"Is it still considered a heartache when, in fact, it's your entire body and soul that feel broken?"

- Jaf Liethers -

Heavy

When I woke up the next morning, I knew right away I was going to have a bad day. For some reason, I felt drowsy and unusually tired, as I turned off the alarm and dragged myself out of bed. I wasn't surprised to see Carlisle was already up. I heard sounds from the kitchen, and I figured he was making coffee and preparing for the day. There was a moist towel at the foot of the bed; he'd already showered.

I remembered we were supposed to go out to dinner tonight, and the thought managed to lift my spirits. Then, I remembered I was supposed to ask him about the necklace and bring up all this stuff that had been bothering me for these past couple of days. The thought sent a wave of anxiety through me. As if this wasn't enough, as I grabbed a towel and a fresh set of clothes for myself, I stubbed my toe against the edge of the dresser. After that, I felt just irritated. Once again, I had a strong feeling this wasn't going to be my day.

I stayed in the shower longer than I'd intended, and by the time I got out, I was running late. Warm showers usually woke me up better than anything, but after I'd blow-dried my hair and gotten dressed, I still felt as if I had a hangover or something. I found it very odd I was feeling so tired – we had gone to bed so early the previous night.

I wasn't very hungry, but I forced myself to eat some breakfast. As Carlisle poured me more coffee and began to eat his second slice of toast, he gave me a close look.

"Everything alright?" he asked, studying me carefully.

I nodded, taking a small bite of my own toast. "I just feel tired, and kind of...strange. Maybe I'm coming down with something."

He frowned and reached across the table to touch my forehead. "Well, you're not warm. Not yet, at least."

"This sucks. We were supposed to go out tonight."

"It's fine. If you're not better by the evening, I can cancel the reservations. We'll go to dinner some other time. Let's wait and see how you feel in the afternoon."

"Yeah. Maybe I just had too much coffee yesterday, and it affected my sleep." I wondered idly how Carlisle was able to stay so functional. If I felt this bad after a poorly slept night, I could only imagine what he felt like most of the time.

My morning didn't exactly get any better after that – I couldn't find my truck key anywhere. I was sure I'd had it yesterday. I looked everywhere; I checked my pockets, and I checked every counter and table I had in my apartment. Carlisle went to see if I'd forgotten it in the truck, and meanwhile, I turned the laundry basket upside down, but nothing. He came back just as I emptied the contents of my bag on the living room coffee table, and he told me what I already knew. The doors of the truck were locked, and no key. I glanced at the clock and quickly began to shove things back into my bag, not even looking at what I was doing, and gladly accepted Carlisle's offer to drop me off on his way to the campus.

"Will I see you at lunch?" I asked him, as he stopped the car in front of the café a few minutes later. I was surprised when he hesitated. He'd spent almost every lunch hour with me at the café this week, if I'd happened to be on my shift.

"Actually, I have an appointment after my first class, and I'm not sure how long it'll take. I might not have time to have a lunch break at all today. But I'll pick you up in the afternoon, okay?"

I nodded, wondering to myself what the appointment was about, but I didn't ask – it was none of my business, after all. Then, I glanced at the car clock and cursed quietly, and I forgot about the whole thing altogether.

I managed to work a little over an hour, before my strange fatigue reared its head again. This time, it brought a dull, throbbing headache with it and a wave of nausea. Normally, the noise and commotion of the café didn't bother me, but after a few minutes, I had to make a trip to the backroom to get away for a while; suddenly, every sound and smell seemed uncommonly amplified.

My earlier weariness was beginning to receive an explanation; I didn't know why I hadn't realized right away what was going on. But then again, my migraines didn't usually start like this.

I had to blink to clear my vision, and I hurried to my bag, hoping if I took my medication now, I might be able to work until my shift ended. It was a busy Friday morning, and I didn't want to leave the other waitress in trouble. But as I shuffled through my bag, the bottle of pills I always kept with me wasn't there. Momentarily, I was stumped. But then, I remembered I'd dumped the contents of my bag on the living room coffee table in the morning, when I'd been looking for my keys. The pill bottle must still be there.

It wasn't the only thing I'd forgotten in my hurry – my wallet was missing, too. That ruled out making a run to the nearest pharmacy.

Fantastic.

By the time I'd managed to explain my situation to the manager, I found it hard to keep my eyes open. The lighting of the café seemed too bright, making me feel as if someone was shoving needles through my eyeballs. The manager gladly gave me the rest of the day off, making me wonder if my face was all green. Maybe she was worried she'd have to start mopping the floors, if she didn't get me out the door fast enough.

