Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
What thou among the leaves hast never known,
The weariness, the fever, and the fret
Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;
Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,
Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;
Where but to think is to be full of sorrow
And leaden-eyed despairs,
Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,
Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.

.

I had tried everything. I had shut my eyes. I had hidden in cupboards and behind doors and behind tall people. I had headed off to the A&E when I needed to be in the canteen. I had burst into a doctor's office mid-examination in an attempt to keep myself from sight. But it didn't matter what I did or where I went; he would always be there. And he would always be watching.

The hair on the back of my neck tingled in a way that was growing increasingly familiar, and I turned away from the computer screen, looking for that giveaway flash of bronze. However, my cursory glance proved that the reception foyer was clear of vampires and med students; I was safe from ambush by either. I closed my eyes and pressed my fingers to my temples. Was I just being paranoid? Probably. I would just have to add mental instability to my ever growing list of problems.

I turned back to my spreadsheet and changed a few appointment times. Linda was on the phone taking down a number. I tapped my fingers on the faux-wood of the desk, waiting as the archaic computer froze, unfroze momentarily, waited for me to click, then froze again. If it had belonged to me I would have put my foot through the stupid machine already. I was reminded strongly of the piece of junk that still stood on my desk in Forks.

Which reminded me that I needed to ring Charlie.

Yesterday had been pure unadulterated hell. It had been making up for my 'sick' day, sat next to an unknown red head and surrounded by Doctors on strange unfamiliar shifts, nurses I had never seen before. Plus, the hospital was always busier on weekends, so I had had more than my usual hail of phone calls and order forms and spreadsheets and complaints and patients (but, thank God, no medical students). I had spent the whole day worrying about Jacob and his suit fitting; I couldn't shake the suspicion that he was going to march through the front door sporting a sleeveless jacket and shorts, saying something like "I thought about getting a regular suit, but I decided this would be much more convenient."

And then we had stayed up until two discussing RSVPs and seating plans and where we would go on honeymoon, if we weren't already so far down the debt tunnel there was no discernable ray of light for about thirty years.

"Bella!" My head jerked up as something grabbed my shoulder and shook it. "Wake up! The phone!"

Linda's voice pulled me back from the brink of sleep. I blinked blurry eyes and yawned slightly, wincing at the light and noise of the reception. An incessant ringing leaked into my ears. I groaned, and blindly reached out for the receiver, missing and grabbing a stapler instead before my fingers finally fell around it. I took down an appointment, hung up, and yawned again.

The unrelenting sleepless nights were really taking their toll on me. I had made myself four coffees this morning but they had obviously had no effect; all I wanted to do was curl up in bed and go to sleep. I would have napped my way through yesterday if I hadn't had to make up for lost hours. I just couldn't shake the constant fatigue. And I couldn't resolve it either. Infected minds to their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets, and although that particular sensory deprivation might be true of my pillow it wasn't true of Jacob.

I stared out of the window, seeing Linda staring at me in my peripheral vision. I waited for her to speak, then sighed and turned to look at her. "What?"

She smiled widely, her teeth almost glowing. She must bleach them in radioactive waste. "You've got eye bags big enough to carry my shopping in, B!" She said, "You sleeping okay?"

"Yes," I replied, my initial retort to anything Linda ever asked me. Lying was becoming my first response. It was also my response to anyone who called me 'B'; not even Renee had shortened my name to just the one letter.

Linda was blissfully aware of my inattention. "I used to have this friend who didn't sleep, like, ever. She would just eat a load of candyfloss and drink skinny vanilla lattes."

"Really," I said, not even realising I had replied. My mind had two levels; the level that worried and thought and did work and was actually active; and then the level that handled Linda.

"Yeah! I can't remember what she was called but we went to school with each other… what was it? I can't believe I've forgotten! Sarah? Sam? No… "

It couldn't be long until my lunch break, surely? I just wanted to go to my lesson with Marley. It was the one thing I had woken up for. Half an hour to go. Thirty minutes. I could handle thirty minutes.

"Sophie! Sophie Smith! I remember she was really weird, she used to wear those boots with the soles that were like forty inches thick and listened to Slipknot and wouldn't eat anything except but boiled potatoes-"

"Morning, Bella," a deep voice grunted at me, and I glanced up into a lined face of a doctor I didn't know the name of. My primary elation at escaping Linda's nails-down-a-chalkboard conversation withered and died as he shot me a condescending smile dropped an armful of papers in front of me. I stared at them, and then at him. "I was wondering if you could take these up to Doctor Cullen for me. Tell him they're the insurance forms he's been asking me for."

