A/N Stephenie Meyer's owns all Twilight characters & Lenka owns Bella's ringtone (Don't let me fall~Lenka)
Okay..thanks for not shooting me because Bella slept with Edward, or because she forgave him to easily...I swear there was a reason for it...but now that its done and out of the way, it will probably not happen again...hopefully by the end of the chapter you understand Edward's personality transplant..and if not..well I'll let you know why :)
BPOV
That unimaginable bastard! Who the hell did he think he was? Hurt gave way to anger as I leaned against the driver's side door of my car. The teeth of the keys bit into my hand.
No, I thought, he can't talk to me like that. He had no right, especially not after I said I wanted to be with him and he turned me down. I pushed myself off the car and crossed the street.
I quickly climbed the stairs and pushed the studio door open.
"You fucking bastard," I shrieked and slapped him. A red mark slowly colored Jacob's cheek. "Who the fuck do you think you are? You had no right to talk to me like that."
Jacob rubbed his cheek, "Why not?" he asked the nasty edge returning. "You don't mean anything to me."
I took a deep breath and fought the tears that threatened to spill. "Say what you want but we both know you need me." I picked up a painting from Sunday morning and held it up, "When's the last time you painted something like this, huh Jacob? When's the last time you painted something that wasn't a piece of shit?"
I set the painting down and glared at him, "Look at you, standing there acting like you don't care. Face it, you need me and not just for your paintings. I can see it all over your face; you're angry; and jealous as hell that I let him fuck me. I can see it all over your face, all the jealousy and rage that someone else had their hands on me."
He glared at me. "I told you I wanted you, to be with you, and you refused me. What did you expect Jacob?"
He was visibly trembling, his anger radiating off him in waves, "I don't need you Bella; not to paint or for anything else. You're just a pretty face, one of many, so don't stand there acting like you're not replaceable."
I couldn't believe my ears, twenty four hours ago he held me tenderly, whispering sweet words in my ear. "Who are you?" I asked incredulously and turned to walk away.
I pulled the door opened and stopped to look at him, "You're not the person I thought you were."
I let the door slam shut behind me and hurried back down the stairs. I burst out the front door of the building and into the street, tears spilling from my eyes. I crossed the street and walked past my car, just walking with no destination in mind. I wiped at my tears with the sleeve of my shirt, Jacob Black was not worth crying over.
I walked for a while, not really paying attention to where I was going. My stomach growled, I stopped and looked around, trying to get my bearings. I had walked into an area of the city I wasn't familiar with. I patted my pocket for my cell phone.
Damn it, I don't have my cell phone, I thought, and then I remembered I'd left it in the car. I turned around and started walking back the way I'd come. On the corner, a homeless man in a holey brown jacket sat. "Hey lady, you got any change?" he called as I crossed the street.
Keeping my eyes forward, I walked down the broken sidewalk. The wind kicked scraps of paper and other trash out of the gutter and into my face. I stumbled, trying to brush the scraps of paper out of my tangled hair, right into a broad, warm chest and screamed; thinking whoever had grabbed me was a potential rapist or serial killer.
"Bella, Bella calm down. It's me. It's Jake." He let go of my arms, I stepped back and straightened my coat.
"What do you want?" I snapped. "Did you follow me?"
"Yes, No-I mean not really." Jake ran his hands through his hair, "I hate the fact that you let him put his hands on you, and I know I have no right to be mad, but I am. I want you, all to myself and I don't want anyone else putting their hands on you. I know I have no right to ask that of you, but please don't walk away Bella, I need you too much."
I stood on the dirty street staring at him, "You need help. You can't go pulling a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde on my all the time. It's no good for you and it sure as hell isn't any good for me."
"You forgive me?" he asked.
"You haven't apologized yet," I informed him.
"I'm sorry," he said, "Will you please forgive me?"
"On two conditions," I replied. Jake nodded. "First, you make an appointment to talk to someone, and two, never ever disrespect me that way again."
"I'm sorry I spoke to you like that. I lost my head for a minute. And okay, I'll go talk to someone. I'll make an appointment today."
"All right, you're forgiven. Seriously though, you need to talk to someone, a psychiatrist, therapist, counselor whatever, it doesn't matter. You've obviously got some issues leftover from the accident and if you don't talk about it they are going to ruin your life. And it's too beautiful a life to ruin."
Jake nodded and looped his arm through mine, "Come on, it's cold. My car's around the corner."
JPOV
We drove back to the studio in silence. I thought about what she said, about my life being to beautiful to ruin. I glanced at Bella from the corner of my eye; she was staring out the window, a faraway look in her eyes.
I turned into the lot behind the studio and shut off the car. "Do you feel like working today or do you just want to go home?"
Bella looked at me, that distant look still there. "I can work," she said softly. I leaned across the seat and kissed her cheek, "I really am sorry."
She nodded, "I know. Come on, let's get to work."