Changing out of my waitress outfit was a feat, and I wondered idly how I'd get home. Maybe it was a good thing Carlisle had given me a ride, so I didn't have my truck – I wasn't sure if I could drive safely in this state, anyway. But that obviously presented another problem. As I stepped outside into the cool September air, I realized I couldn't call him and ask him to drive me home. I knew his class might be over by now, but he had that appointment he had mentioned. Taking a cab sounded more than tempting, but again, my wallet was at home. I hoped it was having a good time with my migraine pills. I imagined they were sitting on my coffee table and laughing at me. The two things I would have needed the most right now, and I hadn't put them in my bag in my hurry. Talking about irony at its finest.

This really, really wasn't my day.

The only solution was to walk. Maybe fresh air would do some good. Rubbing my temples in a feeble attempt to lessen the pulsing pain in my head, I began to head toward my apartment. Each step seemed heavier than the last, and I had to stop every now and then to close my eyes for a bit. My vision was blurry at the edges, and the dull throbbing in my head was rapidly becoming sharp pounding.

There was a small diner a few blocks away from the café, and the smell of food wafting from there turned my stomach. The smell was strong, despite the fact that the diner was on the other side of the street, and I held my breath, trying to pass the place as quickly as possible. But as I looked up from the sidewalk and happened to glance across the street toward the diner, something I saw made me stop and feel like my feet were glued to the pavement.

Agony that had nothing to do with my migraine settled over me. And suddenly, it wasn't the smell of food that made me nauseous. Even the sharp pounding in my head became inessential, as I saw the person sitting at one of the outside tables in front of the diner.

It was Carlisle. And he wasn't alone.

All I could do was just stare. The woman in his company...there were no words to describe her. Maybe it was my less-than-confident side talking, but I thought you only saw gorgeous women like her in movies and magazines. She had a heart-shaped, well-proportioned face, and her caramel-colored hair fell over her shoulders in perfect, soft waves. She had just the right amount of curves – I could tell that much, regardless of the fact that she was sitting.

Who was she? And what was she doing here with Carlisle? He had told me he had an appointment. Apparently, this woman was his appointment. Maybe they were friends – or coworkers. Maybe she was a professor, too.

Something told me, though, that this wasn't the case.

Still frozen on the spot, I stared across the street at their table, and then I kind of wanted to pour bleach into my eyes. The woman reached out to take Carlisle's hand, giving it a squeeze. There was nothing wrong about that, I guess – friends held each other's hands, after all – but Carlisle's response wasn't exactly...friendly. He squeezed her hand back, and then he brought it up to his lips and kissed her knuckles. And his eyes...his eyes never left hers. There was a gentle, adoring look in them, as he gazed at her.

I couldn't even count how many times he had given me that same, gentle attention during the past few weeks. How many times had he taken my hand, just like that? How many times had he looked at me with those same blue eyes, while his lips had caressed my skin?

I felt like I couldn't breathe. Maybe it was the migraine, or maybe it was the scene before me, but I began to feel dizzy. I just couldn't...understand. He'd told me more than once he wasn't seeing multiple women at the same time. He'd told me it wasn't his thing. I had believed him. No, more than that.

I had trusted him.

They were so focused on each other, they didn't see me standing across the street. I felt like I really didn't need to stick around to see any more of this, but still, I couldn't make myself move. I guess my fuzzy brain was still trying to come to grips with what I was seeing.

The woman reached out to touch Carlisle's cheek. There was something very tender, something very intimate about the touch – it was like she had done it hundreds of times before. I was suddenly sure she had. She was nodding at something Carlisle was saying, her eyes kind and sympathetic, making me turn my attention back to the blond man sitting across from her.

I noticed the table between them was so small, their legs were touching. And their ankles were intertwined. There was something so intimate about it that seeing it hurt more than the tender gazes they were giving each other.

Carlisle was still hanging on to the woman's hand, like he might drown if he let go, and the look in his eyes...it was now bleak, serious. He was talking again. I saw him close his eyes and shake his head in a resigned manner. The woman reached out with her free hand to stroke his forearm. She was speaking now, the look in her eyes understanding. It was almost like she was trying to console him about something. I saw Carlisle nod slowly, before he opened his eyes, and then he gave her a smile.

There was something different about that smile – it was genuine, heartfelt. It wasn't one of those sad smiles he usually gave me. It wasn't the smile I'd gotten so used to during the past few weeks.

It was one of those...it was one of those I love you smiles.

After a moment, he got up from his seat and rounded the small table. She got up as well, and as he pulled her into his arms and kissed her cheek tenderly, that was the moment when the pain in my head reached an unbearable degree. It was also the moment when I decided I'd seen enough. I turned away at the same time as they broke their warm embrace.

And that was when Carlisle saw me.

At that point, I couldn't have cared less. I registered the look of surprise and alarm on his face, before I began to walk straight ahead, keeping my eyes on the sidewalk. Every step sent a jolt of pain through my head. I was suddenly oddly glad about having a migraine – the pounding in my head took my entire focus. It took the worst edge off the pain in my heart, or at least it overshadowed it.

For now.

