My betas are still KCerena & Reamhar – without them my writing would be littered with typos. Kisvakondok preread to ensure that this chapter doesn't suck.
I don't own Twilight.
IV. Trapped
EPOV
Spring 2010
As I run across the street to my next class, I notice how freakishly warm it is outside for April. I don't have time to take my jacket off since I'm late for neurology and by the time I reach my class, I'm drenched in sweat.
The professor begins his lecture with a PowerPoint presentation full of grisly photos of parts of the brain. I can stomach them, but they make feel queasy, so my eyes start roaming the lecture hall. I notice that half the girls are already dressed in tank tops and flip-flops.
Usually the first warm sunny day of the spring lightens my mood, but today all I feel is dread. Warm weather means summer is near. Summer means the end of my second year of med school is fast approaching, which in turn means that in another three months I'm scheduled to start my rotations. I'm terrified. I think I'll survive the first six weeks, because my first rotation starts in the family medicine. I'll be fucked soon though. Right after that I'm supposed to move to surgery.
I tried to flirt with a girl who has psychiatry next on her schedule to see whether she'd switch with me, but aside from having buckteeth and sour breath, she also bored me to sleep over dinner. She kept on talking about a pharmacology class we took together last semester. The class was boring enough the first time around and reliving it with her after a glass of wine made my already droopy eyelids yearn to shut tight. I quickly decided I wasn't quite that desperate, yet.
Eventually, the brains give way to simple graphics. On the upside, the queasiness goes away, but unfortunately I can't seem to pay attention. I must be just as tired as I was on that date. I'm having an increasingly hard time concentrating as the semester goes on. Lately the knot in my stomach, possibly brought on by my general state of panic, doesn't disappear anymore. On top of that, I'm having trouble sleeping. That is to say, I don't have any trouble falling asleep per se. It's just that after three to four hours I wake up from nightmares either with my heart beating so fast that it feels like it's going to jump out of my chest, or drenched in sweat and panting. Sometimes I can't go back to sleep after that. The nightmares fall into two categories.
One set of nightmares invariably revolves around my phobia of blood. Those dreams start out fairly harmless. I'm on a subway train or an airplane. I'm about to start flipping a page in the book I'm reading, when a fellow passenger gets ill. I don't see the person and I don't know what's wrong with him or her; in other words, I don't see blood. When someone calls out for a doctor, panic sets in and my heart starts racing. I stay frozen in place and don't volunteer. I feel guilty, but I'm terrified that I'll leave the sick person worse off. Nobody else comes forward and the calls from the stewardess, bent over the sick person, are getting more and more frantic. The neon lights around me start flickering before going out entirely.
When everything around me is black and the screams of the other passengers blur together into one screeching noise, I wake up shaking and my heartbeat never slows down. I spend the rest of the night worrying incessantly about the possibility that I might actually make it through the next two years of medical school without ever acknowledging or overcoming my fear, endangering my patients as a result.
The second set of nightmares usually allows me to go back to sleep eventually, but they're still unnerving. I started having them after I ran into her two months ago. In those dreams, I'm in the same supermarket that I last saw her in, only in my dreams the place is completely empty. I hear her laughter and I run in the direction I hear her voice coming from, calling her name. She runs away. When I find Bella in the dairy aisle, she's dressed in the same skirt and skimpy little top she wore that night five years ago. I'm happy when she turns to look at me, giving me a bright smile. She walks up to me and flings her arms around my neck. I pull her tighter into my arms, feeling her body mold against mine.
"Bella," I breathe, and bend down to kiss her. Our lips barely touch. She smirks at me and pulls away to start running again. I follow her. I keep on running until I'm no longer in the supermarket but running on a promenade along the East River. It's raining and it's cold; I catch a glimpse of her shadow sprinting toward some stairs.
I lose sight of her and the next thing I know I'm falling. I never land, but wake up with the eerie feeling of my body in freefall. I feel lost. I have to get up and change my t-shirt after that dream. Eventually I fall asleep again, but still the dream disturbs me.
I haven't visited Carlisle for the past two months because I'm scared that I might run into her again. I don't even make it downtown these days. I stay securely within the ten-mile radius of school. What are the chances that she'll make it all the way up to Washington Heights? I think I'm safe here. No trendy bars or restaurants in the vicinity.
