Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or any of the characters. Unfortunately. Sigh.
Author's Note: I'm not sure whether to continue this or leave it as it is. Let me know what you think and we'll go from there!

I SHALL BELIEVE
Come to me now,
And lay your hands over me.
Even if it's a lie,
Say it will be alright,
And I shall believe.

CHAPTER ONE

HURT

The clock marked twelve hours since Esme had last seen her husband. She felt dirty; as though she was doing something wrong fleeing from town to town, from him and their wretched life together. She shifted restlessly and gazed blankly at the bland white wall facing her. She had been sitting in the tiny exam room attached to the hospital's clinic for about an hour now, all the while debating with herself over whether she should have come at all. She felt nervous, unsure of herself, and completely numb all at the same time. She felt like she shouldn't be here, but she didn't want to leave. She was a mess of contradictions and it hurt. She wanted it all to stop, but she wanted things to keep moving forward and she wanted a sense of normalcy; yet another mess to add to the heap going on in her head.

The sound of the doorknob twisting was more than enough to make Esme jump and she hugged her knees closer to her chest as though it was going to burst open and thrust every fear she'd ever had right before her eyes. She already knew what a mess she must look, what with her tangled dark hair and tear stains that had been cooling her face ever since she left Charles Evenson's home. It wasn't their home; he'd made that clear to her long ago. It seemed everything they had ever owned belonged to him, and that left her feeling even more alone. She had nothing to her name, but even nothing was better than him. She welcomed nothing.

The face that appeared before her was the last she wanted to see. She'd been dreaming of that very face for years. She'd been reaching for that face, that man every single time she closed her eyes at night. When she had grown exhausted of living long ago, it had been the hope of finding that face once more that egged her on and pushed her forward. But not like this. Chicago was approximately five hours from her home; the last place she had expected to find him. Esme had always imagined Chicago to be a haven of sorts; the perfect setting for a black and white movie where men dressed in suits simply to trek down the lonely sidewalk and streetlights met the sky to illuminate the path. Instead, reality had disappointed her yet again and handed her a crowded city with loud inhabitants and cramped buildings.

She tore her eyes away from the pale face of the doctor and stared absently at the floor. She heard him shut the door and she could practically feel the patience bouncing off of him in transparent waves. It was unnerving. She was sure she wasn't the first rape victim he was about to deal with, but the whole situation made her urge to dart overwhelming.

"Mrs. Evenson," he tried firmly, but she could almost feel it when his expression softened and his voice gave way to a gentler voice. "Esme. I don't know if you remember me –"

"I'm sorry," she blurted. She didn't even know what it was she was apologizing for. "This isn't...I should just..." He cautiously moved closer and extended his right arm to touch her shoulder. In a sudden burst of anger, she shoved it away as though it were a snake preparing to attack. "Don't touch me!" she snapped. Immediate realization washed over his features almost as quickly as a mix of guilt and shock washed over hers. Her outburst hadn't been planned. It felt almost as if her body was acting on autopilot and she'd completely lost control of anything.

A silence crashed over the room almost as terrifying as her thoughts. She felt hot tears sting her eyes without her consent for the umpteenth time that day. Crying too easily had always been a downfall of hers.

"Someone hurt you," she heard him say. It sounded more like an observation than anything. "I know I can't ask for your trust nor do I feel I've earned it, but I can promise you you're safe with me, Esme. I'm only here to service you."

Esme paused to cough into her sleeve then tucked her head against her knees. She wanted to feel safe and while she truly wanted to trust the doctor who had helped her all those years ago, her head couldn't process anything but how much it ached and the situation she'd endured no longer than a day ago. "It was my husband," she practically choked then halted to cough again. "It wasn't..." she trailed off to wipe the tears that began rolling down her cheeks again.

"Just because he's your husband doesn't justify what he's done to you," he answered softly. "You know that as well as I do."

She didn't understand him. How could he possibly know what she knew? She hadn't seen him since she was a young, rebellious sixteen-year-old, and here he was talking to her as though they'd been close ever since that day. The thought was just as infuriating as it was incredibly comforting; just another contradiction going on in her head. If one could read her mind, they'd think she was some sort of insane. Maybe she was going insane. She coughed into her sleeve again. "I can't breathe," she rasped quietly. "I don't want to do this."

"This is important, Esme," he told her gently. He was looking at her as though she was some sort of abused puppy. She sure felt like one. "Let's just get this over with, shall we?"

"Later," she pleaded. "Please. I don't want to do this. Please." She didn't know when the sudden desire to get away and press pause enveloped her again, but anything was better than facing this. The thought that she could be carrying the child of the monster that was Charles Evenson sickened her. Doctor Cullen drew closer again and she buried her face in his clean white coat without thinking, clawing for a source of comfort. His hand rested only gently on her back, but the contact made her flinch.

"Alright," he allowed. "I suppose it can wait – but not for very long, Esme. We're going to have to deal with it soon. I'm going to arrange a hospital room for you."

"You're not going to leave, are you?" she murmured hoarsely. She wasn't sure where the sudden attachment to a practical stranger came from, but it dawned on her that she didn't want to talk to anyone else. "Don't leave me here," she panicked as she felt the familiar sting of tears behind her eyelids again.

The blonde doctor gave her a sympathetic look, then turned to the door and pulled it open. "Emma!" he called softly out the door to what Esme assumed was one of the nurses. "Get me a bed, please." He turned to Esme. "You don't have to worry," he assured her just as her panic was nearing its peak. "I'm not going anywhere."

It wasn't long before a cushioned hospital bed was rolled into the room, and as hard as she tried to act comfortable around the nurse that offered it up, Doctor Cullen saw through as he always did and sent her away. "Come on over," he told her gently, extending his hand for her to take. She eyed it before grabbing it cautiously, then tentatively allowed him to help her into the bed.

As he began rolling her out of the room, she wanted to say something – anything. Nothing came out. She didn't want to sleep, but her eyelids felt heavier and heavier as the seconds passed. It registered that he was speaking to her, murmuring more words of comfort as he settled her into her room, but she heard nothing except the sound of his voice as she finally welcomed unconsciousness.