Dr. Cullen and the Hypochondriac

Disclaimer: The characters are not mine. The ridiculous plot, however, is.

Author's Note: If you're confused about why this story was originally deleted, read my profile. The information is right there.

Chapter One - The Deal

BELLA POV

"I have a brain tumor," I deadpanned

The paper crinkled beneath me as I wiggled around. The room was brightly lit and everything was white, sterile. Doctor Banner had his latex gloved hand wrapped around my wrist, two fingers pressed against my pulse.

"You don't have a brain tumor," he replied in his typical monotone voice.

"I do," I insisted. "Look at the eyes, doc. People always say my pupils are huge. Dilated eyes are a symptom of a brain tumor. I know this stuff. I checked online."

He glanced up at my eyes for a split second. "Your eyes appear to be fine."

Damn doctor didn't even look close enough. He was no help. I needed to move this up a notch. "I'm requesting a CT or MRI scan."

He shook his head and sighed as he removed his latex covered hand away from my wrist. "You don't need it, Bella."

"Yeah huh." I nodded my head vehemently. "How else are you going to determine where the little sucker is hiding up in my head?"

He scribbled something down on the sheet of white paper attached to the clipboard. "You don't have a brain tumor."

"You don't know that." I folded my arms across my chest and held my head high.

"Bella," he said as he placed the clipboard on top of the counter near the sink. He grabbed the back of his black chair and wheeled it over towards me before he plopped down. "I've been your doctor for fours years now. You're perfectly healthy," he assured, leaning forward with his forehead wrinkled and his eyes determined.

"There is nothing wrong with you." He gave me a stern look before leaning back in the chair. "At least in the physical aspect," he added underneath his breath.

I squinted my eyes at him. I heard that. Jerk. "CT scan. Now," I demanded.

He shook his head. "Insurance won't cover it."

"I have money," I replied hurriedly. Although I really didn't. At least not much.

He exhaled heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose as he snapped his eyes shut. "You're not getting a CT scan."

**

Not long afterwards, Doctor Banner entered the office to discuss my CT results. I swallowed thickly as he sat down on the other side of the desk. Our eyes locked, he leaned forward and clasped his hands together.

"Bella," he said slowly.

"How long do I have?" I whispered.

"You don't have a brain tumor."

I blinked.

"Everything is normal," he went on.

I blinked again.

"Bella, are you listening to me?"

"I-I don't understand," I stuttered, "did you mix up the results with another patient?"

He sighed in annoyance. "Isabella Swan, listen to me carefully. You do not have a brain tumor."

"What if it's just really small?" I protested in a whiny voice. "Like microscopic and you just can't see it?"

He groaned and rubbed his palms over his face.

"Maybe the equipment was faulty! I really think we need to re-do the CT scan!" I pushed back my chair and stood up. "There's something wrong with me and I need you to fix it!"

With his palms still smashed against his face, his eyes shot up and he stared at me. "There's someone I think you should see."

"A brain tumor specialist?" I asked, hopeful.

He removed his beefy hands away from his face and pulled out a thin white card from a drawer in his desk. "This is Dr. Cullen's business card. I'll call and make an appointment for you sometime later this week."

He handed me the card and my eyes scanned over it. "How is a psychologist going to cure my tumor?"

"There isn't a tumor in there." He stood up and stuffed his hands in his pocket. "Just a defect," he muttered quietly.

I glared at him. "When I die, I'll be back saying 'I told you so'."

He shook his head. "I'll call you the moment I confirm the appointment." He paused for a moment. "I will do everything in my power to make it as soon as possible."

"I have insomnia," I blurted, not wanting to be dismissed quite yet.

"No, you don't. You sleep eight hours every night. Sometimes more."

He walked around his desk and motioned for me to follow him towards the door.

"What about my vampire bite?!" I screeched.

He raised an eyebrow. "Vampire bite?"

"Look!" I tilted my head to the side so he could see the two puncture wounds. "See!"

He stepped closer to them and touched the marks. "That's not a vampire bite. There is no such thing as vampires. It looks like a spider bite."

My eyes widened and I gasped. "Spider?! What if it was poisonous?! We need to get it checked out immediately!"

He opened the door and turned to face me. "I'll call you after I speak with Dr. Cullen."

