A/N: I want to thank all my readers and new ones again for the wonderful reviews. I'm sorry that I've sucked so much at updating, but this entire week I had to get ready for a big exam...but now I have plenty of time in my hands to get back to the story! Again, thanks!

Chapter 11. The Even Meeting

"You told me you weren't seeing him," Charlie stated, instinctively blocking Bella into a corner.

But Bella was too self-conscious to take any real notice, for it finally occurred to her the exact consequences of her releasing the contents of her dinner on Jacob- dirt. Filth. Bacteria from within her body. Must. Wash. Out.

"Bella," her father urged, the tone in his voice turned sharp and raspy as if trying but almost failing to suppress the deep disappointment he felt in his daughter.

"Shower," Bella cut in, not trusting herself to say anything else.

Charlie took in her disheveled appearance (which really only consisted of an infinitely small, darkish stain resembling a beauty mark on the crook of her left arm. To a casual observer, the mark symbolized nothing, probably a pretty mole. But to Bella, who was the perfect girl to all, it was a disaster that could shake her entire core. And no one knew this better than Charlie Swan. He sometimes felt as if he was equally as obsessed as his daughter was. But that was the way it had always been in their home, even when he and Renee were together.

"Fine," he agreed, inclining his head towards the stairs, "But I'll be coming around in an hour after you're done."

Without another word, Bella stormed up the twenty- eight steps to her room, making a beeline towards her closet, moving aside five hangers of clothes to her left as she took out the nearest newly washed pink pajama from the sleepwear pile, dying to finally feel the familiar slap of heated water down her back, envisioning as those savior droplets washed away the positively evil remainders of her sickness, of the same she felt.

The twenty-two objects in the bathroom reaffirming to her that some part of her life was still in place was not enough to soothe her anxieties and fears. She closed her eyes, expecting her old friend to take all the pain away as she tried not to think about the events that just occurred. It could not have been real. Jacob asking her out again must be a figment of her imagination. There was no logic to it. It was like a dream that only made sense within someone's mind, a distorted reality. Her buddy the showerhead washed away the physical evidence of her sickness, but it failed to heal her emotionally.

People saw her erratic behavior. She didn't know who, for she was too dazed to make out particular faces. But the idea that people could possibly remember her, and remember her behaving in a way that Bella herself couldn't even remember was enough to coop herself up in her room for the rest of her existence. Her thoughts then drifted to her co-workers. What stories would they tell the rest of the faculty? How fucked up and strange would Jessica make her out to be to people such as Mike, who were more than willing to see the good in her.

As she worked the shampoo through her greasy, cigarette smelling hair, she vowed that she would not let these incidents damper the sense of confidence that she was so desperately trying to achieve. She hummed that fun loving Audrey Hepburn tune again, begging for the melody to recreate the similar, ecstatic emotions she felt only a few nights ago. But it was fruitless. It would only be reasonable that she should feel happy that Jacob wanted to see her again, but she honestly didn't know what kind of impression she formed on him. She wanted him to be completely in awe of her, to be taken in by her charm and wit, and her throwing up on him was the exact opposite.

Why the hell did he want to see her again? What was it? Was he just as fucked up as her? Was he going to completely surprise her on Tuesday and do something so horrible to her as payback for fucking up his car? A million scenarios raced through her mind, each one worse than the last. The shower wasn't helping any, and after lavishly cleansing her body numerous times, she just needed to get out.

Getting dressed and combing through her hair eighty-nine times still couldn't shake off the fluttering within her chest.

As she gazed at the clock on her nightstand which read one o'clock, she shut her eyes and groaned. She still needed to talk to her father. She only hoped he fell asleep.

Down the twenty-eight steps she went, each one weighing down on her slipper-wearing feet considerably, counting down the minutes until she would be witness to her father's wrath.

"Why did you lie to me?" he asked, his hands calmly entwined with each other as he sat still as a board in the dining room table, coolly looking at his hesitant daughter.

"I don't know," Bella replied, sighing. She was too tired to come up with a brilliant excuse him. Right now, knowing her Dad, honesty was the best policy. But she still wouldn't go down without a fight.

"I'm twenty-five years old," she stated matter-of-factly, allowing the annoyance slowly building up within her to manifest itself more fully, hoping it would block the fear she felt at confronting her father. She hated confrontations.

"I'm not a kid. You can't tell me what to do."

"I know that, but you're not well, either."

