A/N: Yet another revise, nothing has changed besides the grammar and punctuation. Thanks a million to all the wonderful, hardworking betas at PTB.

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight nor any recognizable logos and names.

"Wreaths of pus-colored fat were suffocating my thighs, my butt and my belly, but they couldn't see them. They said my brain was shrinking. Electrical storms were lighting up on the inside of my skull. My tired liver was packing her suitcase. My kidneys were lost in a sandstorm. 85lbs was not enough stuffing for a paper girl. 85lbs was skin that wanted to be shed. 85lbs was fluffy monkey hair growing all over to keep me warm. They said I had to get fatter. But 85lbs makes me want 75lbs. To get there I'll need to crack open my bones with a sliver mallet and dig out marrow with a long-handled spoon."

- Laurie Hale Anderson

The second time they admitted me, my organs were black and blue, and my skin was decorated with rose vines that meandered up my hips and across my ribs, little red lines that showcased my insides. They sat me down in a brown-colored office with a fake leather seat in front of a paper desk.

My all-knowing mother sensed my discomfort.

"How are you feeling, honey?"

Don't call me honey

My silence was angering her; it always did. It was the one thing that always pushed her buttons.

Dr. Cullen suddenly looked up from his files, staring at my mother and me as if we were in a ping-pong tournament.

I suspected he was waiting for me to answer my mother's question. Fat chance.

"Well, let's look at what we've got here, shall we?"

He was trying to put a name to what I was. Brand me so I can be set with other people of my kind. We were all the same- Lost.

This was not the first time I had been in this predicament. Seven months ago I had crashed my Mercedes into a tree after I fainted at the wheel. One month of treatment and a summer in Seattle led me to the Pacific Northwest Ballet School, a year-round student.

It was a pretty big deal. My mom had trusted me. Well, either that or she'd blindfolded herself again.

I knew he would have a hard time diagnosing me. I was two diseases mixed into one. A restrictor by day and a purger by night. I wasn't strong enough to follow my diet after the sun went down. The voices in my head would grow louder. As I sat there doing nothing, my mother would scream. Not even Tchaikovsky could drown her out. I ate and ate and ate, the seams of my frail skin ripping, stuffing pouring out. Fat, failure, stupid, ugly, weak. With two fingers and one minute, my sins would flush down the toilet. Sleep, repeat.

"Well dear, as I'm sure you must know, treatment for your disorder requires at least one month in the center, followed by two months of outside therapy and a strict diet plan. Your diagnosis, however, will be a little harder to pinpoint."

His voice was calming, his eyes sympathetic. I felt sorry for him, he probably loved this job. Doctor's loved fixing things. Too bad, we were unfixable.

What was he supposed to diagnose me as? Why waste money that could be used to research something vastly more important, like the cure for cancer, to diagnose something that needed no name. I was not anorexic, or bulimic; I was a sad, pathetic little girl who couldn't handle reality, so she needed to make up her own world. I was screwed up inside. My brain must've been put together wrong. They said God was perfect. They lied.

"She seems to show all signs of Bulimia, with most signs of Anorexia."

I was surprised at his bluntness, his words slicing dashes into the air.

I could tell she was having a hard time trying not to cry. She was a lawyer. She couldn't cry; she was supposed to be strong, strong for the entire family. My mother never cried. Never.

I knew the signs; they were tattooed in my brain, saved with the pile of stuff I would need to know later on.

Extreme fear of gaining weight, check.

Difficulty with eating full meals, that is, if I wasn't binging on said meal.

Obsessive preoccupation with body size and a dissatisfaction with physical appearance, dancing in a room full of mirrors did that to you.

Lack of control over eating, the funny thing was, was that I was in control. No one seemed to understand that this didn't take control away from me, it gave it back.

And let's not forget the mood swings, personality changes, secrecy surrounding eating, eating until the point of physical discomfort and pain, menstrual difficulties, heart palpitations, poor circulation, hair loss, perfectionism, a feeling of "all or nothing."