"Er," I said, trying very hard not to tell him to do it himself. "Well, I'm a bit busy-" this was a lie, huge but I would rather saw off my own fingers with a ruler than unnecessarily enter Carlisle's office "- couldn't you ask an orderly?"

He looked disgruntled. "Everyone's busy, what with all these medical students. I'm sure it wouldn't take you very long. I'd do it myself but I've got to operate on someone's brain in fifteen minutes; although," he looked at me with the air of a teacher dealing with a disobedient student, "I'm sure that arranging schedules is equally important as life-or-death surgery- doubtless absolutely pivotal. However, no-one is going to die if you leave that phone for two minutes."

He shot me a disapproving look, and then cleared off. I carefully bandaged up what was left of my tiny, shrivelled ego and stood up. I set myself a reminder; another person to dodge in corridors. I glared at his back as he retreated, resisting the very strong urge to throw my hole puncher at him. I scooped up the papers and swore at him in my head. Linda was, as ever, oblivious to insults and snobbery. Her mind was chugging along its usual one-track line.

"Doctor Cullen… rather you than me, Bella, I'd probably just rip his pants off and lose my job."

Inwardly retching, I smiled at her. I shifted the weight of the papers and headed towards the swing doors into the corridor. My arms groaned with the weight and I tightened my fingers around the edge. I opened the door with my hip, and waded into a surprisingly teeming corridor. Circling med students milled around, eating sandwiches, laughing with their mouth full of sandwich, spraying sandwich into my hair. My stomach grumbled, but I ignored it. I would eat when I got home; I had left my lunch on the kitchen table. Which was a typically crap thing to do.

The elevator was at the end of the corridor, and I pressed the button with my elbow. The little screen told me the elevator was at "B"- basement level. I tapped my foot as I listened to the whirring of the machine as the box inched its way up the shaft. The elevator was renowned for its sluggishness; by all rights it belonged in a museum.

There was a click, and then a ding, and then a groan, as the doors screamed their way open. I shifted the paper in my arms and yawned again, looking into the box-

And into those eyes that had been staring at me all day.

And then I knew for sure that I was monumentally and totally screwed.

My body fell away and all there was left of me were my eyes, held still by his own. My heart stopped beating for a second and the stillness inside me sent shivers up my arms, down my back.

A little voice in my head exclaimed over the way Edward Cullen could erase every thought in my head and just leave me gawping. Something about his body, the way he stood; straight-line shoulders, one hand frozen halfway through running it through his hair. The way his hair fell in disarray around his face, the way his mouth was slightly open and I could see the tips of his teeth.

There was another scream of metal as the doors started to close; the elevator box started to disappear. Edward shot forward, quick as blinking, his hand holding the doors back. My eyes jerked to the indents his fingers had left in the metal, staring for a second at how long and white those fingers were; and then they went back to his eyes. He was so close; I could have reached out my hand and touched him. I could see him so clearly; his lips, how dark and red they were, how soft they looked. I could see every hair in his eyebrows, every separate eyelash. The darkened shadows that hung under his cheekbones. And his eyes- they seemed just endless, wells of molten gold, and I just wanted to take a deep breath and jump, and fall and fall until I could find a little path of his soul on which to sleep.

He was still holding the elevator door open. It was so hard to think and stare at him at the same time. He didn't move. His eyes were on me and his expression was unreadable. His gaze made my chest swell, made me feel like I was full of air.

My mind told me not to get into the elevator. It was the rational part of me, telling me the rational course of action. And every other single fibre of my being told me that I could not, would not look away.

His arm still held back the door. I blinked, trying to clear my mind. I felt the weight of the paper in my arms, and I bit my lip, and dragged my eyes away, staring at the back of the elevator box. I had to at least try to stay in control, and there was no way that was possible when I was looking at him. I kept my eyes averted as I slipped over the doorway, and he quickly drew back as I passed.

