone.

And that was why I was stuttering like an idiot at the booth, trying to decide whether to get water or the chocolate milk I hadn't been able to afford in years.

"Bella?"

I stayed frozen for another half a second before deciding his test was determining if I had the guts or not to order what I wanted and not what he wanted me to get. I had the guts.

"Water, please," I mumbled under my breath.

He looked at me with a scolding face and turned to the waiter. "Two cokes for me please."

Crap.

When the waiter walked away, Edward growled at me.

"What was the last drink you had that wasn't water, Bella?" he asked firmly.

I thought for a moment. "Milk, I think."

"When?"

I paused, not wanting to give away the answer.

He urged me on, not one to wait.

"A month, more or less."

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

"God, Bella. Have you ever even had a coke?"

"Of course!" I yelped, covering my mouth quickly afterward. "My father was not a poor man, I can assure you of that."

He looked at me curiously, his eyebrows furrowed in anger. He wiped a hand over his face and sighed.

"What happened to your father?"

"Died of a heart attack."

"And his money?"

"Robbed."

He sighed again and I let myself be momentarily stunned by how gorgeous he was. He really was a sight to see.

The waiter brought us our drinks and Edward pushed one of his cokes to me and I took it hesitantly.

He looked at me expectantly. "Go on, drink it."

I brought the glass to my lips and hummed in delight. It was sweet and bubbly and nothing better had gone down my throat in the last few years of my life.

I swayed in contentment, taking another sip.

"See?"

I nodded and smiled.

The waiter came around again.

"Ready to order?" he asked.

Edward didn't even look at me. "I'll have the chicken salad and tomato soup and she'll have a cheeseburger, please."

The waiter nodded and left.

I glared at him and he shrugged.

"I may be poor, but I'm not stupid," I said angrily.

Edward nodded. "I know. I got you the most filling thing on the menu and I'm giving you my tomato soup. I'm just trying to help," he offered.

I looked down at the table, embarrassed.

He looked at me for a moment, making me uncomfortable.

"Bella, what did you do that made you run from the cops back there?"

I rubbed my chin against my shoulder, trying to avoid looking him in the eyes.

He stared me down, trying to make me talk, and finally I gave in.

"I was in the subway and was so hungry. I needed money for food. And so I saw this guy… his wallet was right there, in his pocket. It was so easy. I needed it. So I took it." I paused, letting the information sink in before I continued. "He caught me. Called over a cop. After tripping and falling onto my own knife, I ran onto the nearest train and hoped they wouldn't follow me. But, as you can see, they did. And now I'm here. Oh, and I lost the knife."

He nodded thoughtfully, taking a sip of his coke. "That's not so bad," he decided.

I sighed in relief and our food was brought out. The cheeseburger was set in front of me and my stomach growled loudly.

I waited until the chicken salad was in Edward's mouth before I shoved the cheeseburger into my own, moaning slightly at the sensation of the juices on my tongue.

Edward pushed the tomato soup toward me and I slurped it down immediately, finishing the cheeseburger soon afterwards. The entire time, Edward sat looking at me, occasionally taking a bite of his salad.

When I finished, I felt more full than I had in years. It was an amazing feeling and it was crazy how many people took that feeling for granted.

I watched as Edward slowly finished his chicken salad and then set his plate aside.

"So, Bella," he started. "Where did you grow up?"

I bit my lip, considering how to answer the question.

"I was born in Phoenix but my mother died so I moved to Forks, Washington with my father," I explained.

"How did your mother die?"

"Car accident. I was two."

He stayed silent for another moment before going on. "Did you go to high school in Forks?"

"I was home schooled."

More silence between the two of us.

"So your father was smart?"

"Very. He was a college professor at the University of Phoenix before we moved."

He stared at me for an uncountable amount of time before reaching over and running his fingers along my cheek. My cheek tingled where he touched it. I wasn't sure if it was because I didn't remember being touched that way since I was young, or if it was him.

He continued to stare at me and didn't ask any more questions. I was starting to feel very self conscious with his fingers on my grime infested cheek and my matted hair hanging around me in tendrils. I hadn't changed in a few days and these were my last good clothes. I hoped he gave me enough money to buy a new shirt.

When he finally spoke, it was the words that I had least expected to come out of his mouth.

"Bella, I want to take you home with me."