I had just picked up the double-or-nothing prize. A double whammy. I felt proud.

I wasn't sick – I was strong.

I had willpower. Well, at least until the lights turned off.

I hadn't realized Dr. Cullen had stopped talking. My mother stood up, shook his hand, and gave me a watery smile and a hug.

"I love you," she whispered softly, her eyes revealing all of the disapproval she really wanted to show me.

She liked to put up a good front with the doctors. Don't get me wrong, she really did love me, she just had a hard time showing it, not when her anger and chastisement ruled over any sweeter emotions.

I nodded, my eyes distant. She shot me one of her looks. She never felt pity for me. She believed I was stronger, better, smarter than this. But you aren't. You can't control yourself- Ana controls you. I didn't even try to deny the inner voice; I only let it get stronger.

A nurse the size of a whale came to escort me. Her dirt-brown hair was permed compliments of Supercuts. Her lipstick was bleeding at the edges, her blue eyeshadow contrasting perfectly with it, the perfect appearance of a clown. Her white suit threatened to burst under her rolls of fat. How could she move? Her piggy fingers, the size of sausage links, held a notepad, pen in her mouth. If I were a real girl, she would look comical. I would mutter something behind my hand about how fat and blind she was-could she not see how hideous she looked? Ellie would be next to me, laughing at the expense of someone else's feelings.

But Ellie and I weren't best friends anymore. She got tired of hearing "I can't, I have rehearsal," or, "I have ballet." She got tired of my excuses, excuses to get away from the parties and the 500-calorie alcohol.

"Follow me, please."

The nurse was attempting at monotone. She almost succeeded. I shuddered; her voice reminded me of my mother's.

We were suddenly in my new room. How did I get here? This was starting to happen more often. I couldn't remember where I was two minutes ago. My mind was in a constant cloudy haze. I wasn't a part of reality anymore; I had officially landed on another planet.

It was why none of what they were trying to tell me made any sense. I was too damn fat for an eating disorder, but they lived on a different surface.

Lia is not in today; please leave a message after the beep.

The walls were painted a dull blue. A bed was nestled in the corner, a waxy gray comforter on it - thick, very, very thick. I guess they knew how much we shiver at night. Rain was starting to pour from the ceiling, ghostly fog appearing from the nurse's mouth. I was freezing.

"Well, I'll just leave you to it then."

I heard myself mutter thanks. I wasn't thankful.

Edward POV:

Carlisle greeted me as soon as I walked into his office. Even in here, you could feel the depression, the color scheme seeming to agree. Off in another part of the center, I heard the soft, melodious sounds of "Saint-Saens" Le Cygne from Carnival of the Animals"

Are your nurses exploring some new form of therapy for the humans?" I chuckled darkly. Maybe they had caught on that their previous methods were virtually useless.

No, Edward, that music is coming out of our new patient's bedroom.

"I'd like you to go and talk to her; she hardly said anything when she was in here. See what you can find out."

Carlisle believed that in order to help a patient, you must get to know them on a personal level. But these patients wanted anything but to get too personal. This is where I came in.

I nodded. It seemed as though he had something else to tell me, but his mind was firmly shut.

I quickly left his office, heading down to Room 106, one of the few single rooms.

He doesn't seem to be getting better. Carlisle's soft thought drifted through the hallway.

I don't want to get better. I can't.

Bella told me not to do anything rash, that she still "loved me." I curled my fingers into the palm of my hand, making it sting.

Love, hah. What a silly word. It was thrown around so much these days, the word be coming meaningless. Making love a bitter emotion; so easily forgotten, so carelessly dismissed.

But, like the fool I was, I obliged-anything for her. My, no…Jacob's darling Bella. He had imprinted on her. Bella, being the selfless creature she was, knew what she had to do. She couldn't leave him, not with the way he looked at her. With love, devotion, compassion, and every other feeling any common human could feel.

