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Chapter Seven of Twenty-Nine
Bella's Point of View
When the nurse came into my plain, boring hospital room to tell me that my visitors had arrived, I about leaped off of the uncomfortable mattress to go greet Edward in the hallway myself. How I controlled myself I don't know, but I did it.
"Are you up for a visit, Miss Swan?" she asked. Her scrubs were pink and blue with little purple hearts covering the sleeves in strips. They were the ugliest scrubs I'd seen any nurse wearing during this hospital visit, and I sniffled a laugh.
"Of course," I allowed. "It's Alice and Edward, right? The Cullens?"
"I believe it's only Edward Cullen, actually," she said, and I remembered her name was Brandy. She was one of the less cranky nurses that I had come to know. "Is that a problem?"
"No!" I squeaked, and scolded myself for sounding too eager. "Erm . . . that's . . . yeah, that's fine."
"He'll be right in." Brandy turned on her heel and slipped back out of the room, pulling the curtain that took away my view of the doorway to the room back in place. "Press your call button if you need anything."
"Okay," I agreed.
Two minutes went by.
No Edward.
I sighed, my patience gone. I had missed him terribly, and although the intensity scared me, I couldn't wait to see him smile, hear him talk, maybe hold his hand . . .
The last one was kind of a long shot, but a girl could hope.
Maybe he'd offer to explain my work to me and stay even longer than expected. Maybe we would talk for a while. I would casually mention that my dad hadn't been able to come see me for the past few days because he had used up all of his personal days at the station and had to work for the next week until the new month started. He would feel bad that I'm eating crap dinners, and he would offer to get me a real dinner. And then we would bond over food and live happily ever after.
I shook my head at myself. Fantasies would get me nowhere.
"Bella?"
My heart stuttered and I jolted upright, and in that moment, I was thankful that Doctor Cullen had detached me from my heart rate monitor. I would have been mortified if Edward had heart the leap in my heart when he spoke. I hadn't heard his footsteps walk up to the curtain. He hadn't made a sound . . .
I watched his shadow through the light blue material. "Y-yes?" I croaked, having been startled with no recovery time.
"Are you okay?" he asked. I saw his shadow shift to the right as he switched his weight from foot to foot. "May I come in?"
"Um . . ." I swallowed, whipping my sweaty palms on the sheets that were pooled around my thighs and looking down at my body. The itchy, ugly hospital gown was the last thing that I wanted him to see me wearing, but I had no other options. My chest and stomach were both fully covered, and I had gotten the chance to take a shower and curl my hair, so at least I didn't have a bedhead. I never wore make up, so I didn't have to worry about that. My skin was too pale for me to be able to pull a face mask off. I shrugged at myself. "Uh, yeah, sure. I'm okay."
"I can come in, then?"
"Yes," I called.
The curtain was pushed away instantly, and Edward stepped in the little circle. He didn't close the curtain behind him completely, and I saw his father watching from the reception desk that was visible through my doorway. Carlisle grinned at me and turned back to the paperwork in his hands.
I looked at Edward. His gray sweater hugged his lean frame in a way that made my heart flutter and my stomach twist into knots. His dark denim jeans led to the nice dress shoes that I'd noticed he had worn on the first day of school, and in his hand was a folder full of what I guessed was my work – the work that I hadn't really needed but had asked for anyway to see if I could get Edward to visit. He smiled at me, his eyes the same unusual color as they had been the day I met him. "Hi, there," he said, tossing me a friendly wave.
"Hi." I didn't trust myself enough to say more.
"I have your school work," he said informatively.
I nodded far too eagerly. "Thank you. I hope it wasn't any trouble getting it."
"Not at all," he assured me kindly, walking forward a few steps and setting the folder down on the little nightstand next to my bed. "It's all there – if you have any questions, my cell phone number is written on a Post-It note on the inside flap."
His phone number. Control, Bella. Practice Control. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Silence followed. Two minutes.
Three minutes.
The only noises in the small room were the beeping of the machinery from the rooms in the same hall as mine and the soft voices of the hospital staff. I swallowed.
"Well, I suppose I'll . . ." Edward started, shifting to stand from the chair he had sat down in. "I'll just . . . I'll go now."
