Author's Note:

So, I'm sooo sorry that it took so long to update. I'm a graduate student and I've finished my semester finally. I've also decided to take some time off. So, with that said, I'm going to be updating once a week. Probably every Friday.

This chapter is an introduction to small snippets of what is going on in Bella's life. You meet Alice, and you get a hint of her childhood as well as a few memories that are vital to the story. So enjoy!

Also, if you're a beta… I need one… interested???

Disclaimer:

Stephenie Meyer owns all the characters… I'm just taking them for a joyride.

Chapter 1 – Imaginary Friend

"Bella!" my best friend Alice shouted in frustration, "get your ass over here and help me figure this out or I swear to god I'm going to throw this computer out the goddamn window!"

I, Bella Swan was standing across the room staring at a godforsaken white board. It was full of complex statistical functions and test theory proofs. I had a pencil shoved into a ponytail that stood propped up on top of my head, and out of concentration, I was adding to the chew marks at the ends of my glasses. My head didn't turn when Alice shouted.

I just continued to stare at the chalkboard intently waiting for the solutions to the problems to materialize out of thin air and solve themselves.

It was either the pieces of the problem came together peacefully and without struggle, or I was going to assault the board with the same torrid temper that Alice was threatening towards the decrepit computer.

Hmmm, so… if the first half of this equation is correct, and I'm sure it is, I've checked it a thousand times, then the figures should work. It should account for the missing pieces. I silently mumbled to myself.

I scratched my head, moving my hand up to the top of my pony tail, resting an arm across the top of my head. It was a bad habit. I looked like an African tribal member, standing there with one arm draped over my head, and a leg bent with my foot resting on the inside of my knee.

I was shocked back into reality by the high pitched melody of my best friend's voice. The force of Alice's pixie like voice made me jump slightly. I huffed in exacerbation.

"Alice, stop being so melodramatic, if you harm one molecule of plastic on that computer I'm going to have Flynn come down here himself and toss you out the window. Now what's the problem?" I asked as I released my African pose and walked over to Alice and glanced over her shoulder at the computer screen.

The screen was full of numbers, data spreadsheets, and formulas. To the outsider, it would have just looked like a migraine-in-waiting, but to me it was my bread and butter. These numbers and figures are the bacon to my scrambled eggs.

"Look, I know you know this statistics program inside and out, and I know that you have already done all of the homework. So please, for the love of God, please tell me how the hell I get this multiple regression equation to run. No matter which way I run the numbers, nothing seems to come out… Look, I keep getting this error" Alice pointed with her petite hands, and brightly painted pink finger nails to the bottom of the screen at the results of her statistical analysis.

"Alice" I looked questioningly at my friend, "where did you get these numbers from? They're not part of the homework" I silently went through the question and chapter over in my head again, and knew for sure that the variable FalFashSize was nowhere to be found in the multiple regression chapter that had been the assigned reading. Jesus, the little minx was at it again.

"Look Bella" Alice stood and danced over to the open window, "I decided that whatever the book was trying to get across with those boring numbers wasn't working. I just figured that I'd make it more interesting for myself", Alice turned to look back at Bella, carelessness washed over her face as she observed the paint chipping off her nails, "I mean, I shouldn't have to take a research statistics class, I'm a fashion and merchandising major for Christ's sake!" Alice huffed out; relenting on her brightly painted nails and crossing her arms in frustration.

I had a flare for numbers, they were my strength. Numbers never changed, they held constant. No matter which way they were manipulated they could always be reduced to the same smallest form.

I always took comfort in the static nature of this most vital part of my research.

The numbers would reveal whether or not I had wasted my entire graduate career studying human brain matter.

The numbers would finally redeem my solitary nights in the statistics lab.

The numbers would give reason to the fact that I never had time to seriously date in college.

Regardless of my pathetic social life, the numbers would finally put together a piece of the puzzle that I had been trying to solve all those long nights. It was such a fucking shame that I wouldn't get credit for the discovery.

That weasel Flynn would. But that's why he's got the PhD and I don't. That's why he takes every chance he can to remind me of that said fact, to return me to my proper place. I deemed that place in the research lab, he deemed it at his side. Not as his co-worker, not even as his student.

I never missed the scummy looks he shot my way. Unlike the chills I got from my imagination, his gaze gave me a feeling of dread. I get uncomfortable and fidget whenever he looks at me that way. I hate it. Every time he looked at me, it was as if was undressing me with his eyes.

The bile started to rise in my throat.

The numbers may have not mattered significantly to Alice, but for me, they were my education's livelihood. Soon I would find out if all the hours I spent late at night, alone in the Psychology Lab at Columbia University would have been wasted in vain.

