Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight, New Moon, Eclipse, etc. All the characters in this story are the creations of the fabulous Stephenie Meyer.
My name is Isabella Swan and I have Leukemia.
I love to write, but I'm not a writer.
I love to draw, but I'm not an artist.
I have cancer, but I'm not a patient.
My disease does not define who I am.
I'm Bella and I'm going to die soon.
But not before I learn how to live first.
Chapter 1: Beautiful Man
Ninety days. I circled the 21st of May on my calendar in bright red marker, and smiled a goofy grin larger than life itself. It had been ninety long days since my last chemotherapy treatment and I had yet to relapse. Life was good.
I stepped out of my bathrobe and shimmied into the closest sundress I could find. I frowned in the mirror at the large coffee stain in the top corner of the dress, just above my right breast. I had almost forgotten about that particular incident. My eyes automatically shifted to the open sketchbook that remained where I placed it the day before on my dresser. I studied the beautiful features of the man looking back at me and sighed. He was my favorite subject to draw—his depth-filled expressive eyes—his light wrinkles at the sides of his eyes when he smiled—his prominent jaw line. My eyes diverted back to the stain on my dress and I frowned again, remembering my very first day in the coffee shop—the sudden jolt of his body colliding with mine—the heat of the coffee seeping through my green dress—his half-hearted apologies as he handed me a twenty dollar bill before he hurried out of the shop to whatever destination drove him to such a frenzy.
Sophie's whimpering immediately brought me out of my contemplations, so I leaned down to give her the attention she so often craved while I got ready every morning.
"You'll get your walk later," I informed her, not even feeling the slightest bit weird talking to my pitt bull as if she were a person. When it came down to it, she was closer to me than any other person ever had been. She was like a daughter to me—a best friend. She was my companion and kept me from drowning in the loneliness that went hand-in-hand with being a 25-year-old single woman living alone in a city.
Sophie seemed to lull in response to my words as she curled up and lay down beside my feet. I smiled down at her just before stepping out of the stained dress and heading toward my closet to find something else to wear. I stopped short just as I passed by my full body mirror and froze as my reflection stared back at me in horror. The bruises on my rib cage were red and purple screaming at me in fury as they continued to run down the remainder of my bare stomach. I flinched when I thought of the implications behind their unwelcome presence. I felt my eyes start to tear up as I automatically lifted my fingers beneath my chin and felt around for the familiar menacing lumps that would confirm my horrifying suspicions. Nothing. Thank God. I knew I still had to call Dr. Grant and tell him about the bruises, though.
I continued on my trip to my closet and pulled out a light purple sundress that I remembered purchasing a year prior. I pulled it on and realized that, like all of my other clothes, it was a little too big. I walked back over to my mirror and studied my prominent bony collar bones and grimaced. I hated the fact that my cancer was taking everything away from me, including my body fat. Instead of dwelling on the negatives, I smiled in light of the way the purple sundress made my brown eyes sparkle. Feeling satisfied with my appearance, I quickly pulled my long, brown hair up into a messy ponytail, kissed Sophie goodbye, grabbed my sketchbook, and headed out the front door of my apartment. I stopped, like I did every morning, and closed my eyes as I felt the warmth of the spring sun spread throughout every inch of my body. There was nothing more beautiful—nothing that made life worth living more than to be able to feel the heat of sun. That was something I would surely miss. When I opened my eyes, I noticed Sue, my neighbor staring at me from across the street. She was wearing her gardening clothes and as soon as she saw my opened eyes she smiled her genuine grin that showed off all of her life's worth of wrinkles.
"Morning Bella," she yelled across the traffic of our slightly busy street while waving at me. The morning hours were always some of the most heavily trafficked times of the day.
"Morning Sue," I yelled back, returning her smile. "Tulips today?"
"Yeah, how'd you guess?" she replied, laughing lightly, and I couldn't help but to envy her for the long life that she was allowed to live. She and her husband, Harry, have lived in this same small home for the entire fifty-two years that they were married and that fact nearly took my breath away. If there was anyone else on this earth that deserved a healthy long-life though, it was Sue. She was an amazing person and I owed her my life for all that she has done for me.
I pointed to my brain as if to insinuate that "I just know things," before returning her wave and turning to continue my walk toward my destination. I reached the entrance door of The Corner Coffee Shop at precisely 8:00 a.m. like I did so often every weekday morning. I walked inside and stood in front of my usual table. My particular table was located at the farthest corner in the shop, chosen for its view out one of the front windows, facing the morning sun. I sat my sketchbook down and walked up to the front counter to find that, because it was a Tuesday, Rosalie was working.
"Tall decaff for you today, Bella?" she asked me, as I studied her face to find that she had dark circles under her beautiful blue eyes and her forehead was furrowed in worry--she wasn't sleeping well again. Her long blond hair was fastened haphazardly into ponytail, indicating to me that she must have been rushed this morning.
