Disclaimer: If I owned Twilight, I might already have it on DVD so I wouldn't have to pay ten bucks to watch it again, would I? The concept is the only thing that belongs to me...and the story...but Bella and the gang, no...not mine. Chapter titles are from songs which I do not own, either...or I'd be a man in all cases...

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

You guys get a late update one hour before Thanksgiving ends! (Sorry about that...)

But, on the bright side, it would have been up sooner, but after about five pages of Bella I wrote three of Edward to give you!

YAY!

Ok...I have to mention these two reviews and reviewers. I would dedicate this chapter to them, but I'm not sure how they'll like it.

CullenCrest and Melferd...first of all because I admire CullenCrest...A-for not spamming me and B-for predicting part of the storyline and then Melferd for giving Bella an Uzi and Edward a shovel and making me laugh when I REALLY needed it...I will be confiscating all Uzis in the next chapter...hopefully someone will take care of that shovel.

Onto your present!

Chapter Nine

BPOV

I hate the penthouse.

It's not that it isn't open enough. It's too big. There's too much room. I can't believe furniture can take up the place. There are two 'official' bedrooms, but Emmett has taken it upon himself to convert half of the 'Great' Room into a living space for himself.

Alice has dibs on the master suite.

I'm stuck in the small bedroom.

On the bright side, the room is secluded from everything else. I could pretty much do whatever I wanted to in here, aside from paint the walls, and I would never get found out…except that it is also right next to the front door.

I think I have been pouting on the huge black leather sofa since Emmett brought me home from the shoot and told me that Alice had to leave on a business errand, a plane flight and a long distance phone call away.

I'm having problems with men and the one time Alice isn't here to offer her two cents on the matter, usually 'you're an idiot', I actually need her.

Emmett didn't think it was a good time to tell me until about eight o'clock when we got home. I'm not exactly very happy with him.

Emmett doesn't believe I can cook. He ordered Chinese on the way here because he was convinced that I would terminally injure myself using a knife and the stove. As if I didn't cook for Charlie in Forks every single day I spent there.

Someone knocks on the door and, seeing as Emmett is preoccupied on the phone with someone, I assume of the female variety and I assume their name begins with 'Rosalie' and ends with 'Hale', I yell "I'll get it," as I walk to the door.

I look through the peep hole, assuming it's the Chinese or some teenager who gets a sick thrill out of knocking on my door and running.

I'm wrong on both counts. It's the guy from the main lobby reception desk. He looks very nervous and his arms are laden with gifts. The first thing that flashes through my head is 'beware Greeks bearing gifts'.

"Yes?" I ask him, innocently.

"This is the residence of Ms. Isabella Swan, yes?" He doesn't seem to like the prospect.

"Yes…"

"Good!" he says, thrusting the gifts into my arms. "Make sure you get the card." He almost sprints away.

I look in confusion at the packages in my arms. I back into the doorway and shut the door with my hip, walking the packages to the kitchen and setting them on the table. Godiva gift baskets are not my cup of tea as I'm not a Godiva fan…but the basket is one of the largest ones I've ever seen. I give it a hundred bucks. I take the wrapping off the bottle of wine, looking at the make.

I almost choke on air.

Chateau Petrus sells for a grand when it's new. This bottle is 1982 vintage. That adds a chunk of change to the price tag immediately.

A nice nine grand chunk of change to be precise.

I wonder who would have sent me alcohol since Emmett and Alice were yanking away drinks as soon as they saw them set near me.

The other thing is what tips me off.

Four dozen roses are in a beautiful clear, cut glass vase. I frown and pick up the vase to dispose of the roses before Emmett sees them and ribs me about it. The card with the gifts flutters to the floor and I merely ignore it. I hear Emmett pick up the Chinese from the front door as I grab two wine glasses. He's getting the Chinese set up on the coffee table in the living room in front of the flat screen…which he had shipped in from New York…courtesy me.

Why did I do that? I would be spending my dinners from now on being forced to watch football, baseball, and

"I think Alice is bad luck!" I say, laughing, as I balance the bottle of wine and the two glasses. "Emmett! We've hit pay dirt!" I laugh as I wave the vintage wine in his face.

Emmett almost throws the Chinese on the table before rushing toward me to take the wine out of my hands. "Why do you have this?" Emmett asked, waving the wine in my face this time.