Well, not exactly alone. I'm never alone am I? Even now I can feel it. It's here, somewhere. God! This so fucking frustrating, I should see a goddamn shrink. I need to get over this center-of-attention complex I have.

They have a name for it Bella, it's called Narcissism. Jesus. I'm a fucking narcissist. As if it couldn't get any worse.

I never felt that I was anything special. In fact, I felt plain. I had limp brown hair, muddy eyes, and I was as pale as a ghost. I wasn't ignorant. I know what men find attractive, and I'm not it. I have two best friends that completely overshadow me. Alice being the black haired minx packed into the small frame of a crazy, bouncing pixie, and Rose my other statuesque Amazon-blond-bombshell best friend. These were the women that man men swoon. Not me.

I had no problem taking a back seat to their inherent beauty. Most of the time I really don't mind my non-knockout status, but I do get slightly aggravated with the cards that I was dealt.

Parents dead, check.

Lack of a social life, check.

Creepy boss trying to get into my pants, check.

Narcissistic delusions, check.

If I didn't hit the genetic lottery for beauty, why did I have to get brains and a psychological delusion?

For years, practically as far back as I could remember, I had always felt that no matter what I did, alone or with company, wherever I went, awake or sleeping, there were always a pair of eyes watching me.

But it wasn't like Flynn's perverted undressing.

It was as if I was just being watched, gazed at from a far. A warm chill would run up my spin and settle on my shoulders and a sense calm would spread through the air. I felt comforted. I never felt in danger. Whenever I felt the eyes upon me, I felt at peace. As if I had the worst work week and I had come home to a warm bath, and a terry cloth towel.

This gaze was like crawling into a warm bed with a warm body pressed against me and a steaming cup of hot cocoa on the chilliest winter night as a blanket of snow fell outside and covered the ground.

When I was just a child I used to identify the gaze as my imaginary friend. The thick stare became known as Fred, and he was my best friend. I would sit alone on the ground and make two mud pies, a side dish of worms, and a mud shake; one plate of this delicate cuisine for me and one for the pair of eyes that followed me everywhere.

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Bella sat Indian style on the ground in the backyard of her Aunt and Uncles house. It was a gloomy day. Another cloud covered day in Forks, Washington. That morning, Bella had informed her Aunt that she had a date with Fred that afternoon. Bella wanted to be dressed in her best sundress.

"Aunt Esme?" Bella tip toed into her Aunt and Uncles room before the sun came up. Bella stood on her tippy toes, trying to see up to her Aunt's sleeping form.

"Bella, sweetie, what are you doing up? Are you okay?" Esme croaked through a sleep covered voice. She rubbed her eyes and sat up, while making room for her little Bella to climb up to the bed

"Aunt Esme, can I wear something pretty today?" Bella questioned her Aunt while trying feebly to climb onto her Aunt's bed without falling back onto the floor. Esme reached down to help her niece before she had a chance to hurt herself.

"Sweetie, it's seven in the morning. Why are you worried about what you're going to wear today? Did you have a bad dream, is that why you're up this early?" Esme always dreaded the day when she would have to comfort Bella because of bad dreams. The manner in which her parents were killed would drive even the toughest soldiers to pop pills.

"Nope, I have a date! Fred told me last night that he would like to have tea with me today. I want to look like a princess for him. He loves me!" Whimsically Bella recounted her conversation with her closest friend.

As Bella detailed her encounter with her imaginary friend, Esme listened intently. Internally she was wondering if this imaginary friend is the manifestation of the memory of her parents, or if this is how Bella would be dealing with the loss of loved ones. To Esme, an imaginary friend isn't the worst thing that Bella could have dreamt up.

Esme recalled the night that she and Carlisle got the phone call. It was one of the worst nights of her life. But the phone call remained a painful second to the memory of her front door ringing, and opening to reveal the deserted slumbering beauty that was her infant niece.

Bella was beginning to get impatient with Esme. Bella broke her Aunt out of her recollecting silence.

"Aunt Esme? Please? I'm going to marry Fred one day, and I think that I want to make him mud pies. They're my favorite." Bella was beaming up at Esme. She clearly wasn't going to relent about the topic, so Esme finally caved in cupped her delicately pale face, kissed each of her eyelids, and her rosy cheeks.

"My precious darling, I will dress you so beautifully that even the princesses in faraway lands will be nothing in comparison to your brilliance. My love, did you know that Bella means beautiful in Italian?" Bella smiled as brightly as the rising sun creeping up outside Esme's window.

Esme turned her precious niece around so that she could comb out her hair with her fingers.

"Really? Bella means beautiful? Aunt Esme, what does Fred mean, because if Bella means beautiful, Fred must mean something better! Fred's my Prince Charming, like Cinderella's Prince Charming, but without the mice. Aunt Esme, I don't like mice; even though they sing and dance, I don't like them. Can I wear a green dress Aunt Esme? Fred has green eyes, I think I want to match them." Esme wondered at the limit of Bella's imagination and the strength of Bella's tiny lungs. Bella talked a mile a minute.