I huffed and stormed out of the office like a two year old on the verge of a tantrum. Stupid doctors. What do they know?

**

A couple days later, I entered a building and took the elevator up to the fourth floor, where Dr. Cullen's office was located. Maybe he could convince my doctor that there was something wrong with me.

I ended up sitting in the waiting room for a good thirty minutes before a receptionist said I could see Dr. Cullen. I spent that time huddled up in my own personal shell. My shoulders were hunched, my purse was on top of my lap as I grasped the straps. There was a plump woman with curly red chair sitting two seats down from me. And a rail thin elderly male sat to the other side of me, also two seats down. I was constantly at a distance from people. I frowned.

I cleared my throat as I gingerly stood up and walked down the hall to the door which had name plate 'Dr. Edward Cullen' on it.

I knocked on the door and heard a gentle, "Come in."

I opened the door and stepped inside. It was a decent sized office. There was a two-seater midnight blue sofa against the west side of the room. A matching plush chair was off to the side of the couch, slanted towards the sofa. A black and maroon afghan with squiggly patterns was draped over the back of the chair.

A large window was covered by maroon drapes that were pulled opened, allowing the sunshine to filter through the room. The room smelled like autumn. Pumpkins and cinnamons. That was when I noticed the lit candle of top of one of the low bookshelves. There was another large bookshelf, books filled every inch.

To the east side of the room, sat a desk. I did a double take at the young man sitting behind the desk, typing something on his silver laptop.

"Aren't you a little young to be a psychologist?" I greeted before I could even shut the door.

He looked up at me with a surprised expression. His bright green eyes met mine and his hair was an unusual shade of copper. The sunlight brought out the red tones in his hair. "I assure you I have all of the qualifications." He stood up and extended his hand for me to shake. "I'm Dr. Edward Cullen."

I accepted it and shook his hand. "Bella Swan," I said while studying his face.

Weren't psychologists supposed to be old, balding and plump? He was none of those things. He had a boyish face and was too pretty to be a doctor. He didn't look a day over twenty-five. He couldn't possibly have the experience to diagnosis me properly.

He gestured to the blue couch as he walked around to stand in front of the desk. I sat down tentatively and kept my eyes on Doogie Howser. He stepped forward and sat down in the chair, the one near the sofa, and held a pad of paper in his hands. He reached over to the desk and grasped a pair of glasses before sliding them on. Now he just looked like a boy pretending to be a grown up.

"Do you know why you're here today, Miss Swan?" he began

I shrugged a shoulder casually and studied my fingernails. "Doctor Banner wanted me to see you."

He nodded his head once. "Did he tell you why?"

"He says there's nothing wrong with me physically, so it has to be a mental issue," I replied nonchalantly.

"And what do you think about that?"

"I think he's wrong. I know I have a terminal illness."

He jotted down something on his pad and pressed his lips together in a tight line. I sighed exasperatedly. I didn't have time for this. He was probably doodling a cartoon character.

He proceeded to ask questions about my family history and all that jazz. I informed him that Renee, my mother, passed away from cancer when I was four years old. That right there just showed how susceptible I was to developing a terminal illness. Charlie, my father, was in the military, and we moved around constantly. He was never around. He either worked 16 hours a day when I lived with him, or he was shipped somewhere overseas…like Saudi Arabia, for example. Places I couldn't go. My Aunt Victoria and Uncle James looked after me when Charlie couldn't bring me with him. They didn't exactly do a great job with that. But that wasn't something I wanted to discuss. So I quickly moved on. Charlie died two years ago. The day before my twentieth birthday.

After the tenth time he asked 'how do you feel about so and so', I exhaled deeply and interrupted him. "How do you feel about asking people how they feel? Seriously, that's really annoying. I'm not five years old. You don't have to drag out an emotions chart and ask me to pick out which one I can relate to the most."

He looked at me for a couple seconds before writing something down.

I clapped a hand on my thigh loudly. "So, what's the prognosis?"

"Honestly?" He lowered his pad and looked me over. "I think it's nothing more than hypochondriasis."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "I am not a hypochondriac."

He raised his eyebrows and wrote something else down. I glanced at the clock. Ten minutes left of our so called session. Blah. Why wait? He was a quack. I was done with this. I stood up as he eyed me curiously.