"It was a gift!" I say, defensively. He's debating what he wants to do with it now. I can see him. The gears are definitely turning in Emmett's head. "Come on, Em. It's a ten thousand dollar bottle of wine. One drink wouldn't hurt."

That was when he decided that he needed to lock the bottle up under the sink in the kitchen. I didn't know the teddy bear could move that fast! He wrenched it from my grasp and had it under the sink faster than I could react. "Emmett!" I whine.

"I know you, Bells." Emmett glares at me. "One drink turns into seven within an hour," he says it lightly, but, in a way, with Emmett saying it, it becomes very threatening.

I cross my arms across my chest, glasses still in my hand. "Emmett, I'm better now. That was me then. This is me now. I want one drink." His wary look tells me I'm probably not going to be getting any of that wine. "You know, the longer you keep it from me the more wasted I'm going to go out and get when you're not looking. Proven psychological fact. For instance, did you know if you put an alcoholic in a room of…"

"Bella," Emmett says, shaking his head. "I'm not interested in your psychology theories at all. Let's go have dinner and forget about the wine, alright?"

Emmett saying 'forget about' anything was as good as saying 'over my dead body'. I sighed, but reluctantly joined him in the living room for crab rangoons and a rather enjoyable football game. It was only enjoyable because I understood what was going on, not because I actually was a sports fan.

Emmett bought Alice and I tickets to see the Giants play the Colts in New York. Alice was worried the entire week about what to wear…and I was worried about avoiding the ball. Apparently one of Emmett's friends in a part owner of the team, which is how he got the tickets for us. Pretty awesome, actually. Emmett had a budding career in pro football once. He told me about it, but he finally decided that none of it was worth it. He was always looking out for himself because he knew if he got hurt once it was all over for the rest of his life.

It didn't sound like the kind of life I would be willing to live. Then again, I was under contractual obligation to stay a size six until I got this movie done with…I should probably lay off the rangoons.

I take it upon myself to scrub the excess sweet and sour sauce off the dishes in the kitchen after we eat. Emmett is on the phone while I'm out of the room. I was seriously considering checking in with Alice before he hung up, but, as I saw him walk by, I had to smile, knowingly.

"Where are you off to?" I smirk.

"Out," Emmett says.

"With whom?" I knew he wasn't going out for drinks with Edward and Jasper…who I had only met briefly. I'm sure I made a lasting impression.

"Rose." I open my mouth to comment but he puts a hand in the air. "No, Bella. We're just going for a drink and maybe some dancing. No smart-alek comments."

"Have fun!" I say, smiling. As he walks toward the door I sigh. I'm alone again. Ignored…invisible.

"I could bring Rose back over here…"

"No, Emmett," I laugh. "Go. Have fun! Do it for me! I'll be fine alone. I always have been!" I have to laugh again at him.

Emmett still seems unsure. "I'll call if I need anything," I promise, hoping to not delay his departure so that I might be able to think. Even if thinking was dangerous because thinking led to Edward Masen, I would gladly think on this situation.

"You're sure you'll be alright?"

"Em!" I snap. "Go. Rose doesn't wait." He nodded, still not comforted, but he was a bit more confident, at least I was finally alone.

I did most of my thinking while I did dishes.

Yes, me doing dishes without dropping them. Very funny, I know.

My mind wandered. It wandered back to the hospital, which inevitably lead me to thinking about Edward…his full lips, his blazing green eyes…his lips against mine…which never happened. Eventually, it would. And both parties would feel disgusted.

Wouldn't they?

Of course we would! We hate each other! I hated him. He felt the same way about me!

Then why had he left me wrapped in his jacket?

Because he's nice! That's why. He might not like me, but he could be sickeningly sweet. It was called 'being cordial'. I sighed. I hated cordialness. You always expect both parties to follow the terse rules of engagement, perhaps throwing verbal daggers at each other, but you never expected a diatribe…and that was what cordiality turned into always.

Both parties could never be on the same terms. That was how it worked. One of us has to like the other and it sure as hell is not going to be me! I am determined to make myself hate him completely and entirely!

Very completely and entirely!

It had started raining during dinner. I hated the rain. It never rained when I was with my mother in Arizona. In Forks, however, it rained all of the time. I had learned to ignore the rain for the past seven years. I would ignore it now, I decided. But the rain seemed too dark…too much like a work of Poe. That merely added to the morose mood as I thought about Edward Masen.