"I have the perfect dress for your date my darling, he will be sure to propose today. But first, a beautiful princess needs a big breakfast if she is going to shine like a star!" Esme gathered Bella up into her arms and carried her into the kitchen to make her favorite breakfast, chocolate chip pancakes.

Esme spent the day pampering Bella, and getting her ready for her afternoon tea date with her imaginary friend. As Bella watched herself get ready in the mirror, she became more anxious.

The second her hair was in two well placed pig tails, she bolted from her Aunt's grasp, flew through the back door and found herself sitting in a secluded corner of the yard preparing her afternoon muddy snack.

"Fred, I hope you like dark mud, I don't care for it, but that's all I've got" Bella didn't look up from the ground as she sat cross-legged on the ground by herself mashing her two hands together in an attempt to mold together a muddy mess into the resemblance of some sort of tasty treat.

"I told Aunt Esme today that we're going to get married. She said that if I looked like a princess that you would propose to me. Know what else Fred?"

Bella looked up staring straight ahead, as if she could see someone somewhere near her.

"Aunt Esme said Bella means beautiful. I don't know if I believe her. I asked her what Fred meant, because if Bella means beautiful, then Fred must mean something much better and I'd rather be named Fred".

At that moment in time, the wind picked up around Bella and started to swirl leaves around her small sitting frame. The autumn leaves surrounded her in a tunneled vortex of gold and red. The wind swirled her mahogany hair out of the pigtails, and blew it all around her petite shoulders.

Bella smiled wildly and giggled wholeheartedly, she clapped her hands as if she was cheering on her favorite performer.

A single leaf strayed away from the rest of the swirling bunch. The golden leaf swayed slowly and gracefully towards the elated child, caressing her soft pink cheeks before it fell as a gift in her petite hands.

Bella looked down at the perfect leaf in her hand. Her red lips formed a small 'o', and her chocolaty eyes sparkled as she looked up into the air again.

"Is this for me Fred?! Oh it's beautiful! I'm going to put it in my memory box with the stone you gave me. I love you Fred. Can we get married soon? I want you to meet Aunt Esme." Bella's smile shone like the brightest star visible in the darkest heaven.

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As I got older, the eyes continued to follow me.

I became acutely aware of the reality of their presence on my first day of middle school.

I was paranoid to the point of immobilization about what my classmates would think of me. The daunting struggle that I knew middle school was bound to be created a desperate need for me to feel a sense of security.

For the first time in years I found myself talking to the air, talking as if there was someone there to fulfill the presence that I constantly felt and at that moment in time, desperately needed. I begged the mysterious presence for strength and courage, for a steady pair of legs, and for warning if I left the bathroom with toilet paper stuck to my shoe.

I remember those years exceptionally well. However, I remember that day vividly, perhaps more than anything else from my childhood.

That day was the first day that the air responded back.

As I closed my eyes, trying to control my breathing, I muttered my silent prayers in hushed tones to the air. I felt the unmistakable brush of what seemed like fingers against my cheek, and a velvety whisper,

"Anything for you Isabella my only love...".

The pressure on my face was no more than the amount of pressure a feather could amass, just barely noticeable. The voice, the air's sweet response, was without a doubt, unmistakable and not imaginary.

That was the first and only time that I directly spoke to the mysterious presence and it had responded.

I never spoke to anyone about the feeling that someone was always with me, that someone or something was always following me. There were times when I actually thought I should go talk to someone about my delusions.

Christ, it was half the reason that I was pursuing my PhD in Clinical Psychology. It's a sick reason, but it got me interested.

If a person as normal and as plain as me is diluted into believing that a mysterious stranger had been following me for most of my life, then I would hate to think of what goes on in the caged and secluded minds of those who are truly ill.

Hell, it goes beyond that. I had taken comfort in the presence. But after a while, I just told myself that since I was going down, I might as well take her straight down. Driving, drinking and singing all the way to the end. So I just absorbed the feeling and wrapped myself around it. I never acknowledged it again. I knew that if I did, I would send myself to the Looney Bin.

This was how I reasoned with myself, this was the reason I embarked down the road into the human service industry. From the moment the stare had materialized into a feather light touch and a beautiful alluring voice, it had forever altered how I perceived myself and the course my life would take me.

I had never heard a voice as sweet. No man besides the tantalizing voice of my mysterious angel had ever muttered words that could stir me to life like that voice had.

Before that day, I had pegged my delusions as my unconscious screaming at me about something deep and untouched in the depths of my mind. But that fateful first day of middle school left its mark. It was then that I found myself relying on the presence of those eyes.

