Disclaimer: Twilight is Stephanie Meyer's. This spin on it is from my own crazy brain.

-:-

"Isabella!"

I groggily moaned as a jarring bump jolted me awake. I smelled rubbing alcohol and plastic. And something cold was blowing up my nose. Ew. Oxygen prongs.

"Isabella Swan?"

"Hmm?" I answered, not sure who was calling my name.

As I opened my eyes and focused, I realized I was no longer in the back of an ambulance. Instead, I was being wheeled through an emergency room filled with bright lights and white walls. A lady in Pepto-Bismol pink scrubs was shining a penlight in my eyes. I recoiled, blinded.

"Take it easy on her," said a familiar voice. "Hey, Bella, welcome back."

I squinted and was relieved to see Ben as one of my medical chauffeurs. "Ben?" I said, disoriented.

"It's okay, you're doing fine," he answered, giving me a gentle pat on the shoulder. "Everything might feel a little hazy."

The Pepto-clothed lady snapped her fingers in my face and I winced. "Can you see me clearly?" she asked. "Any blurred vision?

"No, I can see you."

She held up her hand. "How many fingers do you see?"

"Three," I answered, confused as to why I didn't remember the ambulance ride.

"Good," she said, flashing the penlight in my eyes again. "Tell me how old you are."

"Twenty-two," I answered, turning my face away.

She reached down and pulled my chin back so I was facing her and Ben shook his head, looking as though he wanted to shove her out of the way. "I'm going to need you to keep your head still," she continued. "Can you tell me what day it is?"

"Um… Friday? October third?" If she shone that light in my eyes one more time—

"Responsive to verbal and visual stimuli," she said to a fellow scrub-wearer, and he quickly jotted down the information on a clipboard. How very ER.

I listened as everyone around me exchanged information about my vital signs. I didn't hear the words "critical" or "severe bleeding" coming out of their mouths, so that kept me from welling up in tears, but I still gave Ben a worried look. "I don't remember much. When did we get here?"

"A minute ago," he answered with a reassuring squeeze to my arm. "You were in and out in the ambulance. We had a very interesting conversation."

"Huh?" I remembered no such thing.

He smiled. "Something about Michelangelo and what would have happened if he had carved a certain statue."

"Oh, Jesus," I said, reaching up to cover my face, humiliated. I stopped short as I saw an IV catheter sticking out of my hand. "Who stuck me?"

"I did," Ben said. "You were pretty compliant. Then again, you were too busy talking about chocolate mousse to notice what I was doing."

I opened my mouth in horror. "I didn't."

"Don't worry, I won't tell," Ben said with a smile as we rounded a corner.

I ended up being pushed into a curtained area and was instantly hooked up to numerous wires and medical gadgets. My stomach started to churn like a Martha Stewart mixer on crack, and I glanced around anxiously, looking for the dreaded set of drawers that were undoubtedly full of syringes and other torture devices.

"All right, when she's hooked up, let's take her to CT," I heard someone say.

"Well, Bella," said Ben in a placating voice, "this is where I hand you over to the professionals."

Pepto Lady gave him a hard stare, continuing to press wires attached to sticky circles on my chest, underneath my shirt. "You could have left her to the professionals at the door," she muttered under her breath.

Ben gave her a slight eye-roll and winked at me. "I only leave the ones who aren't any fun at the door. You were quite entertaining."

God only knew what else I had mumbled in my loopy state.

"I hope you feel better soon, Bella," said Ben. "Tell Edward I said I'll see him around. And remember, I bet you. Three days."

Three days? Oh, right. Edward's lips on mine.

"Whatever, you can send my check to the Red Timber Lodge when that doesn't happen," I said. "You won't repeat anything I said, right?"

He held his index finger to his lips. "No one would believe me, anyway," he said with a laugh. "Take care of yourself."

"Thank you. Bye," I said, nervous that he was leaving. I watched him disappear behind a corner and closed my eyes to avoid Nurse Ratched sticking that goddamned light in my face again.

-:-

After a head CT, some x-rays, and some much-needed bandaging, I was planted on a transportable bed, forced into a hospital gown, and wheeled into another curtained area on the recovery floor.

This time, I only received one nurse—a girl named Hannah, with long, brown hair in flowery scrubs that were too tight, in my opinion. Her boobs were so huge, the little blossoms appeared to be on hills. Not so surprisingly, her cleavage was actually visible from the small scrub top. She primped herself in the mirror before turning to me with a contrived smile.

Great. Jessica #2.

"Isabella Swan?" she said.

"Yes," I answered.

"The old Police Chief's daughter?"

I sighed and nodded, thinking how I should invest in a t-shirt that read 'Yes, I am Charlie Swan's Little Princess. Please Stop the Fucking Inquiries.'

She gave a little "Hmm," and proceeded to give me a verbal rundown of everything that had occurred since I'd arrived. I nodded in agreement, hearing for the umpteenth time of how I'd been struck by a car and knocked myself unconscious on the street. I tuned her out, seeing as I'd already heard my numerous vitals and such, and decided to try to remember exactly what had happened to make me fall into the road in the first place.

I supposed I could have tripped, which would be nothing new or shocking. But what was I doing so close to the street? I thought I'd been in the restaurant. What would have made me go back outside?

Maybe Edward had gotten there, and I ran out to the car and slipped. But if that was the case, I would have just slammed into his car. I wouldn't have taken a giant leap over it and pummeled into another vehicle. I hadn't remembered seeing his car, anyway.

"…give you a minimal dose of morphine for the pain," Hannah's voice filtered through my thoughts. "You should feel slightly more comfortable after that. It's a safe dose, so if it doesn't take right away, I'll give you a bit more."

"Uh-huh," I answered, not really caring what she gave me if it made me feel better. It wasn't just my head that ached, but my body, too—from being hit or falling, maybe. I felt slightly nauseous as I watched her stick a syringe into my IV tube, and a cold sensation traveled up my arm.

She finished rather quickly and started to fiddle with a clipboard, pausing now and again to check her hair. Minutes passed, and eventually, a man in blue scrubs peeked through the curtain. "Ms. Swan?" he inquired with an oddly jovial expression.

"Yes?" I answered, and my pulse went up as I wondered what that smiling sadist was going to do to me. Take my blood, possibly? Stick me with a horse tranquilizer? Butcher my insides with a scalpel and hang my innards around his basement like party lights?

"Dr. Cullen will be right with you," he answered lightly.

"Okay, thanks," I answered, just as Hannah dropped her clipboard, causing a loud clatter. She scooped it up quickly and glanced around the small, curtained room as if she'd just been told a bomb might go off. I stared at her with wide eyes, hoping that 'the doctor will be right with you' line wasn't code for 'the chainsaw room is ready for her.'

Hannah started babbling like a nervous chicken. "So, do you feel any better, Isabella? Are you relaxed? Are you still in pain?" She was looking at me with an intense expression on her face, as though I'd suddenly become critical. "Are you?"

"A little," I replied—an answer to all three questions. She was freaking me out.

"The morphine is in your system so it should have taken effect, but I could give you a bit more," she said, appearing flustered. "You've only had a small dose. Another milliliter wouldn't hurt."