The elevator doors dragged their weary way across the entrance, and then we were alone, just the two of us, isolated. The weight of the situation slowly descended upon my shoulders. There was a sharp silence. The elevator hadn't even started moving; doubtless it wouldn't for another ten seconds. And I just stood and stared forward, and he stood tall and real next to me, still and unmoving but his eyes definitely still on me. My arms were full of the wrong thing; I could feel electricity whizzing away against my skin.

The corner of my eye slyly took in his perfectly creased shirt, just hinting at what lay beneath. Long piano-fingers. The broad shoulders. Perfect, tousled hair.

The elevator whirred and I couldn't help it; I glanced over at him. He was staring intently at me, face twisted. The only thing that set him apart from stone was his eyes. They were focused on me and as they moved my eyes would follow, follow each flick and turn as he gazed over me. It was as if he was familiarizing himself with a map he would not be seeing again. If my gaze could have left his eyes I would have done the same to him.

It hurt, of course it did, to look him in the face. Drinking in every perfection, every angle, every stretch of pure white skin, every faultless shape and line; knowing the whole time that in my face he would be seeing new lines, new creases, the omnipresent bags under my eyes. He would be seeing how tired I looked, how old, how my eyes were bloodshot and my eyebrows were permanently downturned. I probably looked alien to him. An old alien.

I turned away.

It was almost laughable; the only thing that made me strong enough to do the right thing was my own vanity. Not rationality, not sensibility, not even any remaining desire not to commit complete adultery.

I winced at the thought. Adultery. Such a harsh word. Infidelity, maybe, would be softer. Ultimately, though, the meaning was the same. And both were very equally applicable to me. As the elevator jarred to life, Jacob's face popped into my head. My heart pounded. Jacob Jacob Jacob Jacob, I thought over and over. Remember Jacob, remember where you belong.

I heard him take a breath, and my own breathing fell flat and dead. There was a moment of silence, short and poignant, like the pause between each second; then he breathed out a torturously long breath and said nothing.

On the side of my body closest to Edward, there was a constant patter of electricity, or some other force that caused me pain, a pain which I knew would only be soothed by contact. The tension mounted and mounted. I could almost feel it between my fingers. It probably had something to do with the way his eyes were boring into me, rays of heat that were boiling up all my emotions and making them increasingly difficult to hold back. I closed my eyes firmly, blinking hard. I was not going to lose control. I was not.

Whirr whirr whirr went the elevator.

There was a slight groan as the wires complained of age.

I could feel my eyes heating, and I shut them tight. I was seriously overworking my tear ducts lately. Another sign that not only was I an unfaithful liar, but I was also not the strong, unbreakable person I had imagined myself to be. I was able to hold on to reason for just about as long as a child could take Atlas' job.

For God's sake, Bella! I internally yelled at myself. Why couldn't I get a grip? I hated that he could do this to me, that merely by standing next to me he could rip down every wall I ever built. I was obviously incredibly crap at construction.

The gentle buzz all around was the only sound except from my own breathing.

I could see the floor, the walls, the button pad, but I could not see him. Was he still watching me? What was he thinking?

Involuntarily my head jerked to the side. He wasn't looking at me. Of course not; what was there to see? His fists were clenched and he was stood straight was an iron rod. His lips were set and his eyebrows were straight. I couldn't read a single thing in his face or body language that suggested the same feelings I felt. I could only see anger. The empathy I had imagined at the elevator entrance had been fiction, invented by my own desperate mind.

The elevator whirred and I could feel the slow rise.

I felt liquid gathering under my eyelids, and I snapped a hand up to wipe it away. The paper slipped and I twisted my arm around, catching it all before it fell. My fingers were shaking, and I clenched them tightly against the paper so that maybe he wouldn't see. I was blushing furiously. This was horrible- horrible horrible horrible. I froze as he shifted- my heart stood still as he seemed to debate further movements- and then it sank to my stomach when he moved no further.

I wanted to run my fingers through his hair and feel his in mine. Wanted to watch the sun set fire to his skin, and run my finger along its smooth surface. I remembered how it had felt; like glass. I wanted to marvel at how something can spark like flames and yet feel so cold. I wanted to trace every single part of him with my fingers and keep it all forever in my grasp. I wanted to curl up in his arms and cry for all I had had and all I had lost, and I wanted to feel the perfect smoothness of him all around me, and know that he loved me and that I could have all I wanted.

The drone of the elevator hung in the air.