The security of the gaze was like the static nature of my numbers. Over the years, the presence had embedded itself into the very core of my soul.

At that time, I could have no conception of what that touch meant, of who was behind the whispered endearment, and I certainly had no idea about the massive proverbial ball that began rolling its course into my life. It would take almost 14 years for me to meet that touch and hear that voice again, but when it would, I would become anything but normal, and I would be anything but ordinary.

"Alice, I love you like a sister... truly, but you cannot expect to do well in this class if you keep putting these crazy spins on very simple homework. It's plugging and chugging numbers Alice, nothing more."

I didn't want this to come off as harsh but Alice needed to be woken up. She wasn't stupid, Alice could do this math, and all she needed was some patience and a little finesse.

"Bella, I don't have the divine knack to tackle this part of my education. I'm going to do enough to pass, but outside of that, I never want to see this stupid machine again" Alice slapped the side of the tower of for the computer she had been working on. As she did this I could hear the innocent pieces of the machine rattle and loosen from the glue that held the pieces in place, "and I never want to think about statistics again. When I am a world renowned fashion designer, I can hire people to do this stuff… if" she stated pointedly, "it needs to be done at all".

Alice grabbed her designer messenger bag and packed away the offending statistics books.

Alice and I had been friends since Alice had started at Columbia 3 years ago. Alice was a part of the first class of Fashion and Merchandising majors to potentially graduate from Columbia University. I always thought that having this major at Columbia was kind of bizarre.

Columbia was known for the substantial amount of knowledge that it donated into the world of science and engineering, certainly not fashion design and merchandising.

However, as I grew to know Alice, I found that Alice was not stupid and did not fit the stereotypical shopping maniac. Alice was arguably smarter than most of the engineering geeks and science prodigies that were accepted and graduated from Columbia. If Alice had any amount of interest into the sciences, she would have turned this university on its ass.

"Bella, I'm heading out. I can't handle anymore numbers. I need therapy, a very specific designer labeled brand of therapy. You're coming with. So pack your shit and let's go. We have money to spend". Alice demanded this as she was flitting around the room collecting my sparse possessions.

"Really Bella, you can't walk around as Dr. Bella with this offending scrap of fabric", Alice held up my backpack between her forefinger and her thumb. She had the look of someone holding the soiled diaper of a newborn baby.

"Drop the bag Alice! I'm not going anywhere, I have to finish here. I'm almost through. And stop offending my possessions. I love it. It has character. Besides my little pixie, I'm not a doctor yet. As of this very moment, I'm a poor graduate student who lives off of Ramen Noodle soup" I grabbed the backpack out of Alice's unyielding arms and held it behind my back so she couldn't reach it. As I knew she would literally climb over me to take it back and bounce away, leaving me to do nothing but chase after her.

Oh yes, I had memorized her games after all of these years.

Alice relented after a few moments of silent glaring. Apparently she thought better of launching herself at me this very moment in time.

"You can keep the garbage bag Bella, but you're coming out with me tonight. We're going out with Rose into midtown and we're going to have a magical night. Do you understand? I'm not leaving here unless you agree".

Alice was standing with her hands gripping her hips, her stiletto tapping and staring straight into my eyes. She had the look of an angry mother. Her stance mimed her desire for me to object her scheming.

"Christ Alice, seriously?" I knew that pleading for leniency with Alice was futile and dropped my head in defeat. A spark of insanity hit me, and I knew that I was playing with fire if I said no. But I wasn't going down without a fight.

"Fine Alice, but I'm not shopping. I'm going to finish up here, and I'll be home in a few hours. But I swear to god, if you put me in an outfit that makes me look like a whore, I'm going to burn your shoe collection!"

Hah! That ought to scare the shit out of her. Sweet revenge.

Alice looked at me like I had stormed up to her, took off a crisp, clean white glove and slapped her clean across her right cheek.

Her face was frozen. Her eyebrows arched in horror, and her fists clenched at her side.

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that hipocrasy to your best friend. Be home before five Bella" she spit out as she walked towards the door. She turned to throw me a final 'or else' look, "or I promise you, Bella Barbie will pale in comparison to what Rose and I will put you through tonight".

And with that, the devil pixie skipped out of the room, leaving me alone.

Alone?

No. Never.

Even as I stood facing the whiteboard, absentmindedly willing the answers of the problems to come forth, I felt a familiar chill sweep across my shoulders, a faint wind brush a few escaped strands across my face, and the comforting presence of my accepted delusions.

I closed my eyes, inhaled deeply and smiled. Regardless of the grandiose nature of my narcissism, I loved it. Whatever it was, I relished in it as if it was my last act.

At that moment I had a visual of a plane that was on fire and crashing down to the earth. I was in the driver's seat belting out, "Highway to Hell!".