A/N: Alrightttt. It took my wayyy longer than it should have to post this, sorry. But I will have the thrid one up really quick cause I already wrote most of it. But I also have school, something my mother have suddenly taken an interest in, where I'm concerned at leaast. So, yeah. Enjoy.

Warmth. Heat. Was I sweating? It didn't matter; everything was serene, quiet, peace. It wasn't a dream; it was just blank. Light, warm, calm blank; and that's all I wanted, to have my mind back. I took my will to think for granted, never understanding how it would feel to lose all control and just…break. To have the worst of my life thrown back and forth in my brain like some psychological tennis match. Not even being able to scream out in the pain I was feeling, to be silenced by my own head, never having a chance. And the pain, Christ the pain. It was exactly like slamming your head repeatedly into the ground should feel like; sharp, dull, burning, cool. The worst part, though, the worst thing I had ever experienced, was the loss. It hit that moment like a bullet to the brain, shattering anything in its path and looking to kill. The ice cold blaze of loneliness and empty flooded my every pore, chilling me to the bone and just resonating there; settling in to making sure I never forgot; so that I couldn't ever recover.

Then the unexplainable heat came, pushing everything out; dipping into my skin so that the loss left in droves, swallowing my sadness whole and producing something sweeter in its presence. Being held was like my one life raft in the middle of a sea; I needed it and I could not go on if I were to let go. The heat made everything clear; good and bad, it twisted my stomach and knotted my heart. It was crippling and breathtaking; it was something I couldn't get rid of, even if I wanted to. My safe haven of warm arms and clear thoughts; caresses and russet skin. Nothing had ever been so known to me, never had I ever been so aware, of what? That was the fuzzy part, but I knew it and I felt it; and it was the best thing I would ever know.

Sigh.

Wait, what? Who's sighing?

My eyes fluttered, and with that it brought a tumbling ache in my temples; wincing from the bright light bleeding in through an extremely large window, my eyes snapped shut. I groaned and scrunched my face up into a grimace; the back of my head felt as if nails had been hammered into it. Damn, a mark was defiantly formed already. I tried inching my eyes open, hoping to wean them into the light; but the painful shine still blinded me. Instinctively I snuggled my head into my pillow. No. Not a pillow. A person. I was pretty sure I was now sleeping on top of a person. I gave a "to hell" to the light and wrenched my eyes wide. Russet skin, warm soft skin, the skin of the arm that was wrapped about my waist. My breathing hitched, my face a mask of horror, my eyes were basically about to pop out of my sockets. His short hair fell lightly over his lidded eyes; the strands were an onyx color, black with slight undertones of brown highlights. Pouty lips sat together like corresponding puzzle pieces, fitting in the perfect position. I was vaguely aware that my breath was coming out in small, strangled gasps. His face was so familiar, but altogether different. Almost like an improved model, the same concept, but made differently. He was beautiful, stunning, confusing, amazing. He was my raft, the aware and known, he was…light.

Little snores emanated from him chest. I could feel the vibrating crackle. His heat was…God, just hot. Fiery and strong, it brought sweat to the nape of my neck and made my damp clothes even more uncomfortable. He stirred. I ducked then ran a hand through my hair. Not such a great idea on my part; it was clumped together in the back, by dry blood and mud. When I tugged, I received a sensation that can only be described as excruciating. But you know when you're little and you do something and it hurts, so you do it again, for a reason unrenowned to you? Yeah, I did that.

"Please, don't pull on the stitches. It will hurt far more to redo them if you are conscious."

My face whipped in the direction the tinkling voice floated from. She was small, no tiny, in stature, her face angled in a sweet childish way, but everything about her was woman. Her eyes shone knowledge, answers and strain; her clothes fit her in just the right way to give, even her pixie form, curves. She wore a slight, but bright smile and her eyebrow was shot upward. Ivory skin curved all over, hidden by jeans and sleeves; accented by the same. The papery covering lead up to a pitch-black tuft, pushed and spiked into a perfect symphony of hair. She was beauty and beast; satin and sandpaper; living and dead. Wondrous.

Her hand stuck out, and I was snapped from my ogle; I recoiled.