By the time the dishes were done, I had a conspiracy theory in my head where Edward Masen was trying to get me to quit purposely. I was waiting for him to just throw his hands up in the air and surrender before I knew I would have to. And, as fragile as I could be, I knew I would eventually give up…it was just a matter of how much I was willing to give first.

But…maybe I could give up on this game and make my own rules. Maybe I could quit and have absolutely nothing terrible happen to me afterward. Yeah…that would be truly terrible.

Is it a horrible sin to give up because of an abused pride?

Is it so wrong to give up after a much injury?

Is it such a travesty to finally admit failure?

Can I do that?

I never had...had I? Yes, I had. But I felt horribly insulted then...but was that my fault?

The rain pounds harder against my window. Ha ha, God, very funny.

Was it so wrong for me to give up?

No! I can't give up! That means admitting defeat! I don't admit defeat! You admit defeat and you have already lost! I will not be forced away!

God, needed a drink.

No. I had to remain sober in order to think through this rationally. But it would be easier to make a decision behind the mask of alcohol. But I couldn't think drunk!

Leave it to my mind to think of the ten grand bottle of wine under the kitchen cabinet. He didn't know about my alcohol problem, so it wasn't his fault that he had handed me to the wolves. He didn't realize I'd already gone to so many therapy sessions about my 'problem'.

Thank God he didn't know! When Alice walked in to find me wasted, or dead, depending on how much of a kick that drink had, sure, I'd be back in the best rehab center LA had to offer. But, hell, it would be worth it! I knew then. That night I had an appointment with the entire bottle of wine and I planned on drinking it.

After the first sip, the hole in my stomach disappeared. It tasted of ambrosia. They didn't sell it for ten grand and not make it taste at least palatable. I was just glad that it was good. Cheap alcohol was nothing to be trifled with on a night like this.

An hour later, I'm feeling pretty good. I'm not drunk, rather buzzed, but I can think pretty coherently. I'm thinking clearer than I was. As a matter of fact, I don't want to quit anymore. Far from it. I'm actually considering trying to force Edward to leave instead of me.

But, I've still got a problem. I don't know whether getting rid of him is a good thing to do. Maybe I should quit. But I'm too prideful to do that. So...now that the first and second steps have passed, denial and admitting I have a problem, now I go to get help!

I trip my way to my cell on my coffee table. I wonder if this is an indication of my BAC. Probably not. I would have tripped anyhow.

I fumble with the phone, flipping through my address book.

Alright. So...who do I call when I need to talk out a problem?

If I call Alice she'll just be over here like a bat out of Hell in her little yellow Porche. That leaves Emmett, who would beat the fire out of me, and Rosalie, who would laugh at how drunk I was and blab everything I said to Edward.

That leaves very few options for me. So, I find the first number I come to that will not have any obvious repercussions and I wait.

As soon as someone answers, I'm actually surprised. I did not expect for Jacob to answer this late at night in New York. When I hear the voice on the other end, I realize why they answered: the man on the other end is not Jacob.

"Hello?" The velvet voice on the other end must think he's as crazy as I think I am. I didn't mean to dial his number, but something in the back of my throat wells up and I start to talk.

"Why the fuck did you give me alcohol?" I feel embarrassed for calling him. That's only half of it. I feel embarrassed for being so inebriated that I probably can't even form a complete sentence correctly. I think I said that correctly…

Edward Masen seems amused on other end of the phone. I wonder if my words are horribly slurred. I know that the room seems to be spinning. "I'm sorry, Bella?" he says this as though there are truly no words he can use to respond. "Perhaps you can tell me of other preferences you have…though you appear to have been enjoying the wine?"

"Hell, yes! And that's the problem!" I yell at him.

"Why is that a problem?" Edward Masen is almost laughing at me. Shows how I rate. Then again, I'm drunk.

I stumble and end up falling into the couch as the world continues to spin. I don't know if I make noise when I land on the couch. I don't really remember much of anything. Edward's voice in my ear actually scares me. Oh, yes. I was talking to him, wasn't I?

"Bella?"

"Huh?" I ask. I try to pull myself into a sitting position on the couch.

"Bella, what happened?" I hear him getting up. I assume he is getting out of bed. I don't know where he was. Had we discussed that?