"Wait!" I blurted.
He paused, our eyes meeting.
Say something. Say something. Don't let him leave! "I . . . I like your shoes." I closed my eyes, and looked down at my bed sheet in embarrassment. "I mean . . . uh . . ." Insert foot into mouth. "Yeah, they're nice. Very nice."
"Thank you," he said slowly, as if he were talking to a mental patient. In a way, he was. I was seeing as therapist about the images of my mother I'd been seeing, after all. Not that I'd opened up to her and spilled my guts yet.
"You . . . you don't have to go," I told him, leaning forward in my bed a little. "Tell me . . . tell me about biology," I stated. The off-white bed sheets tangled in my fingers. "Um . . . my lab partner's name is Mike Newton. Will you tell me about him? So I know what to expect when I go back?"
His face flashed with an emotion, but he composed himself before I could give it a name. "Newton is a pig."
"A pig," I repeated, confused.
"He'll spend more time staring at your body than what's on the microscope's slides." His voice was hard, emotionless. His eyes were fuming. "I wish you could have been my partner. I'm stuck with Wendy Marks. She's an airhead."
He had a female lab partner? I frowned, but not for the reason I made him think it was. "That's awful. I mean, you must have to do all the work all the time."
"Absolutely."
"I hate that," I continued, because this seemed to be a subject where our opinions were similar. "I hate partner work. I'd rather work by myself."
"I agree," he muttered. "Although if I was working with you, Bella, I wouldn't mind so much."
I blushed. "Um . . . yeah, being your lab partner wouldn't be awful at all."
He smiled. I smiled. He stepped closer and sat back down on the ugly chair. "My father said that you'd be back to school in a week or two. That must sound good."
"Oh, yes," I agreed. My heart was beating more steadily now that he was closer and we were having a real conversation. Something about his presence made me calm, and my mood had shot up from the absolute boredom I'd previously been feeling. Being trapped here wasn't exactly making me jump for joy. "It'll be wonderful to be able to leave this room."
"How long has it been?" He leaned forward to lean his elbows on his thighs, bringing his face closer to the side of my bed. He bent his head but angled his eyes to peer up at me. "Since you've left this room, I mean?" he clarified.
"Since . . . oh, jeez . . ." I drew up a mental calendar in my head, but the image wasn't helpful. "What's today's date?"
"It's the fifteenth," he said.
"I got here on the eighth," I muttered to myself, staring at a spot on the wall where the awful shade of gray paint had been chipped for concentration. "Umm . . . I haven't seen the therapist in four days . . . so . . . about three days. That's an estimate. My math skills haven't been flexed in a week."
"You're seeing a therapist?"
I swallowed, nodding the smallest of nods. "Um . . . did your dad . . . tell you about . . . what the reason originally was for the blood test that found my leukemia?"
He looked away at the mention of my disease, staring at his fancy shoes. His hands clasped together and his knuckles tightened against each other. "No, he's not allowed to give me the details without your authorization."
"Um, well . . . when I got home from school on the first day, I . . ." I sighed. "It's hard to explain."
"Just say it in the best way you can," he suggested. Our eyes met and he smiled. "I'm sure I can keep up."
"Okay," I began. "Well, originally, I lived with my –" My breath caught in my throat. "– with my –" I tried again. Edward watched me patiently, carefully, calmly. He didn't push me. He didn't roll his eyes at my struggling. His facial expression didn't change from the one that portrayed his honest interest in what I was saying. So I forced it out. "I lived with my mom and dad in Phoenix in the beginning of my life. I was born there. Everything was great in my life, I guess . . . not that I can remember much of it. But when I turned seven, my mom –" I choked, coughing as the word that I'd blocked out all my life tried to come out. "She . . ." The tears began, and the images flashed.
Before my eyes, the hospital room turned red. The blue curtains that blocked the doorway were suddenly torn and singed and the rest of the room looked as if a fire had run wild. Blood trickled down the solid black wall that had once been gray. The off-white bed sheets were now tinted pink from the blood that had been smeared when my hands fisted them together. Technically, the room was covered in red to the point where I could see nothing else. None of the other details of the ruined room were visible to me . . . the blood attracted all of my attention.