I painted her all afternoon; by the time the sun set I had twelve new paintings. Bella had been quiet all day; I figured she was still a little upset about this morning. After she changed back into her clothes, she walked around the studio admiring each painting.
"I like this one the best," she said pointing at one where I had painted her as she stood in front of the window glancing over her shoulder, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
"I'll save it for you," I promised.
"Oh, Jake, you don't have to do that," Bella protested.
I grabbed her hand, "I want to."
Across the studio, the old rotary phone rang, I glanced at it quizzically; it never rang.
"Hello?" I said picking it up.
"Jacob?" Becca screeched in my ear, "Where the hell have you been, I've been trying to get a hold of you for almost a week."
"Becca chill out," I muttered into the phone. "Can you hand on for a second?"
"Fine," she huffed. I set the phone down, "It's my sister; I've been avoiding her all week, but I really gotta talk to her. Can you come back tomorrow?"
Bella nodded. "Okay, I'll see you tomorrow." I kissed her softly and walked her to the door.
"See you tomorrow," she said softly as she left.
I watched her as she disappeared around the corner, then I picked the phone back up.
"Becks, you still there?"
Rebecca sighed, "Yes, Jake, I'm still here. Are you okay? I've been trying to call you for like, four days and I keep getting your voicemail. What's going on?"
"A whole lot of nothing," I replied, "Just painting."
"Wait- you're painting again?" Rebecca interrupted.
"Mhmm."
"Jake that's amazing, but how?"
I told her about Bella, and then I told her about the hallucinations. "Jake you really need to talk to someone. It's not going to stop and its just going to get worse."
"I know Becks. I was actually hoping you could help me find a shrink."
"Absolutely. Hang on for a second." I heard a clicking in the background.
"Okay," she said after a few minutes of silence, "Write this down."
* * *
I stood outside the red brick building feeling seriously overwhelmed. Rebecca had made an appointment for me to see the psychiatrist that she saw after the accident. When I told Bella about my appointment, she hugged me and asked if I wanted her to come along. I had told her no at the time, but I was starting to wish she had come.
I entered the building and rode the elevator to the fourth floor. The bell dinged and the doors slid open to reveal a comfortable lobby. I stepped up to the reception desk and was greeted by a buxom blonde.
"Hello, how can I help you?" she asked. I gave her my information and she handed me a clipboard, "Okay Mr. Black, you just fill these out and Dr. Fuller will be with you shortly."
I took the clipboard and had a seat in the waiting room. The first sheet was the regular medical mumbo jumbo; I scanned the second page, Family history of mental illness? One question asked. I checked the appropriate box and scanned the rest of the page. It was all pretty basic stuff. I finished and handed the clipboard back to the blonde behind the counter.
A few minutes later, an older gentleman walked into the waiting room.
"Mr. Black, I presume?"
I stood and shook his proffered hand, "Dr. Fuller?"
The man nodded, "Pleasure to meet you," he said. "If you'll follow me, we'll go have a seat in my office and get to know one another."
I followed him down a well lit hallway. There was art on the wall; I glanced at it as I walked by. "These are phenomenal," I said, motioning to the paintings.
"Ah, yes. One of my first patients painted those. He was highly delusional, thought he'd been kidnapped by bunny rabbits and thought they implanted some sort of mind controlling device in his brain. Painting was the only thing that calmed him."
"Interesting," I said and followed Dr. Fuller the rest of the way down the hall.
"Here we are," he said, opening the door to his office. I entered and looked around. I was expecting antique desks and leather couches, but there were none. In the far corner was a large mahogany desk, but no leather couch. Instead, there was a circle of plush, hunter green arm chairs in the center of the room.
"Please, have a seat," Dr. Fuller instructed. I sat in the chair closest to the door, trying to get comfortable.
"Excuse me, Dr. Fuller, may I speak with you for a moment?" a man asked from the doorway. I turned in my chair to see a man about my age standing in the hallway, his bronze hair set upon his head in a disheveled heap.
"Yes, Edward?"
Wouldn't it be funny if that was Bella's Edward, I thought, running the odds through my head before deciding it was highly unlikely. Besides, I didn't even know what he did for a living.
A few minutes later, Dr. Fuller re-entered the room. "Please excuse the interruption, Dr. Cullen there will be taking over my patients soon; I'm retiring to the sunny shores of Miami."
"Congratulations," I said.
Dr. Fuller sat across from me, "Thank you," he said crossing his legs and opening a leather bound notebook.
"So, Mr. Black, talk to me about what's been bothering you," he said, clicking his pen.
"Two years ago my father and sister were killed in a car accident." I stopped and took a deep breath. "My wife and unborn child were also injured in the accident. My child died, my wife, ex-wife, is in a coma. The doctors say that if it wasn't for life support she would be dead."
"That's very tragic," Dr. Fuller said sympathetically.