I hadn't been concentrating on holding everything back, and, unbidden, a sob escaped my lips. It was a vile, ugly, gasping thing, so loud in the silence, and in the shock my eyes snapped open and a tear fell to the ground. All he would be able to see was my hair. It was clean, at least.

Maybe fifteen seconds had passed. I didn't even know where the elevator was going. The top floor, by the feel of it. Beneath my feet, the surface vibrated.

I heard him shift, and I stood still, waiting… waiting for something to happen; for him to speak and my resolve to crumble; or for the elevator to reach its destination so I could make my escape.

"Bella-"

I barely had time to hear the fake concern in his breathy word, because at that moment the doors scraped open and then I was out, and moving along the corridor as fast as I could without actually running. Hopefully if I kept moving forward I wouldn't fall. I was clutching the paper tightly so I wouldn't drop it. I sniffed again as I walked, knowing that the tears on my face, the red circles that would be pinpointing exactly where to stare, would just be making me even less attractive than before. I headed quickly along the floor, passing staring orderlies and a Doctor on his mobile.

I knew where Carlisle's office was, and when I reached it I collapsed against the wall, catching my breath and closing my eyes tightly, trying to put everything back under control, lock it all away, back where it belonged. I breathed in and out. I blew my hair out of my eyes.

I lifted up a hand to press a finger and thumb to my temples, and noticed a searing pain in my palm; looking down, I saw a long, white edged paper cut running across my skin. I groaned, clenching and unclenching my fist to gauge how much irritation this was going to cause. It stung in protest to the movement.

The tears had subsided, although I was sure my eyes were still red-rimmed. I just needed to get this done so I could make it to Marley's lesson. Turning to face the door, I didn't even pause to take a breath, simply knocked and entered.

Carlisle was sat at his desk in his white-walled office, in front of a computer. He glanced up, and his eyes lingered only for a fraction of a second on my blotched appearance. Then he tactfully turned back to his screen, clicking the mouse and frowning.

"Are those the papers I asked Keith to collect for me?"

"Yes." And here despite all my incomparably worse problems, I hit a block on how I should address him. Sir? Too formal for a person who had once been like an uncle. 'Carlisle' was too informal. Doctor Cullen would have been a compromise; but...

"Yes," I repeated, feeling, and sounding, like an idiot.

I walked over to his desk and placed them down. My footfalls were silent on the deep carpet. He glanced up and smiled.

My stomach rumbled. A merciless God was obviously sat above me plotting more ways to rip my day into shreds. The noise was incredibly loud in the otherwise almost-silent office, echoing above the drone of the heater. A blush rose up my face like the tide.

Of all the days to forget my lunch, I chose today?

Carlisle glanced up, smiling his fatherly smile.

"Hungry?"

I smiled weakly. I probably looked a right sight; red eyed, red faced, mouth twisted into a forced grin. Like some kind of sunburnt, mentally unstable freak.

"Ah well, it's nearly lunchtime." He said optimistically, reaching out for the papers, standing them up and tapping them against the desk, so they were uniform and straight. "Are you feasting on the delights of the canteen?"

I smiled weakly. "No," I said, and twisted my fingers as he smiled up at me, waiting for me to continue. "I left my lunch on the kitchen table," I said, my lips turning up as I finished, glancing down at the carpet as my eyes burned again, twitched with tiredness, looked back up at him.

"Well, you could have mine; it is only a prop, after all."

I blushed even deeper. "I'm fine. Sorry. Didn't-" I wasn't thinking about my words and I just sounded like a moron. "I'm okay. But thanks, Si…Car- Doctor Cullen."

"It's Carlisle, Bella." His eyes seemed to be searching mine, and I had the disturbing feeling that he was seeing more of me than I wanted him to. He had that intuitive, caring look which connoted close friends and family; and it made me uneasy.

I looked away, turning towards the door. "Is there anything else I can do for you?" I asked, hoping beyond hope that he would just say no.

"No." I think he might have noticed my extremely obvious sigh of relief. I walked quickly across the room, silence making the air heavy. "Oh, and Bella?" Carlisle's voice cut through it like scissors.

"Yes?" I replied, putting on a fake, calm sounding voice.

"Make sure that cut on your hand is clean."

I shot him a quick smile that was as fake as my voice, and stepped out into the corridor.