"Bella?" It was a familiar voice. Who was that? Who was calling to me? Where were they?
I looked to the left, but I didn't see anyone. My eyes drifted down, and I had to correct myself. I felt the tears begin to travel heavier down my cheeks as I recognized my mother's dead, singed body lying on the ground beside me.
"Oh, God," I croaked.
"Bella! Can you hear me? Bella!"
"Make it stop, please," I whispered to the voice. My therapist had taught me how to handle this, but at that moment, I was too deep into the vision before me to remember what Carol had said. "Oh, God, she's dead, she's dead, she's gone!"
"Bella? Bella, calm down!" The voice was right beside my ear now, but I still saw no one else but my mother's body. Something tugged at my hands, but I saw no hands wrapped around my wrists like I was feeling. "Carlisle! Come here, quickly!"
"What's happened?" a new voice chimed in. It was deeper than the first one. More serious, calm.
"She was telling me about how you discovered her cancer, and then she just – I don't know, she stopped talking and blacked out. She's having a panic attack."
"That's right," the other man agreed. "Hold her arms down, Edward. Don't let her thrash around like that. She'll hurt herself." He'd said Edward.
Edward.
"Edward," I called out, still seeing nothing but the bloodied and battered hospital room. On the floor, my mother's head flopped to the side as gravity took over its lifelessness. "Edward!"
"I'm here." It was a whisper in my ear. "I'm right here, Bella. Everything's alright."
"Edward!"
"I'm right here," he repeated. I felt lips press against my left temple, and I closed my eyes. When I opened them, I was staring into the worried eyes of Carlisle Cullen, and Edward was hovering nervously over me. The room had turned back to normal, the images gone. It was over.
"Edward," I sobbed. My tears hadn't left with the images. "Edward, it's over!" I leaned to the side, noticing with a thrill that his hands were braced on either side of my waist, and his chest was right beside my ear. My arms threw themselves around his neck and I clung to him without embarrassment. "Don't leave," I pleaded. "Oh, please, don't leave. I know I've only known you for a week and this is the first day we've ever really had a nice talk, but it's better when you're here, and – please, just don't go, Edward, I'm sorry, I'm sorry . . ."
Edward shushed me. "Calm down, Bella," he assured me. "Everything's fine. I'm not going anywhere, and Carol George is on her way – you know her, don't you? You know who she is?"
"My therapist," I whispered into his neck.
"She'll help you work through this panic attack, okay?" he asked, one hand rising off the bed to rub my back gently. "She'll make you feel better about it. I won't leave, okay? I promise. I won't leave."
"Okay," I mumbled.
"Okay."
…
"You didn't tell me she's been sleeping this often," Edward said.
I kept my eyes closed, pretending to be asleep. Listening to conversations being held about me while I'm asleep was becoming a favorite pastime of mine. I mean, there was nothing else to do in this big, boring old hospital.
"She's fine, Edward," Doctor Cullen responded. "Sleeping is her body's way of protecting itself. Her therapist is going to meet with her again when she wakes and we'll see if we can get more information out of her." My last session with Carol didn't go very well. I was still too shaken up from my panic attack to be able to talk about it. Carlisle told me that we'll just give it a break for now because too much stress isn't good for my body, especially when I'm fighting cancer in my blood. I'd ignored Edward's glare at the floor at the mention of my leukemia, but honesty I was curious as to why he kept responding that way.
"I trust your opinion," Edward snapped, "but I've been through medical school myself, Carlisle. I know a thing or two about the human body. I have to go against your word this time. Something else has to be happening other than her panic attacks and her . . . illness." I was confused. Edward's only a senior in high school. How can he have been through medical school already? Was I hallucinating, or was I missing something really important?
"If you had really put all of your effort into becoming a doctor during those years of your life – which I know you did not do, or you would be a doctor right now – you would remember that every human body reacts slightly different," Carlisle defended. His voice was closer to me than Edward's. If I were to open my eyes, I was sure he would be standing to my left, maybe taking my blood pressure or changing the bag of fluids in my IV, which was still jabbing me in the arm after at least three days of continuous wear. And once again, what did he mean by 'during those years of your life'? He was seventeen. Just how old was Edward when he supposedly went to medical school?