Somewhere in the deep pit of my heart, I knew that his imprint was only a small inkling of the love I held for her. His love was only enough for a human to bear. My love was immortal.

The music grew louder as I came closer to my destination. Softer in its melody, a heartbeat accompanying the sound of the piano and violin. I quietly opened the door, too quiet for her to hear me.

She was in the middle of the floor, cross-legged, her back to me.

Her long hair was in the shape of loose curls, the color of black coffee, the dullness of it made the black almost look gray, her locks looked frail, just as the rest of her. She was a small girl, thin, her ribs visible through her shirt, just like most of the girls here. She couldn't be more than 95 pounds. Her ivory skin was pale, a sickly sallow tint. Her body was swaying slightly, an arm slowly rising up, slightly bent, fingers relaxed. She painted a picture with it, across the air, with swift, delicate fingers. In her mind, a scene flashed through, a a ballet dancer in a white swan tutu, emotional, painful. Her feet were hurting, pointe shoes too tight, but she kept going.

Back in reality, her heart was thudding, slower, faster, slower, faster.

A choked sob escaped her throat. Her hand immediately shot down, covering her eyes, digging into their sockets.

The picture in her mind erased, and her disease took over.

Too fat, too ugly, not good enough, you're stuck here now, so stupid, so selfish. This is entirely your fault.

Deciding to make my presence known, I cleared my throat.

She turned around, her eyes murderous. Ever heard of knocking, bitch? she thought, thinking it was the nurse, she set her eyes on me, unsurprisingly gasping at my appearance.

I have officially gone insane. How many of those pills did they give me? They're trying to kill me. Hah, already pissing off the nurses, Lia? Your bitter mood seems to be contagious.

"I'm not a figment of your imagination; I just came to see how you were doing. Dr. Cullen sent me. I'm sorry if I am intruding."

He's beautiful, the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

Her eyes were still locked on my frame, her mouth slightly open.

I let out a sigh; I didn't want to deal with an overly hormonal teenage girl at the moment.

"I see that I've bothered you. I'll just leave you to yourself then."

"Wait!"

I turned around, desperately bored with this situation.

"Yes?"

"Sorry."

Sorry for staring at you like an idiot? Yes, Lia, that's what you should've said.

I let out another sigh, forcing myself back into her sanctuary.

All I wanted to do was get out of there before she started berating me about her problems. They never talked to the nurses, the therapists, or the doctors.

When I walked in… well, let's just say I didn't need my mind reading abilities.

"Sorry for what?" I let out as patiently as I could.

"Staring," I nodded slightly at her, letting her know she was forgiven.

I toyed with the idea of running out of her room, running out and leaving this hellhole. But I remembered Carlisle… I had to stay. With a barely audible sigh, I trudged my way inside her room, taking a seat by the bed.

"You don't have to stay, you know. In fact, you can leave right now," she muttered, staring disdainfully at me.

Why can't I move like that? I must look like an elephant compared to him, a big, fat, gross, ugly...

I smiled at her, momentarily stopping her thoughts. It was exactly what I wanted. I had known her for all of a minute and I was already worn out by her masochistic musings.

The girl, Lia, was suddenly embarrassed. Her hands found their way to the ends of her hair, playing with the soft tendrils that curled at the tip.

Better get this over with.

"So, are you comfortable?"

"Are you here to ask me the same questions those stupid nurses are paid to ask me?"

He's only here because he has to be, for "Dr. Cullen". H.,.e doesn't know you, he doesn't care. Why would anyone?

"Are you just going to answer all of my questions with a sarcastic remark?"

I heard Carlisle at the end of the room, telling me to practice patience.

Her eyes flashed again. They reminded me of Audrey Hepburn. Dark and almond shaped, her impossibly long lashes flaring at the sides. They looked almost cat-like.