She had told me this already, and I was about to suggest that maybe she could use a dose of it herself when she took my uneasy stare as an answer. She prepared another syringe and drugged me again. I glanced at my hand, where the catheter was taped just below my knuckles. Just one look at the small amount blood that was visible inside the tube, and I wanted to vomit. Not to mention the hospital's sterilized scent of alcohol and saline. Ugh. The medicine was making me dizzy.

After Hannah had crossed me off her to-do list, I watched as she snuck her hand into her pocket and pulled out a tube of lipstick. Trying to appear inconspicuous, she put on a coat of cherry-red around her lips and fluffed her hair, and then turned to give me a quick glance. I would have snorted if I thought it wouldn't hurt.

She then pushed the curtain to my room wide open and turned to fumble in a supply cabinet, leaving me feeling like an exposed zoo animal as patients and other hospital staff walked by. I stared at the ceiling and kept still, focusing on the sound of the faint music coming from a small television in the corner of the room.

"Bella?" a familiar voice suddenly sounded from the hallway. I turned my head slowly, still feeling in danger of passing out. A girl wearing light green scrubs was making her way over.

Angela. Thank God.

She rushed into my room, nearly sending Cherry Lips tumbling into the cabinet. "What happened to you?" she asked softly, her brown eyes wide with worry.

"Hi," I said, relieved to see her. "I kind of got hit by a car."

"What? When? Who hit you?"

"Some poor guy. Apparently, I fell into the street and he didn't have time to swerve," I mumbled. "I can't remember anything about it."

"Oh, Bella." Angela gave my arm a squeeze. "How do you feel? Did a doctor see you yet?"

"I'm fine," I reassured her. "Someone said that Dr. Cullen was coming."

"Oh, good," she said, turning to look down the hallway. "He's the best doctor we have."

"Are you just saying that to make me feel better?" I asked, picking nervously at a frayed edge of my blanket.

"He's a genius," Hannah said from the corner, an intensity in her eyes. Angela and I stared at her, and she flushed a little before turning back to the supply cabinet.

"Well, it's kind of true," said Angela, amused. "You would think he'd be at Hopkins or the Mayo Clinic, not a small community hospital. It's a miracle he's even in a little town like this, but we're lucky to have him."

"Has he always lived in Forks?" I asked.

She shook her head. "Actually, no. I don't know where he lived before. He and his family moved here a couple years ago. And I know he's had to have received some incredible offers, but he hasn't shown any interest in leaving."

Well, at least I could tell my parents that I'd had the best doctor in Forks; that might keep them from taking a red eye to come and drag me back home. If Charlie knew who Dr. Cullen was, that would be even better. I narrowed my eyes, noticing that Hannah was still scavenging the supply cabinet. I wondered what the hell she was looking for.

Angela followed my eyes and rolled her own. "For goodness' sake," she muttered under her breath. "Hannah, why don't you let me take over for you? My other two patients were just discharged and you have another one besides Bella."

Hannah stared at her like a deer in headlights. "Well, I don't know about that. Can't you take the other guy?"

"Well, she's my friend, so why don't you let me have her so she has a familiar face," Angela said, eyeing her strangely. "It would probably make her feel better."

"Angela, you know that's not normal procedure," Hannah said, seeming defensive. I was just another head trauma victim, so I wasn't sure why I would be special to Hannah. And then, for the twentieth time that night, my name was spoken.

"Isabella Swan?"

I'd never heard my name so charmingly vocalized. All three of us turned toward the melodic voice.

Oh… my good God.

Dr. Cullen, I presumed, had noiselessly approached the curtain. I'd never seen such a gorgeous doctor in my twenty-two years of life, and that was saying something, considering the number of medical practitioners I'd encountered during my high-school lacrosse days. He had blond hair, golden-amber eyes that were iridescent, and had the clearest, palest complexion I'd ever seen. He was kind of glorious to look at.

I tried to speak, but could only stare. I seriously needed to work on my first initial reaction to attractive people. It was getting embarrassing and starting to border on lunacy.

He stepped forward and looked at a silver chart in his hands, then looked back up with a devastatingly handsome smile. "Am I mistaken?" he asked when I didn't answer. His voice was like music. I had to admit, it was even smoother than Edward's.

I made a strangled sound in my throat, and thankfully Angela spoke up. "No, Dr. Cullen. This is Bella. Chief Swan's daughter?"

"Of course," he said, pulling the curtain shut and coming up to my bedside.

I noticed the faintest traces of purplish skin under his eyes, probably from the exhaustive schedule a doctor usually carried. But he was doing a good job of pulling off the tired look, that was for sure.

"I can see the resemblance. It's a pleasure to meet you, Bella, although under unfortunate circumstances. I'm Carlisle, or Dr. Cullen, as they call me around here."

"Hi," I said quietly, careful not to gawk at him for too long. Carlisle. Even his name was suave.

"Uh, Dr. Cullen," Hannah piped up. "I'm Isabella's nurse for the evening. I have her vitals and stats right here for you."

Angela appeared nonchalant, but Hannah strode to his side, eager to please, and offered him the clipboard. It all made sense now. Hannah didn't want to fuss over me—she wanted to spend the rest of the evening playing doctorwith Dr. Carlisle Cullen.

"Oh, thank you, Hannah," he said, taking the clipboard. "Angela, are you sticking around with us?"

"Well, I was just telling Hannah that I'd like to take over her duties if she didn't mind," said Angela. "Bella is staying at the lodge where I volunteer and I thought she might like someone familiar to be with her."

Dr. Cullen glanced at Hannah. "That's perfectly fine with me. Bella, is that preferable?"

I nodded quickly. "I'd like that."

"Well, I—are you sure you don't have somewhere else to be, Angela?" Hannah asked, scrambling for a better solution.

"Not at all," said Angela. "Like I said, my patients have been discharged and I'd like to be here for Bella."

"Okay, then. I'll just switch your names," said Dr. Cullen, sliding a pen out from the clipboard and writing on the chart. "Thank you, Hannah. Angela can take it from here."

Hannah looked almost heartbroken, but she managed to keep it together and give him a tight nod. She walked out of the room, but not before pulling a double 'Ineptabella' as her face turned a defiant shade of red and she stumbled over her feet when she rounded the corner. I almost felt sorry for her.

"Well, Bella," Dr. Cullen continued, "I have good news. Your CT and x-rays looked normal. You do have a moderate concussion, but I would say that given the situation, you were a lucky girl. I think you'll be just fine, but I advise you to stay for a few hours so we can monitor you. We'll do another CT in a couple of hours and make sure there aren't any complications."

"Sure," I agreed, nodding.

Normally, I would have groaned and bitched about staying anywhere in any medical atmosphere, but his voice was soothing, and he had such an air of calm about him, it made me a lot more compliant. There was something ethereal about him, too, and after studying him for a moment, I was stunned that he was old enough to be a doctor. He looked like a younger resident; he couldn't be more than thirty. If he was, he was blessed with some sort of unexplained anti-aging metabolism. Either that, or he was a child prodigy and had graduated medical school at twenty.

As I continued to stare at him longer than was appropriate, he pulled out a penlight and gave me a neurological check (and was certainly gentler than Pepto Lady). He asked me to remember the words orange, milk, and deer.

"You have sufficient reactions," he said, making me hold my arms out straight. "Close your eyes… okay, good, no weakness on either side. Tell me, are you experiencing any memory loss? Dizziness?"

