Beep. Beep. Beep. The noise grated at my conscious. It was the only thing I could hear, but at the same time it sounded distant, like it was far away. It made the ache in my skull throb all the harder.
Opening my eyes hurt. Blinding fluorescent light seared my eyes, and I winced at the pain as my eyes struggled to adjust. I heard something rustle beside me, but I disregarded it, instead focusing on my limbs. Everything felt heavy, like lead, but oddly twitchy. Afraid of what this meant, I clenched and unclenched my hand. It flexed the way it was supposed to. My feet seemed to do what I wanted as well, so I struggled into a sitting position.
The sight that met my eyes confirmed what I already knew. I was at the hospital. What trauma had I put Renee through this time? She was going to freak out again, I already knew it.
"Bella, love," someone murmured, shifting near the bed again.
I jerked a little in the opposite direction even as my eyes snapped towards the speaker. Pale-faced and inhumanly beautiful, a man was positioned in a plastic hospital chair next to my bed. He was leaning forward as though he wanted to get up entirely. I was almost surprised when he didn't. His bronze hair, like nothing I'd ever seen before, was a tangled mess upon his head.
Who was he?
"Bella, are you alright?" he asked.
I stared, transfixed by the surreal qualities of his face, especially his eyes. Oh, his eyes…liquid gold, mesmerizing, captivating, the most extraordinary thing I'd ever laid eyes on. I was lost in them, floating on a cloud of enthralled fascination. Gold eyes?
My heart rate picked up and my breathing became shallow. I was also a little light-headed. I knew it wasn't because of the persistant twinge that hammered at my awareness. It was because I'd forgotten to keep breathing.
"Bella?" he asked again. Now concern gripped his perfect features. The gold eyes that held me swirled with worry. The tone of his voice was more anxious than before, rushed.
With great effort I broke free of his hypnotic face, which even in apprehension looked like it belonged to an angel. Despite my absolute inability to look away from this stranger, I wasn't going to act like a fool. I wanted to know who he was.
"How do you know my name?" I asked. His brow furrowed in confusion. Cool breath, sweet and mouthwatering, brushed my face as he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. A jolt ran through my skin where he touched me. It shocked me. How did a simple touch feel so electrical? Who was he to even feel comfortable enough to do that?
Even as the unanswered questions ran rampant through my mind, he dropped his hand from my face. I fully expected him to pull away, but instead he took my hand. That touch alone was nearly overwhelming. I had the inexplicable urge to lean just a little more forward, bury my face into his chest, and rest knowing I was secure. The intensity of my longing was terrifying.
"Is that supposed to be a joke?" he asked. I stared at him, bewildered. "When I first talked to you, you said that. You wanted to know how I knew you went by Bella, not Isabella," he explained, although now his eyes were slightly narrowed, his expression a little more vexed.
Blinking slowly, I struggled to comprehend what he was saying. He knew me; there was no doubt about it. He was talking about a conversation we'd never even had though…and I had no recollection whatsoever of him.
I could never forget a face like his.
"No, really, I don't…" I trailed off.
He frowned. "Maybe I should get Carlisle?" he suggested carefully, watching my face with caution.
I was frowning now, too. "Who is Carlisle?"
He froze, eyes wide with shock. His face was blank with horror, the kind of blankness you see on someone who has just witnessed a terrible accident.
His reaction scared me, and I automatically checked the room, hoping we weren't alone. I needed someone to explain what was going on. I still didn't even know why I was in the hospital!
Unfortunately, no one else was anywhere near us, and the room offered no clues as to what had happened to me. The last thing I remembered was getting on a plane to Forks…wait, Forks? Was I in Forks?
I peeked at the stranger. He was still unmoving, like he was made of stone. His hands were white-knuckled. The edge of his seat looked like it was starting to literally buckle under the pressure he was putting on it, while he still had my hand clasped in the other.
Suddenly he shifted, getting up with stiff, jerky movements. My hand slid limply from his. Already I mourned the lost contact.
"I'll be in the hall, if you need me," he informed me in a flat monotone, already halfway to the door.
It hurt, somehow, watching him walk away. Gut instinct snapped at me, filling me with the fear that, if I let him walk away now, I would never see him again.
"Wait," I whispered. He paused and cast his eyes back in my direction. The look of sheer agony in his eyes took my breath away. My heart ached, knowing that somehow I did this. It was my fault he looked so tortured. I just didn't know how or why.
I mustered up the last of my strength, the rest having already been expended by keeping the resounding pain in my head at bay, and asked, "Who are you?"
The words he uttered were the last ones I ever expected to hear. My heart literally stopped as his perfect lips formed the most petrifying of replies.
"I'm your fiancé."