"I fell…" I slur something completely unintelligible. I don't even remember what I was trying to say.

"Bella!" Edward sounds panicked. "Bella, where are you?"

"Home," I murmur, finally managing to sit up. "I'm…safe."

"Bella, how much did you have to drink?"

I lean forward trying to get the bottle of wine and I fall into the coffee table. I hear something crack…I assume it was the wood because the glass didn't look broken.

"Bella?"

"I'm fine!" I snap. I grasp the bottle and look at it. There's probably enough left for one more drink. I'm guessing maybe five ounces are left. If that much. I try to remember if I drank from the bottle or a glass. I'm thinking the bottle. There is bright red lipstick all over the top of it. I don't remember putting make-up on, though, and since I'm sure there isn't anyone else in the penthouse…

"Bella?"

"What?"

"Answer my question!" Edward Masen can sound fierce? Funny. His voice is so smooth and velvety…

"I'm sorry," I slur, rubbing my forehead, trying to stand up. "What was it?"

"How much have you had to drink?"

"I don't know," I reply.

"What do you mean, you don't know?" Edward growls. "Is anyone there with you?"

"No," I say. "And I don't…know…how much was in the bottle."

Edward seems more concerned than he previously was. "Stay on the phone with me Bella. Ok? Try to stay awake. Are you tired?"

"Uh…" I look at the clock, but the numbers are too blurry for me to read. I try to pull myself up on the arm of the white couch. "Kind of," I reply. My body is very hard to control. I know I should probably sleep this off soon. This will be a bad hang over. My lungs have to struggle to breathe.

"Don't go to sleep, Bella. Fight to stay awake. Try to remember this for me, did you drink the entire bottle of wine?" Edward's voice is very pretty.

"No…there's a bit left…do you want me to save it for you? I can bring it to work in the morning…" I say, struggling to hold the phone against my shoulders as I pull myself up.

"Yes, Bella. I'm coming over to your pent house right now. Do you know if the door is locked?"

"Yeah," I mutter. I stand after a couple of attempts, but my legs feel like they are Jell-O attached to my body.

"Go unlock it, Bella. Ok? I know it's not safe, but…"

"I'm going…" I mutter. I'm angry with him for making me get up. I'm also angry that he wants me to save the rest of that bottle of wine. It was very good. I could have topped it off and been fine.

I make it to the door and fall against it. This time I know it makes a sound. It's loud. I hurt afterward.

"Bella!" Edward yells at me.

"I'm sorry," I sob. I don't know why I'm sobbing. I don't know anything. Edward's voice is the only thing keeping me anchored to the earth at the moment.

"Bella, don't be sorry. Unlock the door, Bella. Just stay awake. Do that for me."

"Where are you?" I sob.

"I'm a couple minutes away. I'll be there as soon as I can. Stay awake, Bella," he says. His voice is soothing now. It's like a lullaby.

I stumble away from the door. "I'm going to the living room," I say. I'm not sure why I feel the need to tell him where I'm going, but I do.

"Good. Bella, keep talking. Why did you drink the wine?"

"I…" I try to remember. My tongue is loose. I know it's loose. I probably shouldn't say why…but my mouth can't be controlled. "I was thinking about you," I say, slurring the words. If he even understood what I was saying, it would have been a miracle. "I was trying to figure out…why you hated me…and how you didn't know about my alcohol problem…" I ramble. "And I was thinking about how you were trying to make me quit…"

"Bella," Edward's voice sounds pained. "I'm so sorry…I wasn't trying to make you quit, Bella…keep talking…tell me…where's Emmett?"

I stumble toward the couch and I fall. The room is spinning. I manage to keep the cell phone by my ear. "Bella!"

"What?" I ask, as I struggle to get up again.

"Where's Emmett?" He sounds enraged.

"With Rosie…Rosie…that's a pretty name…why is her name 'Rosalie'? Do you know, Edward? She told me you were her cousin…"

"Bella, just keep trying to stay awake. I'm in front of your building now. I'm coming upstairs, I promise."

I stand and I try to walk. "I'll be by the door…" as I walk, I fall again, but this time, the world isn't just spinning…the world falls. I remember hitting the ground, but I don't remember anything else. I remember the phone wasn't in my hand and I was scared…but I could hear Edward's voice…he was yelling at me again.