Time to be honest, I supposed. "I'm dizzy on and off, but not now. I don't really remember what happened. I remember waiting for my friend in a restaurant and then I woke up in the street. The ambulance ride was kind of a blackout, too."

He nodded, his expression softening. Angela slipped her hand down on my arm. I must have appeared frightened.

"Slight amnesia is common in concussions," said Dr. Cullen. "You might remember in a few minutes to a few hours, or maybe not at all, and that's okay. As long as you are coherent and your memory is functioning now, then you should be fine. What were those three words again?"

"Orange, milk, and deer," I answered, relieved.

He gave me a brilliant smile, flashing shiny, white teeth that belonged in toothpaste commercials. "You're well on your way," he said, and held out his hand to shake mine. His hands were predictably cold, as most doctors' were, and I noticed a gold band encircling his left ring finger.

Married. Of course.

I smiled woozily, finally feeling the morphine kick in. "Aww," I said, sounding rather girly. "Is she nice?"

He glanced down where my eyes were transfixed. "Why, yes, she is," he said. "Her name is Esme."

"That's a nice name. I said nice twice," I said, letting my head fall back against the pillows, giggling. "That rhymes."

Everything suddenly felt very warm and fuzzy. Behind the flap of curtain that was pulled shut, I saw Hannah peeking in, trying to appear blasé. However, I saw her suck in her stomach and push out her chest before pulling back the curtain a bit. I wondered if she realized how stupid (and Jessica Stanley-ish) she looked; she was trying much too hard. Her boobs were massive in the first place.

Cherry Lips the camel has two humps, I sang silently to myself, snorting.

Angela gave me an amused look while Dr. Cullen turned toward the curtain before Hannah even spoke. "Yes?" he asked.

"Dr. Cullen, Alice is here to see you," she said in a blithe voice.

"Alice," I said, laughing again. "Like in Wonderland."

"His daughter," Angela said.

"You have a daughter?" I blurted out, and Angela shushed me, trying not to laugh. But he seriously couldn't have had a daughter who was old enough to "see" him without another adult. Right?

Dr. Cullen turned to me, apologetic. "Would you excuse me, Bella?"

"Sure," I said agreeably. Regardless of being confused about the age mathematics, I was feeling quite content.

"I'll return in a bit to check on you. Angela, would you mind?"

"No, of course not," Angela answered. "I have to finish her cultures anyway. We'll be fine."

He gave a quick smile and breezed through the curtain with Hannah at his heels like puppy.

"He's pretty," I mumbled drowsily. "How old is he?"

Angela chuckled and walked over to the supply cabinet. "Thirty-two. You'd never think it by looking at him, would you?"

"No," I answered honestly. "He should write a book on all his skin-care secrets. How old is his daughter?"

"He's got two," she said. "They're seventeen and eighteen." She laughed at the wooly look on my face and added. "Foster children. Two boys and two girls. Although, I think two of them are somehow related to his wife—cousins or a niece and nephew, maybe."

"Wow," I answered. "Four kids. That's really nice of them."

"Yeah, Dr. Cullen's very philanthropic, to his family and his patients," she agreed. "Which is why I'd better get you taken care of."

She sat in a swivel chair, rolling closer to me, and reached into a drawer for some plastic packets.

"So, I'm sorry I never got a chance to say goodbye last night," she said casually. "I got called into work and couldn't find you before I left."

"Oh, uh… I fell asleep. Um, what are you doing with that?" I asked, apprehensive, as she held a plastic tube and unwrapped what appeared to be a silver stick—a needle. She seemed to be planning on using it.

She raised her eyebrows innocently. "Oh, this? It's for a blood sample." At the horrified look on my face, she said, "It's just a little stick, Bella. Don't be nervous."

No. That was not just a little stick. That was a goddamn nightmare that would send my stomach contents shooting out of me. I felt sweaty. "Is that really necessary? I only hit my head."

"It's procedure," she explained, tying a rubber strip around upper arm. "Just close your eyes and lay still. I'll make it quick and painless, I promise."

I braced myself as she opened my arm so the crook was exposed. "And it's something I have bragging rights on," she continued. "I've never missed a vein."

She stuck me as I was still reeling over the word vein. The very thought of the needle piercing my flesh and poking a hole in my vein sent me teetering on the edge of passing out. It didn't hurt much, but I still felt the blood drain from my face, probably straight down to the very arm she was holding.

"Bella, stay with me. It's okay," she said in a soothing voice. "I don't want Dr. Cullen to think I'm killing you. Tell me something good."

"What?" I asked, woozy.

"Distract yourself," she said. "Tell me something funny. Or tell me about the movie last night. Did you like it? Did you get a good night kiss?"

I took a deep breath, trying to focus. "Well, Edward and I caught Lauren screwing some guy on the fourth floor."

Angela's eyes widened. "You what?"

"She didn't see us," I said, squeezing my eyes shut and swallowing thickly. "Edward pulled me behind one of those pillars to hide."

"Did you see the guy?"

"No, I only heard him say not to tell Tyler. Or Jessica."

Angela's lip curled, looking disgusted. "Mike Newton. God, they're such a mess. I should spare you the details, but I can't keep this in. I only know about this because Lauren treats me like her own personal therapist, but about a month ago, Mike caught Lauren with Tyler's roommate—Tyler's her boyfriend. She told Mike that she would do anything in order for him to keep his mouth shut, and he took anything as an opportunity. No surprise there. He thinks of his cock as a trophy."

Well, that took care of the hallway rendezvous mystery, and I was finally distracted enough to giggle. Cock. C-O-C-K. I snorted, feeling oddly lightheaded and drunk. I wanted to sleep.

"You okay?"

"You said cock," I mumbled.

"Morphine," she chuckled, and I felt her press something soft to my arm. "You're all finished. See? And you're still conscious."

"You're good," I said, blinking and rolling my head to look at her. "Oh, I forgot. Edward went to get my insurance card. He's supposed to be coming here."

"Edward?" she repeated. "He was with you?"

"Yeah, we went to Port Angeles this morning," I said. "We were getting ready to leave and it was raining. I remember him going to get his car, and that's it."

She pursed her lips in thought. "They brought you here from Port Angeles?"

"There was a water main break at the hospital there, I think," I answered. "I have bad luck like that. Or maybe not, since I have you instead of a mercy killer."

A nurse suddenly poked his head around the corner of the curtain. "Angela?" he asked. "Can I speak with you for a moment?"

"Sure," she said, and walked out into the hallway, holding a bit of the curtain with her hand. I tried to listen, but they were too quiet for me to understand anything. Angela stepped back inside seconds later and looked at me expectantly. "Well, apparently, there's some guy claiming to know you out in the lobby and he has your health insurance card."

Edward. I waited for one of my monitors to start beeping from an increased heart rate, but was surprised to find that no such thing happened. I smiled drunkenly. Ah, yes. Morphine. What a wonderful little drug. I was pretty sure I was already high.

"I'll go get him," she said. "Stay put, okay?"

Like I could go anywhere without falling on my accident-prone ass. I nodded and she brushed through the curtain and out of sight. I concentrated on the ceiling tiles again and strained to hear what song was playing—it sounded like elevator music now. Before long, I heard footsteps and saw shadows behind the curtain.