I'm terrified to talk to anyone about my fears. At this point, both Carlisle and Esme would possibly direct me to a shrink. My friends would be of no help. Make that friend, come to think of it, since only one person comes to mind who I actually hang out with these days and only because he keeps on pestering me. Everybody else has stopped calling. Suffice to say, he'd roll his eyes if I told him about Bella and tell me that I needed to get laid. If I told him about the blood thing, he'd possibly tell me to deal with it, to suck it up.
I really don't have any 'friends' at school. In fact, I loathe my fellow students of medicine – overeager little weasels. They're all intensely competitive and would love it if I shared some of my personal drama with them. They'd be giddy with delight, I'm certain, if they discovered that the guy with the perfect GPA and lab scores can't handle the 'practical' aspect of the work.
I'm about to take a nap in the library when my cell phone goes off. Some students shoot me nasty looks as I answer the damn phone quickly.
"Hello?" I whisper.
"Why are you whispering?" Emmett's voice echoes in my ear.
"Hang on a second." I get up and walk briskly to the nearest exit. "I'm in the library studying," I say once I'm in the hallway.
"Dude, why are you in the library? It's 85 degrees outside."
"I've exams in another three weeks. Unlike you, I actually like to pass my classes first time around," I snap. Emmett was my roommate during freshman year of college. Technically he should've graduated last year, but he's taking his sweet time finishing up his undergrad degree. The last time I checked, he was planning to graduate this year – one year late, but knowing Emmett he'll possibly try to delay again by deciding to go for another minor in anthropology or sociology.
"I take great offense at that statement. I've never failed any of my classes. I just choose not to make my life a living hell. Why graduate when I'm perfectly happy being a student?" he states before I hear a slurping sound.
"Whatever. I'm busy. What do you want?" I lean against the wall and slide down onto the grayish carpet.
"I think you need a break. You sound way too tense. I got an invite to some show at an art gallery tonight with an open bar. I put both of our names on the guest list. So I'm calling to inform you that you, my dear friend, are going out tonight."
"I can't. I've to study," I answer, pinching the bridge of my nose with my fingers.
"No way. You're not wiggling yourself out of this one. You're going. Pick me up at 7." Before I can tell him 'fat chance,' the idiot actually hangs up on me.
I make it back to my carrel in the library and fall asleep. When I wake up, my arm is asleep and is seriously prickling. I get up and walk back to my studio. It's five in the afternoon, which means I've slept for three hours. I still feel drained and tired though. I'm contemplating turning off my phone and crawling into bed. But there is nothing to eat in my fridge, and I know I'll never hear the end of it if I stand Emmett up tonight, so I decide it's best just to go.
I take a quick shower, get dressed, and take the train down to Morningside campus. I'm assaulted by the strong smell of pot mixed with incense when I walk into Emmett's suite.
"Yo, Eddie, my man," he greets me. I cringe and cough. "I'm so glad you made it." He's wearing sandals and a t-shirt with holes in it.
"Hey."
"Do you want a beer before we get going?" He walks over to the fridge and pulls out two bottles, not waiting for my response. "You look whiter than usual, man. You really should go into the sun once in a while. Chicks dig a nice tan."
"Yeah, whatever," I mouth, taking the beer from his hand.
"Don't even pretend like you don't care," he says with a wiggle of his eyebrows. I chuck the beer back quickly. I can't wait to get out of the place; the stench is killing me. "But lucky for you, there'll be lots of chicks at this place tonight and most of the dudes will hopefully be gay, which should leave us with plenty of options."
"Emmett, I don't care. For your 411, I only came because there was no food in my fridge. Let's get something to eat before we hit that stupid show."
"I don't get you. Seriously," he huffs. "You know there's more to life than studying and work, right? Why the rush to become a perfect little worker bee with a house in burbs, sex every Saturday in the missionary position, and 2.5 kids?"
I roll my eyes at his lame joke. "I venture to say if you continue down your path of taking it easy, you'll have to settle for this shit before I do," I remark.
"Are you kidding me?"
"I'm not the one stuck taking unchallenging undergrad classes to ogle freshman ass all semester long. I actually have a career plan, which doesn't include settling for mediocrity in middleclass hell."