Bella felt as if she had been punched in the stomach. For it was true, all of it. She was still the same, she still wasn't perfect, and she hated the fact that the one person she wanted to see her as such could see right through her. Damn Jacob Black.

The true effects of the horrible night hit her like a smack on the head, and everything she had been trying to wash away upstairs in her bathroom came tumbling down, cascading down her back. Life sucked. She sucked. She was no Audrey Hepburn.

"I know," she choked, her sob making her entire body jerk forward.

Charlie immediately got up and embraced her tightly as Bella took in his hug, wrapping her arms around him. She just wanted tonight to be over, to wake up to a somewhat sunny sky and continue living in her own dream world where everyone loved her, wanted to be like her, and she was perfect.

"I had a horrible time. I freaked out. The girls didn't want to take me back, so Jacob did."

Bella felt Charlie's body stiffen. He quickly created a gap between them, his arms falling to the sides.

"He was there?"

"No, I texted him," she really didn't want to bring Alice into the picture. Too much to explain, "He went out of his way to come pick me up and take me home. I threw up on him. I felt sick."

Charlie half- smiled, feeling immense pity as he ran a hand through her damp hair, "Why did you feel sick?"

Bella then explained everything to him. Her fear of the throngs of people bumping up close to her, the nauseating smell, the dirty infestation of the women's restroom, everything.

Once Bella finished relating her entire story, minus Jacob wanting to see her again, her father could only gaze at her pensively.

"Call Dr. Jenkins tomorrow to schedule an appointment for Monday.'

Bella's eyes widened. "I'm seeing her on Wednesday."

"You need to see her sooner. You don't feel well and she could prescribe something else for you."

"Like what?"

"Bella, how am I supposed to know? Just call her."

Bella sighed, heading to her room. "Fine."

She hated being pushed to do things. It made her look weak, helpless. The fact that anyone could have such control over her actions pissed her off. She didn't want to see Dr. Jenkins. The woman wasn't helping worth shit. She tried her advice on the phone but it didn't work for long. The doctor seemed distracted somehow on the phone, as if talking to Bella was a chore. And she wasn't going to be a chore to anyone. That was for fucking sure. She was worth more than that. She was. She was. If she repeated those sentiments long enough to herself, maybe they would be true.

Just as she was on the fourteenth step on the stairwell, she heard her father's voice ring out from the kitchen, as if conversing with someone.

Quietly as possible, and making sure to skip that rickety, noisy thirteenth step, Bella tiptoed to the kitchen, making sure she was hidden amongst the shadows that were regularly cast during such late night hours. She stood just on the side of the entrance into the brightly lit room.

"Good, good. Listen…I saw you take Bella home this evening…"

Bella's heart skipped a beat. Possibly three, as she automatically covered her mouth with her hand. It was ridiculous. It wasn't as if she was going to scream at any minute. She held her breath, waiting for Charlie to say anything. From his continual nodding of his head, it seemed as if Jacob was giving him a detailed account of what happened.

"Well, I'm sorry about your car."

Fuck. Will she always be reminded of it?

"Just wanted to say thanks for watching out for my daughter…"

Bella couldn't help but smile, a familiar feeling of guilt returning. Charlie cared so much sometimes that it was scary.

"Jacob… that isn't such a good idea."

She closed her eyes; she knew exactly what he was referring to.

"She's not ready, that's all."

The floor shook beneath her as she tiptoed up the stairs again, not wanting to hear anymore. She was fed up. Sick of the shit. She hated how her Dad was trying to control her life. As if she was a child. Nothing had changed in the past twenty-five years. Absolutely nothing.

She couldn't be appeased at the moment. What she wanted to do more than anything was pick up her phone and dial Jacob, find out what he thought of her now. She grunted, heading to the bathroom to scrub her face extra good tonight before going to bed. It was one thing to think of doing something and another to actually do it. No, she had embarrassed herself enough for the night.

…Twenty-one. Twenty-two. Good. Apply cleanser to face. . Scrub. Good. Keep scrubbing. Take it out. Take it all out.

Pretty soon drops of blood splattered onto the white bathroom sink, making one of those indistinct shapes that you could interpret as anything in a shrink's office. One of Bella's earliest memories were of those black and white flashing cards- different versions of the same thing, really. Beautiful, top hats from the early nineteen hundreds. They called to her, beckoned to her, telling her that she could be that beautiful some day, that classically gorgeous. The various shrinks throughout her life would nod and wrinkle their eyebrows at her, as if trying desperately to fit pieces of a puzzle that wasn't there. So what if she saw hats? They were something beautiful, unique and happy, which was more than she could say for the responses these people would always get- knives, brains smashed, or even worse- just black. Yeah, these assholes had nothing to roll there eyes at.