"Being a doctor wasn't my calling!" Edward shouted.
"Calm yourself and keep your voice down," Carlisle reprimanded softly. "I have patients who are trying to sleep. It's one in the morning, remember." Is that why there was no light streaming against my closed eyelids?
"I apologize."
"What is your calling, then, son?" Carlisle questioned curiously. "You've been doing the same thing for years, now. High school, college, three year break. Different high school, different college, longer break. Eventually, you'll have to get yourself a career." I was definitely crazy. The panic attacks had surely done some serious damage to my brain that Carlisle hadn't noticed, because at Edward was seventeen. He hasn't even graduated college once yet. He's not old enough to have graduated already, let alone twice or more! My head hurt suddenly, but I fought to keep up my sleeping charade up.
"Bella is. Bella is my calling."
My heart skipped a beat, and my face threatened to lift into a smile. I don't know how I controlled myself.
"Did you hear that?" Carlisle asked. "She's waking." What? Did they hear my heartbeat increase? My heart rate monitor wasn't hooked up and hadn't been since the second day of my hospital visit.
"This conversation will have to continue at home," Edward sighed. I heard his shoes shuffle against the floor as he moved closer and grunted as he sat down on the chair closer to my head. The chair had been moved from the left side of my bed the right.
"I know that you feel incredibly attached to Bella already," Carlisle whispered above my head, "but she's going through a rough time right now. She hates that her father is stressed so much and has to work, and her emotions are all over the place. She's having trouble opening up to Carol, too, as you saw. We can't get to the bottom of what causes these attacks because I don't even think Bella knows."
"I hope you aren't this open with everyone with the information that her therapist gives you."
"It's classified information for anyone. But she's special to you. I understand that. I know what it feels like. I have Esme, remember? But –"
"It's different with Bella and me," Edward snapped. "Esme . . . she can protect herself. She won't get sick with the flu. She won't die if she gets hit by a car. She knows all of your secrets, and you don't have to hide anything from her. You're protective of her, yes. That's your natural instinct – protect your mate, make sure she's taken care of. But my instincts? They're so much more powerful than what you've shown me through your mind." At this point, I've convinced myself that I'm dreaming. None of what he is saying makes sense, so I gave up with trying to think it all through.
Edward continued. "I feel . . . so . . . protective of her, it's not even . . . I can't control it. It's like . . . my body recognizes the fact that she's so small and fragile. It's like my body knows that my mate is weak right now. It knows that she's sick and . . . I can't sit still. My mind is locked on her. My attention might seem diverted, but I'm always watching her or listening to what she's doing if I can't see her. Every time she coughs, every time her heartbeat becomes even a little uneven . . . my mind jumps to the worst possible conclusion. I feel like I'm going to lose her . . . and that's because I might. This leukemia might take her from me. I can't . . ." he trailed off, and I felt his hand suddenly brush against my neck. "She's so beautiful. She's so special to me . . . and it kills me to know that I can't tell her . . . about me. About us. About what we are."
"Her body can't handle that kind of a shock at this time, Edward. She might shut down because it'll be too much for her to process."
"I know," Edward said to my right. "I know. I understand why I can't tell her. I just wish I could." Dream-Edward was really confusing me, but saying that he feels protective of me really made me love him.
Love him?
Did I love Edward?
I hadn't even known him for two weeks, yet. But I knew – I knew without a doubt or question in my mind – that I loved him, and I would always love him.
The question was: How had I fallen in love with him so quickly?
Author's Note:
She loves him! He loves her? We're not sure yet, but it seems pretty likely, doesn't it?
My favorite quote from this chapter is:
"I . . . I like your shoes." I closed my eyes, and looked down at my bed sheet in embarrassment. "I mean . . . uh . . ." Insert foot into mouth. "Yeah, they're nice. Very nice."
I can totally picture Stephenie Meyer's Bella saying this for some reason.
Thanks for reading. Please leave me a review! See you next chapter.