"Hmm..." I hummed, as my mouth was watering and begging me for a little caffeine. "I think I'll cheat a little today. Give me half-caff, please." I knew caffeine wasn't the best thing for my weak body, but life was too short not to live a little once in a while.
"Yes, maam," she said smiling tiredly at me again, and though I didn't know much about her besides the fact that she was a single mom, I somehow felt connected to her—like I could always tell what she was feeling. And even though she didn't know the exact nature of my health problems, she knew that I was sick enough not to ask. I didn't tell anyone about my Leukemia—in fact the only people that knew of my diagnosis were me, my doctors and hospital caregivers, and Sue and Harry. I didn't like the way that people looked at a person when they found out they had cancer—with pity and regret—secretly thanking God that it wasn't them that was enduring the terrible hurdle. I didn't want people to pity me, I didn't want people to feel sorry for me because I didn't feel sorry for myself. My life was a gift and even though it was most likely going to be cut short—I was thankful for every second that I was given to breathe.
I stood by the counter—holding up my weight with my hands—careful to conserve as much energy as possible. Usually by seven o'clock every evening I was so tired from being active throughout the day that I could barely find enough energy to stand. I learned some energy conservation techniques along the way that helped to increase my activity levels longer and longer with every day that passed. Rosalie handed me my fresh brewed cup of coffee as I gave her a five dollar bill, like I did every day, and told her to keep the change. I walked over to my seat and finally allowed myself to sit down for the first time since I crawled out of bed this morning. I did a quick scan of the coffee shop, noticing a few of the usual customers sitting in their normal seats. An older gentleman that appeared to be in his seventies always sat and read the newspaper over at table six—usually leaving around 8:30. A young college girl usually sat in the back corner and drank a cup of coffee while she typed away on her expensive lap top. She wasn't there every day—mostly Tuesdays and Thursdays--so I eventually reached the conclusion that those days were her early classes. I always caught myself envying her natural beauty—pale and luminous skin, almost black hair that was short and trendy, her eyes a unique shade of dark blue—and most days she wore thick glasses that made her look studious.
I took a sip of my coffee as I let the smooth taste of it slide back my throat and ease my watering mouth. It tasted better than I remembered and I couldn't fathom how I could have ever taken something as simple as coffee for granted—the way it soothes the mind while simultaneously waking up the nerve endings. It was incredible and euphoric—yet another reason life was definitely worth living—another reason I had to be thankful to be given anytime on this planet at all. I glanced down at my unfinished sketch of "beautiful man" and then glanced up at the clock on the wall. He shouldn't be here for another half hour or so, so I decided to start a new drawing while I waited. I opened to a clean page and began sketching Rosalie as she was busy at work behind the counter. I never really attempted to draw her before today because I was still trying to figure out her story. Why was she working in a small city coffee shop? Why didn't her daughter have a father that was present in her life? Why didn't she sleep well last night? So many questions ran through my mind as I tried to answer them through the artistic movements of my hand. When I drew, my hand took on a life of its own. It pulled my arm and guided my eyes in directions that were beyond my control. Sketching people was a release for me—it was almost therapeutic and my way of telling people's stories. Everyone has a story that is waiting to be told and I found that fascinating.
I got so caught up in my drawing, that I barely noticed the daily crowd that rushing in right around 8:30. I could hear that the voices were growing louder as more people arrived, signifying that the hustle and bustle of the city life couldn't be kept out for long. When I heard the door ring for the tenth time in a matter of minutes, my eyes automatically lifted up from my drawing just as he entered. He was wearing the black suite today with light pin-stripes and he appeared to have on a light blue shirt underneath complimented with a royal blue tie. He always looked like the "suavest" of suave—right off of Wall Street with his briefcase and his sleek Blackberry that was always held next to his ear as he yelled at one of his employees. However,there was definitely no Wall Street in Seattle, so I often pondered where he was employed. His bronze hair was always an organized disheveled mess on his head—and though I realize that seems contradictory—I assure you that it was the truth and the best way that it could be described. His eyes were an intense piercing green and his skin was almost as light as mine, which is saying a lot due to the nature of my illness. On the outside he was perfection, the most beautiful man I have ever seen. On the inside, he appeared to be cold and unkind—taking slightly away from the stunning nature of his existence. How could someone that possessed that much outward beauty possess so much inner cruelty? One of the many mysteries of life.
I managed to take my eyes off of him to turn my attention back to my unfinished sketch of him, because although I hated to admit it, he always captivated me. He was always luring me in to unravel his ambiguity. I often found myself enthralled with his beauty just like the other 15-20 woman in the coffee shop because, believe me, when he walked through those doors—all eyes were on him. And he knew it. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't as if I had a thing for him. I was smart enough to realize that beauty was only skin deep. I was just curious about him—about his lifestyle, his job, his reasoning for his impatience with his employees.