"Oh, it's fine. We just need to speak with you in the dining room." She spoke with such smooth authority. We? How many people were there? And, were they all this…different?

But I stood, because she was stern, even if I did have a full eight inches on her. She could take me; hell, she could take me out with a glance. Disentangling myself from the man's limbs, slowly slipping into release, batting down the feeling of growing anxiety. I missed the summery aura, the safe rays that rolled over my body. The calm.

The little women took my hand, and the sharp contrast in temperatures made me shudder and gasp; but she looked as if I hadn't done anything.

Stepping up and leaning towards me she whispered, "He brought you here, and he never took you out of his arms." And then looked at me expectantly.

He did? He held me? And cared for me? '…Never took you out of his arms,' that's what she said; wow, I was ready to hyperventilate at that moment. Who was I to him? So many questions, and only one attractive man to answer them. Why, why, why. Those could go on for days, and spread out for miles.

Standing above him while he slept made me nervous, like I was watching some private show; something I wasn't ready for. His eyes rapidly moved under his eyelids, and his mouth parted. My throat went dry. But I bent down swiftly; hovering just above his cheek; nervous for a moment. I pressed my lips gently to the corner of his mouth, more on his cheek than his lips and then I pulled away as quick as I could.

Sigh.

I hide the smile on my lips as the girl tugged on my hand. I stumbled, and tripped while she seemed to glide over wood and rug. It was a short trip, but an informative one. Everything was a classically cream white, with darker accents and lighter tints; the staircase curved in the corner and the large window I had seen turned out to be a wall; a wall of glass. What will they think of next?

The girls small cold hand was feather light as she half dragged my through a set of mahogany double doors. And I slammed into her back as she halted a little too abruptly; stepping back, I shook my head on instinct and a whole new round of pain erupted.

A booming laugh sounded off while I winced and bit my lip. "She's just like Bella was. I bet she blushes too." I tilted my eyes to the voice, and my jaw dropped. Seated in the ornate dining chairs were eight more of the most luscious creatures I had ever seen. I couldn't tell who was the most attractive. The blonde tall man, with the wry mouth, or his exact copy of a female, who wore a short pleated skirt showing off legs I could only wish on a star for. Or, the caramel-haired beauty, whom even with an expression of worry on her face was stunning. Or, could it have been the rusty-haired boy sitting to her left, looking interested, but bored; his long fingers intertwined with a young woman who was gorgeous in a modest way. She didn't flaunt it like the blonde, and it didn't emanate off her like the little woman; it was just there.

The man who had spoken took up all of my vision as my eyes landed on him. To say he was big was an understatement. He was monstrous, arms as thick as my head, a chest that puffed out in a comical way and the most disheveled curly black hair, all brought out by his lively face, bright eyes and pinched dimples.

"Hello," this man was handsome in the classical way you imagined every time you read a Jane Austen novel. Angled, but soft in an angelic mixture of perfection. His hair like honey silk, shining teeth barred in a tentative smile. But the most appealing thing about this man, the thing he just about oozed: kindness. The emotion was laced into his skin, painted over his face and thrown at you from his look. It made me relax.

No, that was a little too relaxed.

"Are you feeling well?" asked a smooth voice with a drawl of sorts.

I wanted to answer, I should have, it would have been rude not to. I didn't. I just stared at the man, my eyes seemingly larger, my mouth its ordinary over pout. They must have thought I was mental. I mean, I just stared. Stood there and just kept gaping; ridiculous. I did feel slightly better, my head was stitched back together and I could stand without falling over, which is a problem most of the time, not just when I have traumatic episodes. The ache in my calves and the throbbing buried in my head were nothing compared to what I could be. Which was stuck on the side of the highway still bleeding, alone and broken. So, yes, I said in my head, I feel fine. Like he would hear me. It was just a justification for being rude. Maybe he would be as intuitive as he was kind.

The bronze haired boy moved his lips fast, like a twitch. His eyes never left my face.

"You can have a seat, if you would like." The blonde man gestured towards the seat at the end of the table, the one I was closest to. The little women gripped my elbow gently and motioned me into the chair, not even waiting for me to answer. Not that I would have. I sat on the edge, my head bowed and my thumbs twiddling. My nerves jumping. Everything was silent while I watched my fingers battle it out, showcasing how nervous I was. I bit my lip, and took a last deep breath. My head lifted.