Angela stepped inside first, and then there was Edward in all his glory, as usual. He'd changed out of his wet clothes, and now was dressed in a black shirt instead of green. He set a bag he was holding on a chair, looking apprehensively at me all wired up to machines, bandaged, and tubes stuck in me.

"Look who I found in the waiting room," said Angela, giving Edward a shove toward my bed. "He was wearing a hole in the carpet with his pacing."

He walked to my side, close enough that if I wanted to I could reach out and touch him.

"How are you?" he asked quietly.

"I'm okay," I said. "Your hair is pretty." The confused look on his face made me laugh.

"She's had some morphine," Angela explained. "But she's doing well, honestly. Her CT and x-rays are fine. Other than some minor cuts and bruises, she just has a concussion."

Edward looked at Angela, then back to me. "Do you remember anything?"

I was doing some pretty serious staring at Edward's scratched and swollen hand to answer for myself (also, my lips felt too lazy to form a sentence), so Angela spoke for me. "The last she said, she remembers you leaving her at a restaurant to get your car."

He looked down and grasped the steel bars of my hospital bed, seeming distressed. He and Angela exchanged some other words, but I found myself suddenly tuned out to all sounds. It was probably the medication, but to me, Edward's movements seemed to go in slow motion, especially his eyelashes as they lightly brushed his skin as he blinked. I couldn't help trying to memorize each facet of his face, not ever wanting to forget the sight of him.

The moment was over when Angela started shaking my shoulder, as one of my monitors beeped in a rapid tone. "Bella?"

I'd unintentionally been holding my breath and my pulse ox monitor was having a small fit. I finally exhaled, but not before Angela and Edward looked at me with anxious faces.

"Are you okay?" they both asked in tandem.

I wondered if there was a non-creepy way to say, 'I have an unshakable desire to stare at his face.'

"Yes," I said finally, inhaling deeply and letting it go to show them I was capable of getting oxygen like normal people. Angela started checking numerous little wires that I was hooked up to and the machines beside me. Edward locked eyes with me, seeming even more concerned. "Sorry. I was just thinking about—"

Violating your body.

Obviously, I kept that thought to myself. "Sorry. I think I'm high. I feel like I'm floating."

Angela silenced the beeping machine. "Well, feel free to breathe while you float," she teased.

Edward took my hand (the one without the IV, thankfully), and a warm feeling spread through me, adding to the medication that was flowing through my bloodstream. I also felt a weird sensation in my stomach, but it was different than the usual 'butterflies'.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Edward asked.

"Yeah, I'm…" Yeah, thesebutterflies were on a profuse amount of speed. They felt like they were creeping up my throat. The feeling grew more uncomfortable and I slowly pulled my hand away from his.

Oh, no.

No.

There was no way I could puke in front of him.

"Angela?" I called. She turned, got a look at my face and understood immediately. Thankfully, Edward had turned to face her as well, and I anxiously, but subtly, nodded at him and pointed to the curtain, hoping she would kick him out in time.

Luckily, Angela was very in tune to 'girl mind-reading' and quickly said, "Hey, Edward," as she pulled him toward the front of the room. "If you go to the right, there's a nurse's station down the hall. Do me a favor and get Bella some apple juice."

"Is—" He started to speak, but Angela slowly pushed him out into the hallway and pointed. "Way down there. Thanks."

Edward seemed slightly confused, but he finally walked away. Angela rushed to the supply cabinet and pulled out an emesis basin, put it into my hands and hurriedly sat me up.

"I sent him the wrong way," she said quietly. "He won't be back for a few minutes."

"Thanks," I said feebly. "Do you think he's out of earshot?"

Angela glanced at the curtain and waited a few moments. "Uh. Yeah, probably now."

That was all I needed to hear. As I was sick, I hoped that I wasn't completely grossing out my neighbors too badly. Angela, the angel that she was, pulled my hair away from my face and soothingly rubbed my back. And then, as if things weren't already awkward enough, Dr. Cullen returned.

The beautiful blond doctor was watching me vomit into a plastic bowl. Awesome.

"Oh, God," I said, shielding my face. "Please don't watch me. This is so gross." The humiliation made me even more nauseous.

"It's nothing we haven't seen before," he said calmly, coming around and putting his icy hand on my shoulder, which actually felt nice. "This is common with head injuries, don't worry."

I knew. Unfortunately, this wasn't my first concussion. When I was pretty sure that I was done, I grabbed a tissue to wipe my mouth, muttering apologies.

"Oh, stop," said Angela with a comforting smile. "Unlike most circumstances, you actually didn't do it on me. Consider yourself a good patient."

Dr. Cullen gave my eyes another check and lowered me back down to the bed. "Increase her saline drip, please, Angela."

"Am I allowed to sleep?" I asked, suddenly feeling incredibly tired.

"You are," said Dr. Cullen, a crease forming in his immaculate forehead, "but we'll be waking you every so often to check on you. Feel free to close your eyes for a bit, though."

"Okay," I mumbled, rolling to my side and pressing my face into the thin pillow. It smelled like a closet. A clean closet, but a closet nonetheless.

I closed my eyes, missing the lodge's fresh lemon-scented sheets and soft mattress. Instead of rubbing alcohol and stale cotton, I imagined the scent of burning wood and coffee, and all the enticing things that Edward smelled like. I listened to Dr. Cullen and Angela's voices grow muffled as the morphine did its job as I slowly, and mercifully, faded out.

-:-

Afterward, hazy consciousness came in fragmented pieces. Dr. Cullen's cool hands on my cheek, asking me to count to ten. The blood pressure cuff squeezing my arm. Angela gently shaking my arm, making me repeat my name and where I was. Edward's voice infiltrated my thoughts, too, sounding like sad music.

I vaguely recalled being stuck in another CT device, and various voices told me to lie still. I was too out of it to stay awake for long, anyway, and no sooner had I felt as though I was being blinded by light, I was slipping back to sleep.

I dreamed, too, that I was floating in a serene, golden pond. The water was sparkling, ornamented in a lavish amber mist. The feeling was warm and secure, and I tilted my head back, soaking my hair, letting the water run over my eyes.

As I blinked away drops of gold, I noticed patches of black hovering in the sky above me, circling like vultures. I flipped to my side, trying to swim away from the storm, but my arms felt heavy and I couldn't get away. I was stuck, trapped beneath the spectral shapes that, to my horror, plummeted down and encircled my arms and legs.

I tried to scream, but the golden liquid flooded my mouth. The taste was sour and putrid. I fought desperately, but the shadows tightened around me, and in a vile whisper, Phil's voice came like a haunting memory.

"Bella."

I wrenched myself out of sleep and felt my hand make contact with something, producing a loud slap. Sitting up straight, I gasped, unable to scream, and blinked in the darkened room, trying to focus on the figure in front of me.

"It's okay, it's just me," came a hesitant, silky voice.

Breathing hard, I saw a thin line of light outlining the curtains in front of my bed. In the distance, I heard sounds of shuffling feet and rolling wheels. I was still in the hospital, not drowning in Phil's whiskey and being pulled under by his phantom arms. Edward stood in front of me with one hand on my bed, the other touching his cheek. A stinging pain was coming from my right hand and I dropped my mouth in shock.

I'd smacked him in his gorgeous face.