But the spit-splatters of blood looked like that wonderful shape right now, some clumping together to extend upwards, making up the bulk of the hat, with other more liquid-like clumps forming on the ends, extending out on the sides as if forming the edges of the hat. It was cute, but one glance at the mirror told Bella exactly where the red picture came from-- her bloody blotched face. She looked at her fingernails. They needed to be cut, badly. The long nails pressed into her skin, causing her to bleed. She scrubbed herself too hard, causing more pain. She needed to make that dreaded call, and quick.

By the time Monday rolled by, she had an appointment with Dr. Jenkins at five thirty, right after her classes finished, and her office hours extended just for her.

Her first period class was regressing to their Neanderthal tendencies, throwing spit wads at each other , texting to each other( for Bella couldn't get the beeping sound of their Blackberrys going off with the signal of a new message) as well as just causing any various forms of noise in general. The only one Bella could rely on was Aaron Phillips, who was always the first one raising his hand when she asked the simple question of naming one of the various themes of the play.

"Dreams," he stated, placing his hand calmly on his desk, eyeing the class, feeling proud of himself.

"Good." Bella wrote the answer on the board and passed a line underneath it to further emphasize its importance.

"And what of dreams?"

Silence.

"Examples of dreams?"

A different hand rose up. She raised her eyebrows, a bit taken aback.

"Yes, Mr. Sampson?"

Will Sampson was one of those lazy stoner- types she detested in college, taking up perfectly even numbered seats in her classes, acting all superior to everyone else just because they didn't need to study. They were just there for the free ride. That's what Will was like. Never contributing to class discussions, never turning in his assignments on time, and only barely scraping by his tests. His work and answers to the questions showed Bella that the kid was perfectly capable of applying himself and ultimately succeeding. But he chose not to, which infuriated her more than she deemed worth necessary. And now he decided to answer one of her questions.

"Like the one I had last night where I was riding on a marshmallow cloud and it then started raining Kit Kat Bars." He was smiling, looking at his friends next to him.

"You're such an idiot, man," Bella heard them say.

"No, it's not." Bella stumbled through her words, slightly hurt but pissed that they were making a joke of it.

She half-expected and half-hoped Aaron would answer. As his skinny hand shot up, Bella mentally thanked him for saving her.

"Dreams are explained by the characters in order to explain bizarre events, and Puck mentions it in the end when he is speaking to the audience."

"Very good," Bella exclaimed, quickly whipping around to write 'bizarre events' on the board.

She still felt the murmurs of other conversations continue as she tried to bring attention back to the discussion at hand, but felt as if the only participants were really herself and Aaron. She would once in awhile give the guilty ones looks of disdain, which would shut them up…temporarily.

The rest of her classes droned on in the same manner-- with her having to resort to her somewhat passive haughty demeanor and completely separate herself from her students, instead of openly engaging with them. She wanted desperately to be that kind of teacher, but honestly didn't know how. Though a part of her still believed (no matter that she called Dr. Jenkins in a time of crisis), that going to a psychiatrist was bullshit, another part (no matter how small) wanted someone to tell her what to do. She wanted to become someone else.

It was worse when Jessica Stanley ignored her that day, sitting as far away from her as humanly possible in the teacher's lounge, deep in conversation with the twelfth grade English Teacher, Mrs. Larson. When Bella would try to meet her gaze, she'd only turn away. She imagined herself being the topic of conversation between her and the other teacher, no matter how self-centered that might be. She just fucked up so bad Saturday night that she was sure Jessica was telling everyone. Bella tried to see if she could see Angela Weber, but she didn't have the same lunch.

And before she knew it, her isolated day was almost over.

Her first visit to Dr. Jenkins' office was rushed- with the Doctor half-assing a prescription for two drugs that weren't doing her any good.

The receptionist, Bertha, was still as clueless and chirpy as ever, which still annoyed Bella to the extreme. Just hearing her talking to patients on the phone and confirming appointments in her upbeat, friendly tone was just enough to make her jealous and irritated at the same time.

"If you can have a seat, Miss Swan," the woman said, pointing to the comfortingly clean, plush couch to her right, "The doctor will be with you in a moment."

"Thank you."

The wait didn't last very long, much to Bella's relief. The attractive, tall Dr. Jenkins opened a previously closed door, smiling warmly at Bella.