"Oh, fuck you bro. You're such an elitist asshole. Get over yourself. And do check the mirror occasionally. I don't see that little picture I just painted for you in my future – that's fo sho. But you my friend … you're a different story. Just look at yourself!" He huffs in anger.
"What exactly are you talking about?"
"You look fucking constipated. Your mommy is loaded, which means you could take all the time in the world with this shit, yet you feel the need to be an eager beaver and graduate early. Every year that passes you look a little bit tighter. And don't even get me stared on the women you date. At least Lauren had a nice rack and Jane was a feisty little minx, but Angela? Come on! You need to relax and stop squeezing your ass cheeks together."
"What was your problem with Angela?" I ask, annoyed at his tirade and regretting my earlier remark. "She was pretty and actually nice, which is more than I can say about the girls you date. Not that I've met any of them recently."
"Nice and booooring!" he exclaims. "I mean you used to be kinda cool. Five years ago you wouldn't have dated that girl. And you don't meet the girls I hang out with, because you barely ever leave that hellhole you live and work in."
I guess he's got me there; on both counts.
We walk down Amsterdam to the nearest pizzeria. Emmett orders a whole pie and proceeds to stuff slice after slice into his mouth. We hop onto the subway and take the train downtown. My mind keeps on wondering back to the antereolateral system …the primary sensory cell body allowing you to sense temperature, touch, and pain is located in the Dorsal root ganglion, I recite internally while Emmett talks about some girl who's moved into his suite and her perfect boobs. I try to blank him out, but he shuts up when some older lady shakes her head. Emmett is not lacking in the self-confidence department and is naturally missing the capacity to feel embarrassed, so the fact that this woman shuts him up with the shake of her head and one raised eyebrow is kind of amusing to me.
We get off at 18th Street and walk further west. Emmett continues to chatter about girls, his classes, and how he wishes he could stay another year in school to fully appreciate what college has to offer. I want to tell him that surely after five years, various semesters abroad, and countless mediocre classes he's had enough, but I hold back. I nod, but only listen half-heartedly. I almost feel bad; he's a nice guy actually aside from the fact that he changes girls like underwear and smokes so much grass that I worry about his brain cell count.
We come to a halt in front of a door next to a big glass window. Emmett gives the guy who is, standing at the door our names and we shuffle inside. It's pretty crowded already. People are standing around in groups, chatting and sipping drinks.
"I'm gonna grab us some beer," Emmett shouts and runs off toward the back of the room. I look around and find some flyer for the show. Most of the works on display are color photos of skeletal girls in asymmetrical dresses posing at odd angles.
My eyes scan the thick glossy promo flyer, which reads Contemporary Fashion Photography in big black letters. I look around and see stylish girls surrounded by boys who care a touch too much about their appearance. Emmett is correct in his assessment that the place is filled with attractive women and possibly mostly gay men. I'm not certain the numbers in this equation will help him though; I've the feeling the girls wearing designer ensembles will not necessarily buy his spiel or his look for that matter.
"Let's check out the meat," Emmett announces with a wide grin on his face, handing me a bottle of Heineken. I humor him and smirk. I could care less. We walk around the room for a while, but none of the girls that Emmett tries to talk to humor him for more than a second; they're not impressed.
"So who got you on the invite list for this?" I ask, chuckling because Emmett is clearly out of his element in this scene. Not that I fit in here, I notice as I glance at my reflection in the mirrored wall to my right. My too clean and too tight jeans, button down shirt and windbreaker make me shrink away from my own image. Even my hair looks flat.
"Actually, your sister," he answers giving me an impish grin.
"Alice?"
"Dude, do you have another sister I don't know about? Yeah, of course Alice. I ran into her at some bar in the East Village and she hooked me up with this invite. She said she's tried to invite you to these things, but you never show up."
"Is she going to be here?" My sister is becoming more and more exhausting to be around.
She talks a mile a minute about stuff I don't care about. Listening to her is like listening to one of those people that call themselves journalists, even though all they write about is which actor is banging his current co-star, which celebrity may be gay and what beauty regime is the latest trend. Who gives a shit?
"No, she said she was going to be busy. She did mention that you might know one of the photographers who's showing here today."