I stared at him, trying to form the words to apologize, but instead, I lost the thought. It was like a light switch turned on and I remembered everything before the accident. How the drunken men in Port Angeles put their repulsive hands on my back, and how I broke away from them, screaming and stumbling (probably into the street), and the blare of a car horn. I didn't remember being hit, but the build up was enough to understand that I had completely freaked out.

I shrank back down on the bed, trying to calm myself. Edward bridged the gap between us and took my hand, though he kept his body at a distance. "Are you okay?" he asked. "You were dreaming."

"I hit you," I said. Well, clearly.

"It's okay," he said. "You're shaking."

I didn't feel it until he mentioned it, but I was. I was trembling and death-gripping my sheets with the hand he wasn't holding.

"Oh," I said, making an effort to loosen my muscles. "I'm okay. It was just a dream."

He cast his eyes away from me for a moment, still gripping my hand with both of his. "It sounded like a nightmare. You were..."

I stared at him, confused, until I realized that I probably was moaning or sleep-talking (as I sometimes did, according to my old roommate). I pulled my hand out of his grasp and clutched my pillow, pushing my cheek into it. I wanted to disappear.

"Bella—"

"What did I say?" I asked, whispering.

Edward was quiet for a moment, then pulled a chair next to my bed and sat down. He tugged my blanket up higher on my shaky form. "You said 'Phil'."

I let my breath out slowly. "My stepfather," I confirmed. "Well, not anymore. I dream about him sometimes."

Edward stared at his hands pensively, as if debating on the right thing to say. "Do you want to talk about it?"

I was sure he didn't feel like hearing it. "I don't want to drag you into it."

"Stop that," he said softly. "I can't stand to see you act like you're not worth anyone's time."

Hypocrite.

"You're saying exactly what I told you, and you still didn't—"

"Forget about me," he continued. "If you don't feel comfortable talking to me, I won't force you. I could find Angela if you'd rather talk to her. But I'm here for you."

My eyes burned, tearing up. I hadn't told anyone, ever. I'd been pushing it out of my mind, and hearing him say that made me want to get the whole story off my chest. Maybe it was because I had only known him two days and it felt safer that way, since he didn't know my family or friends. But in those two days, he had somehow broken through the one wall that no one else in my life had sensed I was hiding behind.

"When Renée and Phil got divorced, it wasn't just because of their problems," I started, getting straight to the point. "I messed up. He messed up in a much bigger way."

Edward sat patiently and waited for me to continue.

"When he and Renée started fighting, he started drinking. He had a few beers now and then, but he added liquor to the mix and it escalated to a problem within a few weeks. He was never violent, never angry. He just sat around and moped, staring at the TV or the wall. It was scary. My mom and I watched him slip away, sort of. Renée was a wreck, too. She thought he wasn't willing to work anything out and didn't care about her anymore. And he kept drinking.

"I was still living at home, then. I tried to stay out of their way and hoped that they would work it out eventually. But one night, I came home late and Phil was sitting in the kitchen, and he was crying. He wasn't an emotional guy, so seeing him like that… I couldn't just go upstairs without seeing if I could do anything. I sat down and tried to talk to him. Mainly, I tried to get him to stop pouring a new glass of Jack."

I glanced at Edward and he nodded, listening.

"Anyway, we talked for a long time," I said. "No matter what I said about years past and all the good times all of us had, he didn't listen. He told me he and Renée had a huge argument and she left, saying she wanted him gone by the morning. And then, he just broke down. I hate seeing anyone upset, especially if they're crying, so… I hugged him. I thought it would make him feel better. He'd been in my life since I was a kid. I told him I loved him and it would work itself out."

I felt an unwanted tear spill down my cheek and Edward took my hand with both of his.

"He took it the wrong way," I said, my voice breaking. "I started to step back, but he didn't let go. He started touching me, and the harder I fought him, the more intense he got. It was like he thought I was playing with him or teasing him. I don't understand how he could have thought that I liked it. I was screaming."

I started crying, unable to keep it together anymore. "He was like a father to me and he was trying to take my clothes off. I started crying for my mom, and when he heard me scream her name, he let go. And then, he blamed me. Like I'd been the one to start it, as if I'd been hinting at it for a while. Then he got scared and started apologizing, and I ran as soon as I got the chance."

When Edward reached up and put a comforting hand on my arm, rubbing it up and down, I wanted to sit up and hug him.

"I went to a friend's," I continued, in lieu of launching myself at him. "I pretended that I was upset about a guy. I was too scared of what he would do next, or what would happen when Renée came home. I was afraid he would lie to my mom and say that I came on to him. But when I got home the next day, Renée was cooking dinner like everything was normal. I guess Phil cleaned up and hid any trace of what happened. When I asked her if he'd moved out, she said they were going to try to work it out again.

"I couldn't look at them for days. He never said anything and I felt like it was too late for me to tell anyone. We avoided each other—if he was home, I'd go out. I spent the night at friends' houses. I think the guilt finally caught up to him, and he eventually gave her divorce papers."

Edward exhaled soundly and when I looked at him, he brushed another tear off my cheek. "I'm sorry, Bella. You shouldn't have had to go through something like that."

"I don't care about me," I admitted. "My mom was the real victim. She took care of me my whole life. And I was responsible for both of her marriages failing."

He straightened, baffled. "What are you talking about?"

"I know that I didn't throw myself at Phil," I said, "but he seemed confident that night, like I should have expected it. I've wracked my brain ever since, trying to think of any time that I might have given him the wrong idea." I shrugged my shoulders feebly. "I just feel toxic. I ruined any chance they had at working things out. He left and she was alone."

Edward leaned forward, putting his chin on his hands. " You can't blame yourself for something like that. He's the one who crossed a line. Youdid nothing wrong."

I tried to appear indifferent, even with tears in my eyes, but all the regret and doubt I'd suppressed for so long came bubbling up.

"He never was a bad guy," I said, my voice breaking. "I liked him. He made Renée happy and provided us with so much. He had a baseball career, but then when he had to go out of town, Renée felt guilty for leaving me by myself, so she stayed with me. I could tell she wanted to be with him so badly, and I pushed her to go, but she was stubborn. It had been the two of us for so long before Phil. I guess she felt an obligation to me."

"You're her daughter. How can you think that's your fault?"

"It's why they started arguing in the first place," I said quietly, still remembering the remorse I'd felt whenever I heard them bring my name into their quarrels.

Edward was quiet, still faintly shaking his head. I could tell he wanted to say more, but I supposed he thought it wasn't his place.

Randomly, I had a brief reminiscence of Charlie chasing me around his muddy lawn with a hose as I screamed in delight, running from the "Spray-Monster" and the cold sprinkle of water. He'd been there to gently pat my shoulder every time he'd have to patch me up from a fall or make an inevitable hospital trip (like tonight) because of my bizarre talent of falling out of trees or from sled-riding down the stairs. He hadn't followed us to Phoenix or Jacksonville, but he was there whenever I needed him. He was the best one of us all.

"She has Charlie now," I said, playing with my fingernails, thinking of the sight of my parents in each other's arms as they had waved goodbye to me. "I think she's even happier than she's ever been. That's why I needed to leave for a while. I didn't want to stick around and interrupt their time alone."

Edward put his elbows on the bars and sighed, sounding sad. "I'm sure you're the best thing in their life. You've never been the cause of anything between their relationships. Parents always put their children first. It's in their nature."