"Hello, Bella," she greeted her, her demeanor making a complete one eighty from their previous meeting. She sounded content, happy, and equally as chirpy as her receptionist.

"Guess you couldn't wait to see me so you decided to come two days early, huh?"

Her joke fell flat on Bella, who could only half-smile. But Dr. Jenkins took no notice as she ushered her last patient of the day in, closing the door behind her.

She gestured to Bella to sit on the brown couch, the same one that had the nasty brown stain that had so discomposed her before. Before she could spend the two seconds to determine if she was still there, Dr. Jenkins beat her to it.

"I had it bleached out the day after you left."

Bella gave her a puzzled look.

"Bertha did it while I was on my vacation."

The young woman raised her eyebrow.

"She's a thorough cleaner, trust me."

She gestured to her to sit a gain, which Bella hesitantly complied to do.

"So," Jenkins began, getting comfortable in her plush seat, "What brought you here so soon?"

"Uh, I haven't been feeling well."

"Hmmm…in what way?" Dr. Jenkins asked somewhat monotonously, taking out Bella's file... She'd heard it all before. Anxieties. Depression. Social isolation. And she still hadn't forgotten Bella's episode the last time she was here, or the telephone call interrupting her splendid vacation. She was still on that high, that dreamlike state where nothing could get her down. From days of lying out on the beach with Bill to making passionate love in the night, she had never felt more liberated. More free. More calm. More serene. It was truly wonderful.

But right now, she was back to her usual hum-drum, and the airiness she felt from a plethora of patients that day telling her how their medications are really helping them out and that they feel so much better. It boosted her confidence for the rest of the day, until Bella showed up. Her façade of gladness waned as Bella sat there, shifting uncomfortably, the same way she had before. She took too little time with her on their first meeting. This time- she had to pay extra attention.

"I—I can't do this. No one can help me. I want to—but I just."

"It's okay, Bella," Dr. Jenkins said soothingly, "I'm here to help. It might not've seemed that way in our first meeting. For I was in a hurry, but I'm here now."

The troubled woman felt a warm, radiant burst of energy consume her as she gazed at her doctor's nicely kept, Lysol smelling, dust free room, she could see twelve books perfectly lined on the top shelf of her bookcase. There were six rows in total, twenty four books within each. Two couches. Two windows. Peace at last.

"I still get obsessed with things."

"What kind of things."

"Counting."

"What do you count?"

Bella sighed. "Everything. I can't stop. Everything needs to be perfect."

"Why do you feel the need to have everything perfect?"

"I just do. It's- it makes me feel better about everything, about myself. I can't control anything," she looked at the doctor, feeling the need to further explain herself before she asked, "I don't know what to do if I can't control anything than I won't be prepared."

"Prepared for what, Bella?"

"For whatever happens," she shifted nervously in her seat, feeling the affect of finally releasing her thoughts and ideas to another individual take its full force, "I know it's stupid. I know in my head that nothing bad's gonna happen to me if nothing's perfect because I see people act normal and they're fine but I can't." The incident at the club immediately came to mind.

Dr. Jenkins leaned in closer to the trembling girl, noting how a tiny tear cascaded down her cheek.

"Here," she said, reaching over for the box of tissues she always kept on her desk and handing it to Bella, who grabbed it with her covered hand.

"I know it's fucking ridiculous," she stumbled on her words, realizing her blunder, not knowing if she could use profanity in a doctor's office.

"It's fine," Dr. Jenkins assured her, knowing the girl probably forgot this wasn't the first time she used profanity in her office.

"But I can't stop. I don't know how. I feel…I feel so alone."

Bella felt a wave, much like a tidal wave; engulf her, leaving her gasping for air. Choking. Choking. Choking out the pain she kept hidden, the pain she had felt for so long. Saying the words put finality to everything. It was a confirmation and realization of her feelings of isolation, as if she was cut off from the rest of the world.

"Bella, it's okay. Everyone feels alone sometimes. But from now on, you need someone. A friend, a family member, anyone who you can talk to these feelings about on a daily basis. I'm a good start, but I can't see you every day. Do you think you'll be able to say how you feel to your father?"

She didn't know. He would be the most likely choice. He already knew how fucked up she was. But she was so used to hiding everything from her mother,(who reveled in her own dream world of perfection that she'd rather not deal with Bella than actually help her with her problems and having a parental figure who she could actually open up to was new…and scary.

"I think so," she said weakly, blowing her nose. Her eyes searched for a waste paper basket. But Dr. Jenkins was too quick for her, picking up the basket on the other side of her desk and holding it out to Bella to deposit her used tissue paper in.