All the eyes were on me, all different looks of concern, sympathy, sadness and even amusement on the bigger man. "My name is Dr. Carlisle Cullen, and this is my family." His arm flourished towards the crowd of lovely faces. Wow, I thought, where have all the families that look like this been hiding?

I didn't answer, and the man didn't seem discouraged. "What's your name?"

Tatum. Stare. Idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot. It was like I didn't know how to talk. I wasn't trying to be rude, or to seem broody, but it was like my body knew I was scared, but my mind didn't. They seemed like nice enough people, and even if they were killers looking to dismember my ample female form, what would not talking do to deter them? Nothing.

The boy's mouth twitched again and this time I knew he was saying something. But what? And who in the name of creamed Christ could hear what he was speaking?

"Alright. Could you at the least tell me where you are from?"

I would, if I could.

Silence, met by an exhale of breath.

Sorry, man.

"Where are your parents?"

The dreaded question filled the air, swirled with it and blew it into my face. My breathing hitched and my mind filled with images of my mother. Alive and dead. Happy and sad. Well and sick. My heart beat faster and bile rose in my throat; my eyes squeezed shut in the pain I felt stab at me. My face consorted into something associated with anguish and sick. A tremor rocked my body. Mom. Mommy. That question seemed to be a trigger to a mechanism that I just didn't fair well against. It turned everything in my mind upside down and unraveled all the little pieces of sane I had wrapped tight in my head. The memory that came with Dr. Cullen's words was my undoing, my vice and my own personal hell crammed into one sentence.

Then I remembered. Mom! Her ashes, they were in my backpack, and my backpack was… I stood quickly, pushing the chair back with force enough for it to scrape the ground. I pushed my hand into my hair again, trying to ignore the searing pain that came with it when--

"Your things are in the living room, next to the couch." Rusty-hair spoke. And he stood, as if he were to stop me, as if anyone could have stopped me from finding her.

My eyebrows creased as I glared at him. How did he know what I was going after? He said the exact right words, like he knew what I was worried about. How the hell did he know? My eyes bore into his, and I wanted so bad to ask him how he did it. But I just turned slightly back and fell into my chair once more.

"Forgive me if I upset you; it was not my intention. But, dear, we need to know who you are, if we are going to help you." Dr. Cullen leaned forward towards me, and I didn't flinch back. But I didn't answer and if frustration ever flitted across the doctor's face, it did in that second.

"Are you in trouble? Do you need help with anything at all?" he asked, very close to a plea.

I nodded my head, so very quickly that I don't think my mind even knew what I was doing. I gave him an answer and the smile that it brought to his face, made me want to do it again. He was what a dad should look like. He was how I always imagined mine to act.

"What is the problem?"

I still couldn't speak my replies, nodding seemed the only form of communication I could perform. Yes or no questions were basically my forte at the moment.

The rusty-haired boy, who was seated again, moved his lips once more.

Nothing was said. I wasn't actually paying attention. I was focused on the little girl perched on the lap of the women with the brown hair. She was about the size of a four year old, with round cheeks, that were reddened on the apples. The curls that framed her face were the same color as the bronze-haired boy next to her and her eyes were like melted chocolate. Her smile was made up of small white teeth, and it went higher on one side, almost as a smirk. She lifted her hand, full of delicate long fingers, and waved.

And to the shock of everyone else, I, in turn, lifted my hand and curled my fingers in quickly, returning the gesture. Then I limply let my arm fall and diverted my eyes.

Dr. Cullen took longer to recover then he seemed used to. "Well, ah. I would assume you'd like to get cleaned up?"

I nodded.

"Alright. Alice, Bella." He looked towards the little woman and the girl with the brown hair. "Would you help our guest wash up? Make sure she doesn't get soap onto her stitches, please."

Before I knew what was happening, I was being taken by the hand, and led out of the wood doors, up the winding stairs and into a room. We moved faster then I could fathom, faster then I had ever moved. And it made me remember the loping speeds the russet-skinned man had run with me the night before. What were these people? I pondered.

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