Feeling as though I should change the subject in case he was uncomfortable, I reached up and grazed my fingers over his now-bandaged hand. I guess Angela or Dr. Cullen had gotten to him. "Feel like telling me what really happened to you? Or are you still sticking with your story of tripping?"

He was silent.

"I remember, now, by the way," I said, carefully studying Edward's face, not to mention his split lip. "Did you see them? The men outside the restaurant?"

My confession made him look up. "You remember everything?"

I nodded. "Did you hit one of them?"

He gave his hand a once-over. "Two of them. The one guy got me back, but the second one grabbed me from behind. He was an accident. I was trying to get him off of me and my hand kind of got in the way of his face."

I laughed a little, but he didn't even smile. I felt the need to offer him a shot of morphine, too. "I'm so sorry," he said. "If I hadn't left you, none of this would have happened."

Oh, for the love of God.

"Hey. I am a magnet for things like this. If we would have both gone for the car, I probably would have fallen through a faulty manhole, or slipped and taken a dive through a plate glass window."

"No, you wouldn't have," he said, raking his hands through his hair.

"Ha," I said, scoffing. "Spend another day with me. I'll probably break a limb within that time."

"Well, if I would have let you come with me, you wouldn't be here, having gotten pushed around by drunk assholes and struck by a hydroplaning car," he said.

"This isn't your fault." He kept repeating that I wasn't responsible for my past, and yet here he was, wanting to take the blame for everything.

Under his breath, he said, "I should have just left you alone."

I was confused. "I thought you were blaming yourself for leaving."

"I meant from the start, not tonight," he said, looking towards the curtain. "I shouldn't have introduced myself."

Oh.

Regrets. Fantastic.

My heart thumped heavily in my chest at his words, and I was suddenly glad that the lights were off. I rolled onto my back and stared at the huge monitor above me, blinking numbers and little lights. We were both silent as I wondered whether he wished he never met me, or just felt like this was all too burdensome, too fast.

In my periphery, I saw that he was studying me, but I didn't return the attention. I shouldn't have broken my rules. I shouldn't have allowed myself to be so taken in, not with the way I damaged things. Now he felt guilty because of my inevitable knack of completely fucking matters up, enough to make him regret meeting me.

Suddenly, his hand brushed mine. Tears had built up in my eyes, so I didn't look at him. "Bella," he said, sounding disheartened. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that."

Sure he didn't.

I pulled my hand away. I knew he couldn't care about me as quickly I had had started to for him. When guys said things like, 'You should stay away' and 'I should have just left you alone,' that was usually a sign of nothing promising.

Just then, the curtain slid open and a bit of light filled the little area, making me squint at the figure. Dr. Cullen. He studied us for the briefest moment and said, "Should I come back?"

"No," I said, sitting up quickly and wiping my face. I wanted out. I'd had enough drama for one day. "Am I allowed to go yet?"

"Well, first, how are you feeling?" Dr. Cullen asked, stepping further inside and flipping on the light switch. Edward immediately moved from my side and walked to stand by the curtain. He looked so miserable and exhausted that it actually hurt to look at him.

"Better," I said, focusing on Dr. Cullen's honey-colored eyes. "My head hurts, but that's normal, right?"

"Quite," he said with warmly. He gave me one last neuro-check and smiled with his dazzling teeth. "You're responding well, very alert… And you're looking much better."

Good. Let me out of here.

"And best, your CT was clear. So, I suppose I have no reason to keep you here any longer since Edward has agreed to keep an eye on you for the next twenty-four hours."

I'd been nodding and full-heartedly agreeing, but bristled at the last part of his sentence. I shot a look at Edward, who gave me a quick glance before diverting his eyes to the floor. I'd bet he was sorry he'd agreed to that after the last fifteen minutes, but I wasn't about to protest. I could lock him out of my room later.

Pulling my hair that was stuck under the hospital gown, I said, "Thanks, Dr. Cullen. I'm sorry I puked in front of you."

Dr. Cullen chuckled. "No apologies necessary. It was a pleasure meeting you, Bella. Before you go, I'll write you a prescription for mild pain medication for the next few days. Make sure you take it easy. Only drink liquids for now, and try some solid food tomorrow evening."

"I know the drill," I said with a grimace. "This isn't the first time I've hit my head."

"Well, let's hope it's the last," he said, giving my arm a pat. "Medical talk aside, have you been enjoying your time here?"

Ha. If he had a few hours to listen, I might have told him.

"Yeah, I have. It's… different than Jacksonville," I said with a slight smile.

Dr. Cullen seemed to read through the lines and gave me a reassuring look, and checked my bandage. "We can take this off… I'd like for the air to hit it. You can put on a smaller one when you sleep."

He carefully peeled off the large wad of gauze, leaning close to me, so I really had nowhere to look except at his face. He was breathtakingly handsome and smelled like the woods, if that was possible. Fresh, like the wind. Maybe I could ask Angela to find me a nice doctor to pine after instead of Edward. When he was finished, Dr. Cullen gave me a prescription, a sheet of instructions, papers on serious symptoms to look out for, and discharge papers to sign. I quickly wrote my signature below his elegant handwriting.

"Well, Bella, you can get dressed and be on your way," said Dr. Cullen in his smooth voice. "I'll send Angela in to take out your IV."

I looked down at my hand. Oh, right. Ew.

"Come back if you experience any of those symptoms," he said. "And be careful, okay?"

He had a hint of determination in his face when he said the last part, probably sensing my accident-prone vibe. I nodded and gave him a quiet, "Thank you. I will."

Then, surprisingly, he turned to Edward and clapped him on the shoulder. "Take good care of her, son," he said with even more resolve. "Watch over her."

Edward stared at him, weary, and finally nodded tightly. "I will."

Dr. Cullen gave us both a nod of farewell and disappeared through the curtain. Edward turned to look at me, an awkward air between us, before he reached down to the floor and handed me the same bag that he had first come in with.

"I brought you a change of clothes," he said. "I already put your wet ones in my car, so don't worry about them."

"Thanks," I mumbled. I opened the bag, took out a shirt, and froze in dismay. My penguin-printed underwear was stuck under a pair of jeans.

"Wha—you—" I felt my face flush furiously and I quickly pulled the bag to my chest, as though that would suddenly make him forget what he had packed.

"I just grabbed the first things I saw," he said. "I know I didn't have your permission, but I figured—"

"My penguin panties?" I sputtered.

He looked mortified. "I didn't really look, Bella, I just grabbed some clothes. Honest."

Then the curtain swung open and Angela breezed inside.

"Hi," she said with a smile, then got a puzzled look on her face at the sight of me kneeling on my bed, red-faced and clutching a plastic bag like I had successfully contained a vicious animal.

"Getting out of here, finally, huh?" she asked uncertainly.

"I'll wait in the lobby," Edward said, and dodged out into the hallway.

Angela watched him depart and then looked back at me. "Is everything okay?"

I sighed. "Yeah. Just—it was a long day."

She smiled in sympathy and closed the curtain with a flick of her wrist, and said, "Ready?"

I moved to let my legs hang off the bed. "I guess."

She laughed. "You look terrified. I'm not even sticking you. I'm taking something out."

"It's not the pinch, it's the blood," I said, the anticipation already causing me to feel unsettled. "I don't like the look of it. And it smells weird."