As soon as I was under the strip lights I could feel his eyes on me, and then I knew for certain that I could not stay inside these white walls any longer.

I didn't take the elevator, instead flinging myself down the stairs, running down down down, my fingers bumping along the banisters. My shoes clicked against the floor- what a day to wear heels- as I went. I reached the ground floor in the time it had taken the elevator to get halfway up the building.

I knew that Edward was no longer staring at me, but still, a weird claustrophobia had taken over and I had to get outside. I walked quickly past the front desk, unseen by Linda, pushed past a young woman with a toddler, and then I was outside. Breeze tossed my hair.

The air was so fresh in comparison to the domesticated smell of the hospital. The fine rain instantly cast a damp layer over my skin and I shivered, looking down at my shirt and skirt and wishing I had washed my pants. The sky above was completely grey. I breathed out.

I walked around the edge of the hospital, trying to calm myself down.

I was almost disgusted by how weak I was. The sharp light of day illuminated the ridiculousness of a mental breakdown after only, what, thirty seconds in an elevator with an ex of four years. What was I, fifteen? I was supposed to be an adult, and yet I couldn't stop myself sobbing like a baby. Tears didn't suit an adult face. They just looked stupid. What was that line from Love Actually? 'No-one's going to shag you if you cry all the time'. I laughed to myself, rubbing my eyes and walking on.

I came to the back of the hospital, and found a discreet little wooden bench next to two huge rubbish dumpsters and an ambulance with four slashed tires. I sat down and drew my knees up to my face. My knees fit neatly into my eye sockets. The yard was deserted except for myself, and I could hear nothing but the distant rush of traffic and the high tones of far off voices.

My mind turned back to inevitable thought trails. It was better that I thought it all over here, because I couldn't do it at home. Jacob would expect happy marriage-glow Bella.

Edward. So many emotions hung off that name; love, of course love. But then anger, betrayal. There was a difference between the Edward in my mind, and the Edward who had been stood next to me. The Edward in my head was the fictional, invented man who adored me and overprotected me and drove me crazy and who I loved, fiercely, passionately loved. And then, there was the real Edward. The Edward who I didn't deserve and who could never want me. The Edward who I was suddenly furious at, the Edward who had deserted me and left me. The tornado that came, worked its destruction, and then left me to pick up the remaining pieces. And the Edward that I didn't just love. The Edward who sat in my thoughts and dictated my dreams.

I could remember what his arms felt like, wrapped tight around me.

I knew what I wanted. I wanted him again. I wanted my old life back. I wanted to escape the constant feeling that there was nothing I could do that was worth anything; and that out of the limited number of things I could do, there would always be someone who could do it better, making my entire existence completely pointless. Before, I had existed to love Edward. But now, what was the point? Why was I here? If I just disappeared, would anyone really even notice?

And then there was that other question; why me? Why did I have to play the Ugly Sister while just about everyone else got the part of Cinderella? Linda was married. Jessica Stanley was married; I had the torn up wedding invitation to prove it. Charlie was with Sue. Even freaking Adolf Hitler had a wife. Why was I the loveless one?

No. Wait. Jacob. I actually forgot I was getting married for a second. The knowledge re-added itself to my ever growing baggage.

The rain was getting heaver, and my hair was growing damp. It would shortly frizz and curl uncontrollably. I groaned, and straightened my legs out again. Marley's lesson next. That would be okay. I could beat out some frustration on a seven-dollar keyboard.

...

Marley hadn't been able to come to the lesson; he was swamped with med student stuff, along with all his actual work. I understood, but it was annoying. I spent my lunchtime doing scales and wishing I had remembered to bring food. The rumbling of my stomach had receded to a dull ache. What kind of idiot forgets her own lunch? I didn't have enough brainpower to get an ant's motorcycle around the inside of a Cheerio.

When I returned to the desk, Linda was staring at me curiously. I returned her gaze as I sat down. "What is it?" I asked, perhaps for the first time actually willingly beginning a conversation with her.

"An orderly just came with something for you," she said. I raised my eyebrows. "On your keyboard," she said.

I turned and looked.

It was a sandwich box.

And attached to it was a small post-it-note, upon which was written, in an instantly recognizable and instantly heart-breaking cursive font; Bella Swan.

.

((it's snowing it's snowing it's snowing it's snowing))

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