"I highly doubt it," I respond and shrug my shoulders. Alice sometimes drags me to events she organizes, but I usually leave after one drink, and I hardly ever remember any of the vapid people she introduces me to in passing, while blowing air kisses at them.
Emmett and I sit down on some sofa near the bar area in the back. I put my feet up on the table in front of us and look at the flyer again to see whether I recognize any of the names.
"Check out the brunette over there, Eddie. She's cute and she's looking in our direction. I think she's checking me out." He pokes me with his elbow. My eyes get caught on a name – Tanya Denali. I've seen that name before, but I can't put a face to it or remember where I'd know it from. "I think I might go talk to her. Definitely a nice ass."
"Which one?" I ask to humor him, glancing up.
"That one." He points with his beer bottle casually to the left. Tanya Denali, her roommate – Bella's roommate – my brain finally registers. My mouth goes dry and I stare. Bella is standing a couple of feet away in a strapless mini-dress talking to a group of people. She's laughing and tosses her loose curls over her shoulder.
"She's hot," Emmett mouths and makes some obscene clacking sound with his tongue. "I'm gonna go talk to her." He's about to get up, but I manage to pull him back by his shirt.
"No," I seethe.
"No? You're kidding, right? What's wrong with you?" Emmett complains.
"I know her." To my relief he sinks back into the blush sofa pillow next to me.
"Where from? Don't tell me the girl goes to med school. I'll definitely come visit you more often if that's the case. I'd let her play doctor with me …"
"No. Shut up!" I rub my hand over my face.
"Why are you so testy?"
"Just don't, okay?" I implore. Emmett's eyes start darting between Bella and me until something dawns on him. He laughs and looks at me with a curious expression on his face. "You know her, know her, right?" He winks and I roll my eyes at him.
"None of your business. Just don't go over and talk to her."
"Judging by the looks of her, she's not one of your recent flings … no, definitely cannot be a med student," he states, squinting his eyes at me. "Ha! I got it. It's the girl that broke your heart the summer before college. What was her name again?"
"Bella," I whisper, staring intently at the label of my beer bottle. "Fucking Alice!"
"I'm lost." Emmett furrows his brows in confusion. "What's Alice got to do with it?"
"One of the photographers was Bella's roommate. I'm pretty certain Alice knew that."
"Whatever. Be happy. See this as an opportunity. It's been like what – five years? Why don't you go over and talk to her? She was definitely looking in our direction. Who knows, she probably recognized you."
"Not a good idea." I shake my head. "I'm getting out of here." I look ahead to plan my exit strategy. I can't get out of this place without directly having to walk through the door where Bella is now standing chatting with some guy wearing hideous black-rimmed glasses and a striped sweater.
I decide it's best to stay put until she moves.
Some tall attractive blonde comes over and miraculously starts talking to Emmett. I groan inwardly as I listen to their banter. I was wrong. He's managed to find a girl gullible enough to fall for his grin and jokes. I get up and walk to the bar partially to get away from their foreplay and also because I need a stiff drink before running out of here.
"What can I get for you, Sir?" one of guys dressed in black standing behind the bar politely asks.
"Whiskey soda, please."
He turns around and grabs a bottle of whiskey before his eyes scan the bar area. "Charlotte, we're out of clean glasses. Be a doll and hand me some from the dishwasher over there. They should be clean. Then go to the back and get another box."
Suddenly I'm getting nervous waiting in front of the bar. I hear heels approaching from behind me.
A mousy little girl – Charlotte, I assume – pulls out a whole rack of glasses from a dishwasher and walks toward the bartender. The last thing I remember is Charlotte slipping and falling.
When I wake up, I feel sick; bile is rising from my stomach. Someone's stroking my hair and caressing my cheek. I open my eyes slowly, squinting at the light. My vision is fuzzy. I see brown hair and a pale face with light freckles. I shut my eyes and swallow, trying to push the contents of my stomach down. The one person I don't want to see me like this has apparently come to my aid.
"Hey, are you okay?" I hear Bella ask. I open my eyes again. I see her clearly this time. I try to push myself up on my arms, but they give in. I feel dizzy and nauseous. "Are you going to be sick?" She looks at me with concern. "Tanya, push the bucket from over there to me. Quickly!"