"The smell? That's the saline," Angela said giggling, holding a piece of gauze over my hand. "Bella Swan, the Bloodhound Girl. Sounds like a comic book character."

I looked at her with pleading eyes.

"Sorry," she said with a grin, and pulled the IV catheter out swiftly. She pressed the gauze into my hand as I turned away, cursing myself for even looking. She taped a large, beige Band-Aid over it soon after. "Just keep pressure on it for a bit."

I nodded and swung my legs back and forth, eager to get up.

Angela picked up another plastic package containing a small vial. "So, would you like a flu shot?" she asked with a teasing grin, imitating an infomercial saleswoman. "They're free, and they come with a high protection agent to battle this year's bug. They're very popular this season."

I almost told her, 'Hell no,' but I'd already had two head injuries… I might as well ward off illness while I could. Maybe it was the slight adrenaline rush from knowing I was about to leave, but something in me allowed me to say, "Okay… yeah. Stick me. Before I change my mind."

She raised her eyebrows, spinning the packet around in her fingers. " Seriously? Somehow, I thought I'd get a different reaction out of you."

I shrugged and rolled up my sleeve. "I still feel a little numb from the morphine. I might as well take advantage of it. Besides, I've been prodded all evening. What's one more time?"

Angela shook her head lightly and gave me a smile as she rubbed my arm with an alcohol pad. "Close your eyes."

I did, and hardly felt the pinch. Angela placed a pink bandage over the dot and gave my arm a pat. "To match your face when you're around Edward."

"Oh, ha ha," I said. But she was kind of right. She went into the hallway to give me privacy as I pulled all the sticky circles off of my chest and changed back into my clothes. My black hoodie was at the bottom of the bag, covering my purse. It was nice of him to think of it, especially seen I'd been longing for it earlier that evening, before the chaos. I slipped it on and pulled back the curtain.

Adamantly refusing a wheelchair, I walked with Angela through the hallway, out into the lobby. Edward was leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets, his head tilted back with his eyes closed. His hair was disheveled, but his whole stance looked as though he was posing for a magazine cover. Or maybe it was the drugs in my system, creating a photo shoot fantasy right before my eyes.

Angela nudged me. "Go get him," she whispered, smirking.

I shook my head. Playfully rolling her eyes, Angela walked over and tapped Edward's shoulder. He jerked forward, startled, but composed himself quickly. He stepped forward to take everything I was holding without a word. I relinquished my armload of papers and my bag, figuring that he was still going to be a gentleman whether he was sorry he'd met me or not. I turned to Angela and gave her a hug, grateful for everything she had done that evening. She promised she would come by the next day to see how I was doing before heading back to the recovery ward.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Edward asked in a hesitant voice, "You okay?"

I felt like crap, but I only nodded, content to keep my mouth shut. It had only gotten me in trouble so far. As we quietly walked out and through the hospital's parking lot, Edward suddenly stopped me.

"I have to say something," he said quickly.

I sighed and rolled my eyes sleepily. "Edward, it's okay that you brought me underwear. Even my stupid cartoon pair."

He shifted his weight. "It's not about that."

"What, then?" I just wanted to get back to my room.

He cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. He slid his hand behind my neck and let his thumb smooth my cheek. I stared at him, stunned, wondering why he was touching me in such an intimate way.

"I'm not sorry that I met you," he said quietly, but firmly. "I didn't mean to insinuate that. I say things before I think sometimes, and—I don't know, I just feel responsible for what happened to you tonight. I just—I hope you'll forgive me."

"Are you saying this because you don't want to hurt my feelings? Because I'm stronger than you think," I said. But if he kept his hand there for much longer, that strength would fade.

"I can see that," he said faintly. "Honestly? I'm glad I met you. And I'm sorry I'm so hot and cold, but I—I have issues. I do like being around you, though. I'm not sorry that we spent time together."

"Your eyes are kind of astonishing, you know," I said before I could respond appropriately. "You should wear sunglasses when you say things like that."

He glanced downward, showing the length of his eyelashes. "I'm hardly astonishing in any way."

Before I could tell him I was going to punch him if he put himself down again, he put his hand on my back and led me to the car. He tossed my bag in the backseat before opening the passenger door, hovering over me like a mother hen as I got in, helping me sit and placing his hand above my head to make sure I didn't bump it. As we drove back to the lodge, the low volume of music reminded me of something.

"Hey, weren't you supposed to play the piano tonight for Doris?" I asked.

"Oh, yeah," he said. "Don't worry, I called her earlier, right before the accident."

"You have Doris's phone number?"

"Well, I have the lodge's number. I looked it up a while ago in the Forks' directory. All twenty pages of it."

As funny as it sounded, it was true. I'd looked through it myself. Turning my attention back to the music, I rolled my head to the side, letting it droop a bit, and closed my eyes. The piano notes made me sleepy.

"Bella?" came Edward's voice with a hint of concern.

"I'm just tired," I said, opening my eyes to show him I was alive. "Really, I'm fine."

He sighed. "I hope so."

"You know, I never thanked you for today," I said, looking up at him.

He chuckled humorlessly. "Oh, you're so welcome for the concussion. It was my pleasure."

I scoffed, knowing it was useless to argue with him anymore. "I meant for taking me out. I had fun today. And I haven't really had fun in… I honestly don't remember how long."

"Me either," he said quietly, surprising me by smiling a bit. "I had fun, too."

"So, thank you," I said. "For breakfast, for dinner, for the beach, the postcards—" Wait. Shit. I had no idea what happened to them. "Or not. I'm sorry. I must have dropped them somewhere."

He looked amused. "They were just postcards. You look like you just lost my dog. Besides, I rescued them. They're in my glove compartment. I'll get them for you later."

"Well, aren't you the hero today," I said airily, sitting up and reaching for the glove box. "You punch my assailants, you save my postcards from drowning—"

"No, wait—" he said quickly, stretching his arm out to stop me, but I clicked the glove compartment open before he could reach me. My little bag of postcards slid into my hand, but I wasn't quick enough to catch a small black case that fell out. I was too busy staring at a pack of cigarettes that slowly slid into view.

"I didn't know you smoked," I said, picking them up and giving him a curious look. He'd never smelled like it.

"I don't," he said, sounding strange as he stared at the floor where the little case had fallen.

"Well, if you do, I won't judge you for it."

"I really don't. Can you just put them back?"

Feeling as though I had suddenly invaded a whole new level of his privacy, I stuck the cigarettes back into the far corner of the glove box and reached down for the black case.

"Don't touch that," he said sharply, startling me. I jerked my hand away and reared back into my seat, sending a swirl of shooting pain through my head as I hit it against the headrest.

"Ow," I whispered. I closed my eyes at the feeling of dizziness and lifted my leg to knee the glove box closed. I turned towards the window, embarrassed.

"Sorry," I said weakly, the tone of his voice still slicing through me.

His breath was audible, intermittent, as if he was pausing to say something, but he never did. I stayed in the same position, trying to keep the nausea at bay; even the smooth ride of the Volvo didn't help the twists and turns of Forks' roads. I concentrated on breathing, and after a few minutes, I felt his car go up a familiar hill. We were in the lodge's parking lot before I could force my eyes open.

As I struggled to coax myself to sit up straight, Edward had already exited the car and was pulling open the passenger door, looking guilt-ridden again.