"If you're so irritated, you're welcome to leave. The door's right over there." Her eyes were glaring. She hated me at the moment, hated me because I hadn't come in here of my own accord. She saw me as another one of those pesky nurses.

He looks like just the kind of statue Polylkeitos intended to sculpt. Perfect, the canon of humanism.

If I were human, I would've had a hard time turning her thoughts into coherent sentences. Her mind was so chaotic, so messy.

No one had ever compared me to Polykleitos' Doryphoros before. Those who had compared me to a statue chose Adonis. She knew the Ancients; she knew their art. For a 16-year-old, that was a first.

"I can't leave," I pointed out, hoping she understood that I was just as uncomfortable with this situation as she was.

"Oh, wow, I'm so sorry. What can I possibly do to help? Do you want me to carry you over to the door? Since apparently your poor, weak little legs can't seem to do it for you," she answered sarcastically, attempting to burn a hole through my head with her eyes.

"You know what I mean," I snapped.

"I'm sure I don't. If you're so frustrated with me then get out." She almost barked it at me, her eyes flashing.

Patience, Edward! Mind your manners!

I heard Carlisle's demand projecting through my head. He was obviously interested in the girl, most likely because she was one of the first who hadn't coughed her heart out to me as soon as she took a look at my appearance. That didn't mean she wasn't affected by it. Still, it wasn't enough to make her talk.

It was quiet for a while, the silence palpable. I decided to break it.

"My name is Edward Cullen."

She said nothing. I continued.

"Edward Anthony Cullen."

She was still ignoring me.

"Now would be a good time to tell me yours."

She looked pointedly away, out the window.

Rain, rain, rain. It's always raining here.

"Well, what is it?" I pushed.

I needed to know at least one detail about her; I needed to feel at least a bit accomplished.

Slowly, she raised herself from her position on the floor. She stood next to me before taking a seat on the bed, two inches away from where I was situated.

"I like your middle name," she mused. Edward Anthony Cullen…sounds like an old Casanova from the 1920's. How romantic.

As if it couldn't get any more awkward "Did you know your full name sounds very turn-of-the-century?"

"I am aware."

How annoying you must be! Lia thought sarcastically, wondering why I was acting so bitterly.

Maybe if she had just played nice like everyone else, I wouldn't be so frustrated. The last ten minutes had been slow o n progress.

Maybe I should just ignore him again.

She didn't take her advice; rather, she started thinking of all her favorite things relating to the 1920's, saying my name over and over in her head.

"Do you know who George Gershwin is? Did you know he wrote Rhapsody in Blue during the 1920's? Did you know Igor Stravinsky wrote the music for the ballet Les Noces during that time, too? F. Scott Fitzgerald published Gatsby, and Adolf Hitler published Mein Kampf too? And Ernest Hemmingway's Farewell to Arms, and Walt Disney, he…" Her eyes were wild with excitement.

"I just want to know your name!" I blurted desperately, pleading her to stop talking, her mind in haywire, sounding as though she were suffering from a seizure.

She stopped talking immediately.

Tentatively, she moved her body closer to mine. I moved back slowly, feeling uncomfortable. Her mind was now completely empty.

"Lia."

.Debussy's Reverie crawled up, passing through the space between our bodies, smothering me.

I gulped, a little afraid at the potentially unpredictable move she could make, her mind blank like that.

"Lia what?" I continued, trying to break her out of this scary trance.

Silence.

"You like Debussy?" I asked, gulping again, another human trait I seemed to be picking up.

The only other person I knew, no... I couldn't think of her, not now.

But even with all of my questioning, her mind still remained empty, as dark as a black hole, reflected by the look in her eyes. She didn't move closer, she just kept staring, her eyes turning icy once more.

"My name is Lillianne Marie Swan. Now get the hell out of my room."

What do you think of Lia? How do you think she was like before, sweet, innocent, feisty? Feedback feeds the review monster.