I see high-heeled sandals approaching, kicking a bucket with a mop still in it. I know I won't be able to make it to the restroom or the sink behind the bar. I don't even care at this point. I lean over the black plastic rim and throw up, cold sweat running down my temples. Someone is rubbing my back.
The residual stench of the industrial floor cleaner mixed with the sour smell of vomit emanating from the bucket burns my throat as I inhale and exhale deeply. When I'm done, I feel physically better. Nausea is replaced by embarrassment.
"Are you okay?" I hear her voice again.
I nod. Bella moves in front of me, pushes the bucket away and hands me a wet paper towel. "Are you sure? You just sort of fainted for minute or two. I think they called an ambulance."
"It's not necessary," I say, mortified now. I make an attempt to push myself up to stand. Bella reaches her hand up my arm and helps me. I'm standing on wobbly legs.
"Don't worry. Charlotte definitely needs one. She cut her hands pretty badly."
"I need to get out of here." I realize that the girl with the bleeding hands probably triggered this episode, and I'm gripped by fear. I stumble forward. Bella pulls my arm over her shoulder for support. I'm so weak that I let her.
"Fresh air's probably a good idea," she mumbles. Some girl hands her a bag as we walk out the door. "Wait here." She leaves me leaning with my back against the cold concrete wall of the building, and I watch her step into the street, whistling loudly on two fingers. A yellow cab comes to stop at the curb.
Bella walks back over to me and pulls me off the wall. "Come on, I'll get you home."
"I should wait for my friend," I argue meekly. I want to push her away, but then I see the ambulance turning around the corner and follow her to the door of the cab without further argument.
"The tall guy with brown curly hair?"
I nod.
"I tell you what, I'll text my friend and tell her to let him know that you're on your way home."
I don't argue and move to sit in the car, closing the door behind me, figuring she's done enough by hailing a cab for me. She slides in through the other door though and sits down next to me.
"Where do you live, Edward?"
I give the driver my address before sagging back into the seat, leaning my head against the cold window. Better to pretend she's not sitting next to me, I figure. Maybe then I can somehow make myself believe that this whole thing didn't happen.
"Here." I feel something cold pressing against my fingers. "Tanya grabbed this from the bar for you. It might make you feel better."
I look down at my hand and see her holding out a can of ginger ale to me. The taste in my mouth is gross, but I want to go back to closing my eyes and pretending none of this really happened; that she didn't see me faint, puke my guts out, and stumble out the door. But her presence in the car is irrefutable. She has that pretty girl smell around her: sweet and enticing.
She leaves the can sitting on the seat next to my hand. We don't talk. I open my eyes for a second as the car speeds up the West Side highway to the Henry Hudson. I close my eyes again. I blink for a second when the cab passes the 125th Street exit. I'm almost back at my place, and I feel relieved.
When the cab exits the highway I open my eyes. I instruct the driver to drop me off at the corner of my block. I don't dare to glance in her direction.
I pull a crumbled up twenty-dollar bill out of my pocket and I'm about to hand it to the driver when she sighs loudly.
"It's okay … you don't have to," she says, hesitantly reaching out her hand to push my arm back down.
My head snaps into her direction. She frowns at me. Her eyes look sad and her face is flushed. I drop the bill onto the seat and open the door to flee, but Bella grabs my wrist. Her cool fingers encircle my burning skin. I easily could pull my arm away and run.
"Edward," I hear her say my name and it stops me dead in my tracks. "I'm sure you could care less whether you hear this or not at this point, but I'm sorry, okay?"
I want to yell at her, tell her that she's said that already – sorry. Tell her to shut up! It only makes me feel worse. Sorry, I slept with you. Sorry, I would've never touched you had I known …
My one foot is already firmly planted on the asphalt near the car. I stare at her for a second. She's leaning forward on her left arm while her right hand holds onto my wrist. She looks beautiful with her exposed skin and her breasts squished together by purple satin. I free my arm and step out of the car. She moves over to the window.
"If you feel dizzy or anything when you get up to your place, please call someone to watch you. I tried to break your fall, but I think your head banged against the bar pretty hard. You might have a concussion… I guess you'd know that … med school and all…" She rolls her eyes and I slam the door shut.
I walk down the street to my building. The wind blowing in my direction suddenly feels ice blistering cold. It's not summer yet. I still have some time…
Thanks for reading & lemme know what you think?