Yeah, what else was new? His moods changed like the fucking time of day. I undid my seat belt with clumsy fingers and when he reached down to help me, I muttered, "I can do it myself."

He stepped back and let me stand on my own. I clutched my postcards in my hand and leaned against the car to get my balance as he grabbed my bag out of the back.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you," he said quietly.

I didn't answer. I didn't know what to say. I took a few steps and stopped, still wobbly from the dizziness, but Edward silently placed his arm around my back. I thickly swallowed my pride and allowed myself to be led to the door without protest. I breathed a sigh of relief as the door chimed upon our entrance, and I was grateful to see that everyone had gone to their rooms for the evening.

"Oh, Isabella!"

Well, almost everyone. I turned my head to see Doris drop a handful of papers on her desk and scurry around to the front.

"Good heavens, dear, look at you!" she cried as she made her way over to me. "Are you all right? What did the doctor say? Look at your head."

"I'm fine, Doris," I said, giving her what I could manage of a smile.

She pulled me to her chest, slightly rocking back and forth, which definitely did not help my current feeling of vertigo. Thankfully, Edward set his hands on my shoulders and spoke quickly.

"I think I should see that Bella gets to bed, Doris," he said, holding me up as I backed away from her, unsteady on my feet. "Doctor's orders. She's had a long day."

"Oh, of course, dear," she said, giving me a pat on the arm. "If you need anything, anything at all, I'm right down past the dining hall. Mr. Masen, you know where my door is, don't you?"

"Yes," said Edward. "I'll come get you if there's a problem."

"Sorry I stole your entertainment for the evening, Doris," I said, pointing to Edward.

Doris smiled knowingly and winked at me. "Oh, I'm sure he was in the right place."

And let the meddling begin…

"You should have seen him," Doris continued. "Completely panicked. And you usually have such a composed manner, Mr. Masen—you made me think there was a grizzly bear in the parking lot with the way you ran through that door."

"Sorry if I scared you," he said.

I was secretly pleased that he'd been a little rattled.

"I'm so glad you're okay, dear," said Doris, giving my hands a squeeze. "Go get some rest. And remember, whatever you need—"

"Thanks, Doris," I said, appreciative. "I'll see you tomorrow."

After Doris busied herself behind her desk again, Edward led me to the stairs and I stopped and looked up. Four flights. Damn it.

"Just, uh… Give me a minute," I said. Tilting my head back had made me dizzy. "I just need to… build an elevator."

He fought a smile. I leaned on the banister, setting my head on my hands.

"May I?" he asked.

I peeked up at him. "May you what?"

He slid the bag onto the crook of his arm and put his hand on my back, pulling me close to him. "Come here," he said, and fluidly lifted me into his arms. I gave a little gasp of surprise and stared into his deep green eyes, having a completely clichéd moment. "Are you all right?"

I nodded silently and put my head against his shoulder, embarrassed. The last thing I wanted was to be this close to him after such a jolting back-and-forth with him, even though I was enjoying the feel of his muscles under his shirt. He carried me up all four flights, barely winded as we got to the top. He set me down gently, steadied me, and pulled a key out of his pocket.

"Doris gave me a spare earlier when I was getting your stuff," he explained.

I nodded, wondering how I was going to stop him from keeping me under a 24-hour watch. When he opened the door, I had a torn moment between collapsing straight into bed and going to the bathroom. My bladder felt like it would explode at any minute and I definitely needed to brush my teeth after earlier events: breakfast, dinner, and vomiting in front of a cute doctor.

"I'm going to use the bathroom," I said, making up my mind to be hygienic. "You can go."

"I'm supposed to stay," he said, looking a tad nervous. "I can tell all you want to do is kick me out, but I promised I would look after you, and I'm going to."

"Well, I can tell that all you want to do is book it out of here," I said, and instantly felt like a bitch. "But do whatever you want."

Without looking at him, I dug in one of my duffel bags for some pajamas and sulkily went into the bathroom. I made a face when I saw my reflection in the mirror. I was starkly pale, peaked, and adorned with a cut covered with dried iodine on my head, scratches and bruises on my cheek, and still carrying the old blue bruise over my eyebrow.

I was hideous.

I guess it didn't matter—everyone had already seen me. A few minutes later, I walked back out, as refreshed as I could get, and clad in a t-shirt and cotton shorts.

Edward stood by the door and stared at me. Like stared at me.

"What?" I asked, suddenly feeling an urge to cry.

Shaking his head, he averted his gaze. "I—" He cleared his throat. "I was going to go get something to drink. The discharge paper says you can have water or juice. Which would you like?"

"Juice is fine," I said, shrugging. He looked slightly hurt and quickly walked out the door, closing it behind him.

He was so damn complicated to understand. From his tendency to blame himself to the unexplained package in his car, to his stares of wonder and melancholy—it was too much to figure out. To think we had such a great day, too.

I sighed and climbed into bed, and a low moan of relief broke through my lips as my face touched the pillow. It smelled like lemons and fresh air. I stayed in the same position, eyes closed, until I heard the door open. Edward came inside, his hair in his eyes, and he closed the door with his foot. He had two plastic cups in his hands and he brought one over to me.

"Apple juice," he said. "I never really got a chance to give it to you earlier."

"Yeah. Angela's a crafty one. I didn't want you to see me like that."

He walked over to my lamp and turned it on, then flipped the light switch on the wall, causing the chandelier to go dark. Now the room was only dimly lit with a pretty orange glow. He pulled my desk chair over to the side of my bed and sat down. "I wouldn't have cared."

"I would have," I said, sipping my juice, suddenly feeling parched. I almost drank the entire cup before I figured I should stop rather than have an upchuck encore. "Thanks for this. Let me guess. Coffee?"

He nodded, swirling his cup. "Iced. It was leftover."

I placed my cup on the night table and snuggled back down into bed. "You're really going to sit there? All night?"

"Of course," he said. "Where else would I go?"

"Your bedroom?"

He didn't respond right away. "You're mad at me, aren't you?"

I was, kind of, but he'd done so much for me that day, I felt like I owed him a break. It had been a tough night all around.

"No," I said with a breathy puff. "I'm not. I'm just saying, you don't have to sit here and watch me. Nothing's going to happen. It's going to be boring and quiet."

Edward rolled his cup in his hands, lowering his eyes to the floor before staring straight in front of him, unblinking. He almost looked like he might cry, but I knew better.

I finally said, "All right. You can stay. But you can go sleep if you get too tired. If I wake up and you're not here, I won't be offended."

He leaned back in his chair. "I'll be here if you need me."

I sighed heavily and closed my eyes, thinking that if I was going to dream tonight, it had better be about something nice. Hopefully my mouth would behave.

"Good night," he said softly.

"Good night."

'Eight' was the last number I remembered counting to before I was out.

-:-

Does anyone else get woozy about IVs? I do. A lot.

Edit: Awhile back, I wrote a o/s of an alternative ending to this chapter for a charity. It's on my profile under The Woods Outtakes. I've been told some people like it better than this chapter, but I figure whoever reads it can decide whether they'd like to believe this one or the other one. It doesn't really alter the story in any way except this one puts more emphasis on the 'black case' in Edward's glove compartment (and they have less awkward moments in Edward's car & afterward). Also, you would have to accept minor changes from the morning after. Enjoy!