My last thought before my world went black:

I hate that man and his screaming…he'll wake me up…

EPOV

"Bella!" I am screaming in the phone. I've run up eleven flights of stairs.

All for Bella, I would run up twenty more.

Bella doesn't answer. I keep yelling her name the entire way through the halls. Her penthouse is at the back, according to the strategically placed signs. As this is a pricey apartment complex, it was amazing that they even let me through the front doors.

Name power helps, though. I will not deny it.

I knock on the door first, yelling Bella's name, to no response. In the space of three seconds, I push the door open and sprint to the living room.

What I see makes my heart stop.

Bella is laying on the floor, her body sprawled like a rag doll. Her phone is laying a couple feet from her hand. Her lips are wet with wine, her eyes closed, her lashes heavily covering them, locking them from view.

"Bella?" I call to her. There is no response. She is in a t-shirt and blue jeans. I don't think she would object going to the hospital in them. Her skin is pale, clammy from the looks of it. I rush to her side and put my ear close to her mouth and nose.

I freeze. She isn't breathing.

I thank God that I enrolled in medical school. I praise God that I went through with the pre-med major even while I was staring in movies.

At that moment in time, I thank God that I know CPR.

I flip her onto her back, as gently as possible. Her skin is cold to the touch. I know there are two possible explanations for this: either her body's systems are already shutting down due to lack of oxygen or she has alcohol poisoning.

I begin compressions. I try not to think.

I will not let her die.

I dial '9-1-1' and put my cell phone on speaker phone before I push the air from my body into hers.

"Bella, you will not die on me. Listen to me for once in your career! You can break my heart afterward," I say, trying to concentrate on nothing but the fact that Bella is alive. She has to be.

When the operator answers, I have just blown air into Bella's mouth. I rhythmically speak with her.

"We need an ambulance at the Metro 417 complex. As soon as possible." I am panicked. I can not live without her in my life. There is some small fraction of me that knows, though I have only known her for four days. I've only known of her for three months. Somehow, the tiny, fragile, beautiful actress had managed to turn my world upside down.

Bella had changed me from the moment I met her and I was determined to make sure she kept changing me.

I stop to give Bella breath. Somewhere in my mind, I try to think that I am willing my life to her. If nothing else, I pretend that I am willing my life to her. I will not let her die.

Anyone else in the world can pass tonight, but not her.

The operator talks. She drones. She asks me questions. They are all routine. After her first question I answer with:

"It's a twenty-two year old female. She's most likely suffering alcohol poisoning. She was on the phone with me prior. She was showing all of the symptoms. She's not breathing. I'm giving her CPR. She needs an ambulance," I say it tersely, as quickly as I can, continuing with chest compressions.

The operator, of course, has to stay on the phone. I don't block her out entirely in the instance she might be asking questions I need to answer.

I give them the apartment number, I tell them the door is open, and I continue working to save Bella.

Eventually, I hear her lungs take over for me. Her diaphragm finally picks up the rhythm. I have been breathing for her for approximately two minutes. The human brain could only survive without oxygen for three to five minutes. Assuming she hit the ground and her body shut down, that was three minutes. In some cases, there could be serious repercussions even then. There could be brain damage, cells that have died.

I lean my forehead to hers; I listen to her heart beat, her breathing, even as the paramedics come in. I lift her body onto the gurney. I explain to them that I am a med student…but I don't tell them my name.

I stay with Bella in the ambulance. She hasn't woken up. She hasn't made a sound. She won't respond to anything, light, sound, my voice. I try not to listen to how the paramedics are discussing how they should treat her.

I already know. I close my eyes. I refuse to watch as they place the tube down the back of her throat to keep her air ways clear. They will hook her up to an oxygen tank. In the hospital they will put an IV in her arm to pump her with B vitamins, simply to keep her from dehydrating.

I was too sensitive to her pain.

But I would stay with her, simply so there would be someone there when she woke up tonight, or tomorrow morning.

She would wake up.

It would not be her that died that night.

Can you say 'Yay, drama!'?

I know, that was sort of melo-dramatic, but I kind of wanted to let you know that Edward had no idea that Bella had an alcohol problem. And I kind of wanted Bella to see that her walls can be let down...but that's for the next chapter. I might have that one up tomorrow because I was writing for the better part of the day! YAY! ((Sorry...I'm very tired...))