"He'll understand more than anything. Parents always do."

Bella snorted. "Not my mother."

"Why?"

"She's too busy with Phil and her different hobbies .She has a new one, like, every other week."

"And how do you feel about that?"

Bella shrugged. "That part never bothered me before. I just found it annoying that she was so happy. But I hate it how she wouldn't let me open up to her."

"Hmmm. And do you think you're Dad will be like that?"

"No," Bella admitted, fiddling with her gloved fingers.

"Talk to him, Bella. It'll be something new for you. You can't keep everything inside all the time. You need to let your feelings out to other people instead of having it boil inside of you. Try that. And remember that your Dad's reaction to things will probably be different than your mother's."

Bella nodded. She then felt a sudden urge to say more. She had never felt the need to open up to anyone and was surprised to feel that once she started to, once she opened the door just a crack, she'd feel spreading that door wide.

"I feel like such a freak sometimes. I feel as if everyone is watching me, trying to find out when I'm gonna fuck up. When I'm gonna crack and show them how crazy I am. And I hate it. Sometimes, I just rather be by myself."

"Why is that?"

"Because I feel self-conscious over how people think of me. When I'm by myself, I can be me."

Dr. Jenkins leaned in closer to her patient in a confidential manner. "Do you like people?"

Bella raised her eyebrow. "What?"

"Do you like people?"

The doctor glanced at the notes she'd quickly scribbled down. Bipolar Disorder. Depression. Those words stuck out at her more than anything. More than the obvious Obsessive Compulsive disorder ever did.

"Like hanging out with them?"

"Yes."

"No, not really."

"Why?"

"I never know what to say and they irritate me."

Hmm. Interesting.

"In what way?"

"Well, a lot of people can easily put me in a bad mood. When they don't do what I want them to do or they say something that's hurtful."

Flashes of her anger taking a hold of her in the bathroom after Jessica's degrading comment sprung in Bella's mind. The feeling of wanting to throw something against a wall resurfaced. Her anger was so out of place. She knew that now, and was only embarrassed that she had overreacted so much.

"I get angry a lot," Bella quickly explained, "I hate when people make fun of me and it makes me want to hurt them or just let out my anger and I can't sometimes. It's too much"

"Is your family aware of this as well?"

"No, not really. I don't tell anybody."

"I see." Dr. Jenkins quickly wrote down possible diagnostic test to be taken in future.

She looked at the clock. The girl's half hour was up.

"Bella, our time is up, unfortunately. I still want to see you on Wednesday so we can continue our discussion. I'm gonna ask Bertha to extend our session for an hour instead of half."

Dr. Jenkins got up and Bella did the same. The doctor smiled warmly at her patient. For now, she wanted to concentrate on these new, more inhibited symptoms than the former. She would balance both, giving her a stronger medication for her depression than her obsessive tendencies.

"For the next two days, continue taking the medication I previously prescribed to you. I want to do a diagnostic test and from there we'll see what you need to take. Is that okay?"

Bella nodded.

"Okay, then." Dr. Jenkins again smiled warmly at her, "For now, just relax. Do things that make you happy. Don't stress yourself out. And talk to your father about this. Open up to him about all these things he doesn't know about. It's good to have a support system outside of me. After I see you on Wednesday, we'll begin a whole new therapy. Is this alright with you?'

Bella nodded again, thinking of the pleasures of the relaxing at her house.

The car ride home was relaxing, to say the least. Roll left sock up. Roll right sock up. Check. Smooth out crease on left. Check. Then right. Check. Turn on ignition. Two. Two. Two. Two. Minus wheel. Check. Perfect.

She felt relieved that she had opened up to someone. It was the first time she had ever put any of her hidden feelings into words. It half surprised her that she felt that way. It was clearly fucked up. But for once, she was glad someone was helping her. For God knows her Mom didn't.

Her phone vibrated in the seat next to her. They were loud enough to be heard.

Jacob.

You're in my thoughts. Even though you puked in my car. Still like you.

Fuck. Dr. Jenkins' words repeated themselves in her mind. Could she tell Jacob? Will he understand? What's worse than puking in someone's own car? She was undecided. She didn't know what to do.

She placed the phone back in her purse.

Best think about it when you get home, Bella. Best think about it then. Don't make hasty decisions. Keep it cool.

A/N: I know it was a bit depressing. But life does have its ups and downs. Bella has to get over a lot of things.