I began to draw more of his features, filling in a few of the creases around his eyes that I missed the last time I started this particular sketch. He was smiling genuinely in this picture, something that he didn't too often do in the four months that I have seen him coming here. My hand was just about to add a few more shadows and contours to his face when I felt, more than I saw, someone's presence standing before me. Slowly, I diverted my eyes up from my sketch to take in the perfect physique beneath the intricately tailored suit until my eyes finally locked directly on his—solely and undeniably. My breath hitched ever so slightly in my throat as I immediately closed my sketchbook and felt the blood pool into my pallid cheeks. His eyes wouldn't release mine from his gaze as I watched in absolute mortification as the sides of his mouth turned up into the most breath-taking crooked smile I have ever witnessed. Shit. Shit. Shit. Oops, no swearing. I mean…crap. Crap. Crap. No one has ever caught me drawing them before.
"I uh…was just uh.." I was rambling, trying to find my voice, as my mind tried to wrap itself around what was happening. Since when does "beautiful man" stop talking on his phone long enough to express any interest in his surroundings?
"Drawing a picture of me?" he asked, finishing my sentence--and suddenly I would have given anything to be anywhere but here, in this seat, at this particular coffee shop. I couldn't help but notice that he appeared smug with himself and was amused by my obvious embarrassment of being caught in the act.
"No," I blurted, lying lamely and I realized that I was angry. Who did he think he was anyway? He may be physically flawless but he was certainly not worth my embarrassment. "In fact, it's none of your business."
"I think it is my business if you are drawing sketches of me without my permission, don't you agree?" he retorted, his voice still bordering on amusement rather than anger.
I sighed, and finally brought myself to look away from his stare to focus my attention out the window. "I'm sorry," I apologized quietly, feeling my anger fade. It wasn't like me to get so mad at someone like that before—this man was clearly effecting me in ways I wasn't sure I liked. "I just like to sketch…people…beautiful things…" and as soon as the words left my mouth I instantly regretted them. Idiot. Dig yourself even deeper and feed his ego a little more, why don't you?
When he didn't respond right away, my eyes reflexively shifted back over to find him staring at me with utmost interest. He was grinning crookedly again and he let out a low chuckle before extending his hand out to me. "Edward Cullen" he said, his voice soft and alluring.
I studied his hand as if it were a foreign object for a moment before I realized I was being awfully rude and placed my hand inside his. "Bella Swan," I managed to choke out. I still couldn't believe Mr. Hurry was speaking with me at all.
"Bella," he repeated my name while releasing my hand from his grasp. "I haven't seen you here before, do you come often?"
"Only everyday for the past four months," I scoffed, because of course he was always too caught up in his own world to ever notice anybody else. Maybe spilt coffee on green sundresses would ring a bell?
He seemed slightly taken aback by my response, but collected himself immediately. "Oh, you must usually come in the afternoons then?"
"Nope," I said matter-of-factly. "Every weekday morning at 8 a.m. you'll find me here. I usually stay until ten before I call it a day."
The surprise on his face was priceless, and he looked as though he was about to say something else but he was interrupted by the sound of his name being called on the intercom, stating that his coffee was ready. That explains why he was talking to me today.
"Well, that's me," he said, excusing himself. "Maybe I'll see you around?" he asked, before giving me a quick nod and walking away to pick up his drink. Just when I thought for sure that he'd be gone, I glanced up to find him walking toward me again. He lay a white business card on the table in front of me before smiling at the confusion obviously written all over my face. "That's my business card," he said, stating the obvious as I held myself back from rolling my eyes. "I'd like to see those sketches sometime, if you'd give me a call?"
Was that supposed to be a statement or a question? I wasn't entirely sure but I just nodded my head and mumbled "alright" before he turned around and disappeared back out onto the busy sidewalk.
That was the second time in four months that I spoke to Mr. Cullen. I didn't know anything about him other than the way his eyes wrinkled when he smiled, the different types of suits that he wore to work every day, and the fact that he seemed far too busy to enjoy anything about the life he was living.
That's how he became number one on my list.
A/N: Hey everyone! This is my original story that I decided to convert into a fan fic.
I want to say that this will not be updated on a regular basis, rather it is something that I plan on doing when I get the free moment.
Therefore, don't be pissed off if it takes me a long time to update it.
My main priority after Fall For You is working on Blame it on the Weatherman with my wifey, my hubby is no edward.
Speaking of her--thank you bb for coming up with the banging summary!!!
Please let me know if you are liking the idea so far. I'm so excited about this!
Also, thank you to all the FFY readers that helped answer my Leukemia questions.
No one beta'd this chapter, so please excuse my grammar. It will eventually be fixed, I promise.