"Thank you for your time, Dr. Cullen," I said curtly. "I'm sure you have other patients to misdiagnosis, so if you don't mind, I'm gonna go now."

He sat the pad of paper down, along with the pen and stood up. I quickly glanced at the pad that proved that he was actually writing and not drawing. "Why do you want to have cancer, Miss Swan?"

I stood by the door, looked at him and twisted the doorknob. "Because I need a reason to want to live."

In the blink of an eye, he strode over to me and pressed his hand tightly against the door so I couldn't open it.

"Do you mind?" I asked.

"Care to elaborate?" He towered over me. "Have you been having any suicidal thoughts?"

I sighed and rolled my eyes. "No." To both.

I tried to open the door once again but he wouldn't remove his hand. "Sit down, please."

I sucked in my cheeks and squinted up at him. "I have places to be."

"No, you don't," he called my bluff. "Please sit down until your session is over."

I inhaled deeply before gritting my teeth and moving towards the sofa. He walked back to his chair and scooted it closer to the sofa. Ever hear of personal space, buddy?

"I'm not suicidal," I stated confidently. "I don't want to die."

"Would you mind telling why it is that you feel as though you have a brain tumor?" he asked in a professional, emotionless voice.

I crossed my legs and folded my hands together. "I know you think I like sound a raging lunatic. Look, it's not as insane as it sounds. When you have an illness, you have an excuse to do extreme things, such as jumping out of a plane. When people ask, 'why are you so crazy?' you can say that you have an incurable disease and they just nod and understand."

He scratched his head and looked puzzled. "So, you want to excuse your desire for sky diving by having cancer?"

I leaned back and smiled mockingly. "No."

"I'm sorry, Miss Swan, but I'm having a difficult time following you."

"It's complicated." I shrugged my shoulders.

"Enlighten me."

I released an exaggerated sigh. "I have a list of things I want to accomplish before I die. The problem is, if I'm not dying, I don't feel the desire to actually do them. There's no rush. If there's no rush, time will pass, I'll age and I'll never get it done. It'll always just be a list. When I said I want a reason to live, I didn't mean that so literally. I just meant that I want a reason to do something with my life, so it feels like I'm living."

He pursed his lips and looked deep in thought. "Why don't you push yourself to complete one task at a time? I'm still not understanding why you need to be dying in order to want to live."

"Because when you're told you have months or just a couple years left to live, you take advantage of that time. Every little thing that most people take for granted seems monumental all of a sudden. I want to feel that."

He reached over, grabbed his pad of paper and scribbled something down. "You choose the way you feel about life, Isabella."

"Bella," I corrected.

"Bella," he continued writing, "I say, if you want to jump out of an airplane with a parachute on your back, just do it."

I clinked my tongue to the roof of my mouth and tilted my head. "What happens if there's an accident and I die?"

He blinked and confusion swept over his features. I loved confusing doctors. It made my week more enjoyable.

"The reason I'd be comfortable doing something so risky is because I know that no matter what, my time is coming to an end. It won't matter if I die right then. But if I'm healthy and have my whole life in front of me…I don't want to jeopardize that."

He opened his mouth to speak but a receptionist buzzed in.

"Dr. Cullen, Michael Newton is here for his twelve o'clock appointment."

Dr. Cullen stood up and pressed a button. "Thank you, Tanya. Send him in after Isabella leaves."

"Bella," I mumbled to myself.

Dr. Cullen turned his attention back to me. "Miss Swan, I'd like to continue seeing you, if that's alright with you?"

I huffed. "Can't you just tell Dr. Banner that there's something growing in my noggin?"

He ran a hand through his unruly hair. "Miss Swan-"

"Bell-la," I repeated for the millionth time.

"Bella," he said, and I could've sworn that a bit of irritation seeped into his voice.

I smirked, I quite enjoyed watching professional doctors get worked up over something so insignificant. I mean, here they are, they went to graduate school and obtained a PhD specifically for their current occupation, knowing full well they'd have to deal with a bunch of crazies, yet it still managed to get under their skin from time to time.

"I'm not supposed to do this, but…" he paused for a moment, organizing his thoughts. "I'll make you a deal. You set up twenty additional sessions with me, twice a week, and by the time we're finished, if you still believe you have a brain tumor, I will take you to the hospital myself and help you convince Dr. Banner for another CT scan."

I looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. "That's ten consecutive weeks," I stated.

He nodded his head once.

Well, I knew Dr. Banner wouldn't allow me to get another CT scan done. And if I went to anyone else, they'd most likely throw me in the loony bin. That was not the way I intended to spend the last few months of my life. But if someone like Dr. Cullen went in to see Dr. Banner, he'd definitely allow at least one more scan. Dr. Cullen only wanted ten weeks with me, and I already knew that there was absolutely no way he'd convince me that there wasn't something deadly latching onto my brain. I had a bunch of symptoms. I knew I had a brain tumor.

I tapped my finger against my bottom lip. "Okay," I agreed.

He smiled crookedly, which only made him appear younger and reminded me that the kid wasn't qualified to diagnosis me.

I stumbled over to the door and reached out to open it, but Dr. Cullen somehow got there first and opened it for me. He smiled down at me and I nearly smiled back, but then I realized what I was doing to and shook my head. No. No smiles for Dr. Cullen. The smiles would be reserved for when he lives up to his end of the deal.

I stepped out of the room, and someone, I assumed his next patient, had his hands wrung together before he brushed past me and dashed into Dr. Cullen's office. He's mighty eager. Wonder what kind of drugs Dr. Cullen gives him.

"Four minutes and thirty-eight seconds," muttered the blonde patient. "That's how long it took you to open the door. I was afraid you were dead. It doesn't take a healthy person four minutes and thirty-eight seconds to open a door. Are you having spasms, Dr. Cullen?"

I heard a distinct sigh from Dr. Cullen before he shut the door behind his patient. I snickered. You wanted this profession, buddy. I wasn't exactly going to make it much easier on him. All I needed was for the next ten weeks to fly by.

I made the appointments with one of the receptionists. I was scheduled to come in every Monday and Thursday at 11 am.

Once I left the office, I headed to the homeless shelter, where I had been staying since my roommate, Jessica, kicked me out after I interrupted her sexcapades with the cute guy who lived down the hall. I barged into the room one night, hyperventilating, and tried to explain to her that the tumor was freaking me out because I had read an online article about a boy who lost his mobility due to a brain tumor. She kept yelling at me to get out of the room but I couldn't budge.

I came home the next day to see my luggage sitting near the door. Jessica said I had to leave. That wasn't exactly legal since it was my apartment too, but she threatened to have me committed, and we both knew there was a strong possibility that'd happen. So I didn't fight her on it. I didn't tell anyone I was thrown out. Not Dr. Banner, definitely not Dr. Cullen, and certainly not my employer. I just had to save up enough money to get a new place. It'd happen eventually.

At least I still had Jake. That was the important thing. Wherever I'd go, Jake would always be with me.

I entered the shelter and sauntered over to Angela, one of the workers. "Hi, Angela," I greeted.

She was sitting behind the station in the lobby, reading something on the computer screen before turning to face me. "Hey there, Bella," she smiled. "How'd it go?"

I shrugged a shoulder. "Another quack." I glanced around the room to search for Jake. I had left him with her.

"Well, at least that's over with, huh?"

I looked back at her. "Not exactly. Have go in for twenty more sessions."

She tilted her head in confusion.

"We made a 'deal'." I used finger quotations when I said deal. "So, where's my baby?"

She nodded her head towards one of the hallways. "Playing with one of the kids. Her name is Claire."

I leaned back slightly and slapped the counter once before spinning around and trudging down the corridor to see my Jakey.

I entered the playroom and spotted him immediately. The little girl was stroking Jake's head and giggling as he squirmed in her arms.

"Hi." I smiled at the girl.

She turned her head to look at me. "Hi," she replied shyly.

"He's a cutie, isn't he?" I asked, referring to Jake.

She nodded her head. "Is he yours?"

"Yep. That's my little ferret."

She held him up towards me. "Do you want him back?"

I waved a head. "Nah. I have to get ready for work, anyway. Why don't you look after him for me?"

She smiled widely. "Kay."

I returned the smile before grabbing my bag so I could change into my uniform. Just ten more weeks and I'd get the new CT scan revealing my hidden tumor, and I'd gain the motivation to get out of here.