This is just an experiment of mine…if people read and review, I will keep writing! Let me know what you think!

DISCLAIMER: To state the obvious, I do not own Twilight or anything Twilight-related, except for my t-shirts and the posters that wallpaper my room. Everything else belongs to the genius Stephenie Meyer.

Chapter One: "News" Bella's POV

I stared out the window, aware of the cold, gray drizzle outside, but not really noticing it. Six years in Washington had quenched my distaste for the rain. Dark, angry clouds were no longer an annoyance, but rather a normal part of life. I didn't really care anymore…actually, I didn't really care about anything anymore.

"Isabella Swan?" the frazzled receptionist called. After a few blank seconds, I realized she was calling my name. I stood up a little too quickly, tripping over my purse. The elderly woman sitting next to me frowned and scowled. "Excuse me," I murmured.

The nurse waiting at the door smiled at me and led me to the vitals station. I followed her instructions silently--stand on the scale, put this thermometer under your tongue, breathe deeply, stick your arm out for the blood pressure cuff. Routine, basic instructions…I was quickly sitting alone on a paper-covered examination table in an examination room. I stared at a poster of the food pyramid, my mind and emotions numb again.

Twenty minutes later, a young man in a white lab coat entered the room. "Isabella M. Swan?" he asked.

"Yes," I verified. "I am."

"It's nice to meet you," he said, extending his hand. "I'm Dr. Ferguson. My, your hands are cold."

Painful memories stabbed my heart. "No, they're not," I replied slowly and faintly. I'm only human…running at a vital temperature of 98.6...definitely not anything special or supernatural…that dream was stripped from me a long time ago.

"Right," he said, puckering his brow. He was probably wondering why a zombie was in his office. I had to fight a bitter laugh as the thought entered my head. A zombie…not my preferred mythical creature.

I realized I was staring at his face blankly and awkwardly and I quickly ducked my head. "I'm sorry for my exhaustion," I murmured. "I'm kind of in a hurry, so we'll get down to business. I think I may be anemic. My dad wanted me to have a blood test…"

"What are your symptoms?" he asked.

"I'm so tired and weak," I began. "All I want to do is rest, and I can never rest enough. I bruise really easily…and my blood is thin."

"Do you have any bruises right now?"

I silently pulled up the legs of my jeans.

"Oh my," he breathed. "One, two…" He began to whisper as he counted the angry purple splotches. Finally, he ended with "Fourteen…that's not good. Miss Swan, is this abuse of any kind?"

I shook my head. "Definitely not. I don't live with anyone or…da-date anyone." Or leave my apartment unless I have to…

"What happened there?" He pointed to a Band-Aid on my knee.

"I accidentally cut myself when I was shaving my legs yesterday."

"Do you mind if I look?"

"Go ahead."

He snapped on a pair of gloves and carefully started to pull the Band-Aid off my skin.

"I didn't realize it was so bloody," I told him, embarrassed.

He peeled the entire bandage off. The sticky side was solid red, and my knee was stained bright red.

"A little nick like that shouldn't bleed so much," he told me. "I'm definitely ordering some tests."

It wasn't long before a phlebotomist came and drew blood. My stomach twisted in knots when she exposed the long needle. Needles had always been a fear of mine, but they were even more intimidating now. They were a reminder of a happier time six years ago, when he had gently kissed my scarred hand as the IV was forced into my skin…

No, Bella. Don't. Focus on the ceiling tiles--at least they offer some protection and at least they are here. He doesn't and he isn't.

I found pictures in the ceiling tiles' specks until Dr. Ferguson returned forty-five minutes later.

"The tests came in," he said quietly. "I'm afraid I have some bad news…"