I snorted, "You're telling me."
"You blame yourself for this accident. Why?"
"Because it was my fault. It was my turn to pick my father up from the bar and I didn't. If I had, Rachael, my sister, would still be alive. My father would still be alive; Leah and the baby would be alive."
"Let me ask you this. Did you give your father the alcohol that made him too intoxicated to drive?"
I looked at him, "No, of course not."
"Did you drive your father to the bar?"
"No, he drove himself," I answered. I had no idea where he was going with this line of questioning.
"So it's safe to say that if your father had not been drinking that night, no one would have gone to fetch him from the bar, no one would have gone out, and no one would have died. Is that an accurate summation?"
"You could say that; but he was a drunk. He couldn't help it."
"Of course he could. There are plenty of treatment facilities available to those who suffer from any kind of addiction. He could have gotten himself help any time he chose to. But he didn't."
"I don't understand your point Doc," I admitted.
"My point, Mr. Black, is that your father is to blame for the accident. Not you. If your father had gotten help for his addiction he wouldn't have been in the bar. His addiction is the reason your family was out that night. If he had learned to control that addiction no one would have been out that night."
I rolled my eyes; it would have been so easy to blame my deceased father for all of this. "Let's talk more about that night," Dr. Fuller suggested.
Okay lets; I thought sarcastically and spent the next forty five minutes talking about the events that lead to the night of the accident.
When the timer dinged, Dr. Fuller looked down at his notebook. "It sounds to me," he said glancing at me over the tops of his glasses, "That you're suffering from PTSD, or post traumatic stress disorder, and survivor's guilt. I'm going to prescribe you some anti-depressants, now that will help you cope with the day to day stress, but you're going to need to come back and see me, or another psychiatrist and talk more about the accident. Maybe even trying group therapy, getting together with others who've suffered losses like yours and talking with them; but you've got to talk about it Jacob."
He tore a square white slip of paper off a tablet and handed it to me. "It's a long hard road to recovery; but if you're willing to accept my help, I'm willing to help you."
I took the prescription. "How do I schedule another appointment?" I asked.
Dr. Fuller smiled, "See one of the girls at the desk on your way out, they'll set that up for you."
I shook his hand, "Thank you."
"Any time, I'll see you next week."
I walked out of the office, staring at the surreal scenes in the paintings. I bumped into the doctor that had been outside Dr. Fuller's office earlier.
"Sorry," I said glancing down at him, his zipper was down. Not that I was looking, but when you tower over people you tend to notice things that not a lot of others notice.
"My fault," the doctor replied smoothly, stepping to the side to let the red head behind him out.
"See you next week, Dr. Cullen," the red head said timidly.
I stepped around him, and then stopped. "Fix your zipper man," I said and walked away. I glanced over my shoulder and chuckled as he fumbled with the zipper.
On my way out I made another appointment for next week. When I approached the elevator the red head was standing there talking on her cell phone.
"Yes, he said he's leaving her," she paused, "No, he said she didn't suspect a thing."
The elevator doors slid open and Red and I stepped onto the elevator. I pushed the button for the ground floor and looked at her, "Ground floor," she said. I nodded as the doors closed.
Red laughed into her phone, "Beats me," she cackled. "When you figure out how a 747 can fly out of SeaTac during a blackout let me know."
She laughed again, that high pitched cackle vibrating off the walls of the elevator. "A PTSD convention in San Francisco, God she's so gullible."
I gritted my teeth, she was talking about Bella. That was Bella's Edward up there and he was cheating on her with the red head beside me. I listened to her cackle again, my temper flaring. I turned to snatch the phone out of her hand, but the elevator doors opened and Red brushed past me into the lobby.
I stumbled out of the elevator anger pulsed in my head, red and angry. The bastard, the mother-fucking bastard. How could he do that to Bella?
I got into my car and sat there, letting it run. I wanted to go back in there and beat the living shit out of him.
Do it, my subconscious urged, do it for Bella. I shut off the car and opened the door, about to go back into the building when my cell phone rang.
Underneath the moon, underneath the stars, it sang. I picked it up and glanced at the caller id. Bella's cross eyes face started back. I sighed and shut the door, here's a little heart for you, up above the world.
"Hey," I said carefully.
"Hey good looking. How was your appointment?" Bella asked.
I exhaled, forcing myself to calm down. "It was good. I have another appointment next week."
"Oh that's good," she said.
"Yea. Look, are you busy? Do you think you could meet me somewhere?"
"Um, maybe in like an hour. I'm out shopping with Alice right now. Where do you want me to meet you?"
"Back at the studio. I'll see you in an hour." I hung up the phone.
This is gonna break Bella's heart, I thought as I drove home.
Reviews are better than Jake (almost) beating the shit out of Edward :)
Okay...so incase it wasn't clear, Edward's personality transplant was basically his guilt over cheating on Bella...he's still a irresistable tool..