I heard Carlisle calling out my name, but I didn't stop. I kept right on walking, until I could no longer hear his voice, until I could no longer see him embrace her in my mind's eye. I felt drained, both mentally and physically, and even the thought of having to deal with what I'd just seen seemed impossible.

I later realized I couldn't remember much about the unsteady walk to my apartment – it was a small miracle I even made it there. My hands were trembling so badly that getting the front door open took some effort, and after shedding my coat and toeing off my shoes, I made a beeline for the living room couch and lay down. The grey light coming from the window seemed brighter than it was, sending bolts of searing pain through my head. It made me remember the bottle of pills on the coffee table. I got up with wobbly legs, barely able to keep my balance, as I grabbed the bottle and went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. After taking the medication, I made my way back to the couch again; my bedroom seemed to be too far away, and my legs refused to carry me any further.

For what seemed like a very long time, or maybe it was just a few minutes, I kept drifting somewhere between wakefulness and an overpowering sense of exhaustion. There was a moment when I didn't know if I was awake or not, or if my eyes were open or closed. I kept seeing strange flashes of light, but I knew better than to believe the things I saw were there. I couldn't remember the last time I'd had a migraine attack this bad, and I just kept praying the pills would kick in. I startled awake every few minutes – or maybe it was seconds, I didn't know – feeling like my body was so heavy I couldn't lift a finger. My ears were ringing like crazy, and I'd suppose that was the reason why it took a while to hear the loud, insistent knocking on the front door.

I opened my eyes, but I regretted it immediately. A strong wave of nausea washed over me, and I swallowed the bile that crept up my throat, slowly dragging myself up into a sitting position. Stubbornly ignoring the fact that everything was spinning, I made my way towards the front door with tiny, unsteady steps. Again, it took some time to get the door unlocked. I had to steady myself against the doorframe, as I pulled the door open.

"Whatthehelldoyouwant?" The blinding light coming from outside made me slam my eyes shut. That was when I realized I hadn't even bothered to check who was behind the door. I had a good hunch about it, though, despite my disoriented state.

"What's going on?" Carlisle's voice asked. "Why aren't you at work? I've tried to call you at least fifteen times – why aren't you answering your phone?"

"Because I have a fucking migraine, that's why," I managed to hiss.

I felt my body slide down against the doorframe an inch or two, and I thought idly to myself that it was the first time he'd heard me cuss like that, and then, I wasn't able to think about anything at all; I was suddenly retching my breakfast all over the doormat.

Instantly, warm hands were gathering my hair, holding it out of the way. I wasn't sure what happened next. Everything was spinning again, but this time, it felt different. I felt like I was swaying and rocking, and it took me a while to understand I was being carried. A moment passed, and then, I was placed on something soft. For some reason, it annoyed me immensely that Carlisle didn't let me lie down right away, but he kept me in a sitting position instead.

He was asking questions, lifting my eyelids one at a time, and when he asked me if I could bend my head forward and put my chin to my chest, I just wanted to tear my head off to get rid of the pounding – and maybe tear his off as well while I was at it.

I didn't know if my responses were satisfying, but after a while, he offered me two pills and held a glass to my lips. I just wanted to sleep, but I swallowed the pills, too tired to protest. When he finally let me lie down, the pillow under my head felt like a bag of bricks. I had no energy to care.

I was vaguely aware of someone closing the drapes, sending the room into darkness, vaguely aware of the icy cold washcloth placed over my eyes and forehead. I was more aware of other things, however; a warm hand clasping mine, and soft lips pressing against my knuckles. There were words, too. Words I was too tired to hear.

Before the heaviness of sleep claimed me, I made a mental note to ask him about it later.

Wakefulness came slowly. It was very silent; that surprised me a bit. My ears were no longer ringing, and the sharp pounding in my head had faded to dull, occasional stabs. The feeling was bearable, almost pleasant, compared to what it had been before.

The cold washcloth had disappeared, I noticed. I blinked slowly, pleased that the small movement didn't make me feel like someone was jamming sharp sticks into my eyes. It was completely dark, and I turned my head carefully, realizing I was crazy thirsty.

There was movement somewhere close to me. And then, a careful, hesitant touch on my right shoulder.

"Are you awake?" Carlisle's voice was just a quiet whisper.

Licking my dry lips, I nodded, but then, I realized he couldn't see it, since it was dark. "Yeah."

"Hang on."

The bed jostled slightly, and a weight disappeared from somewhere very close to me; I realized he'd been sitting right next to me on the edge of the bed. There was a quiet click across the room, as he turned on the light in the bathroom, leaving the door open. I appreciated that he didn't turn on the bedside lamp. Even the thought made my brain and eyes ache.

"I'll be right back." He disappeared into the hallway, and before I had time to wonder where he'd gone, he was already back, carrying a glass and a carton of orange juice. After filling the glass and placing it on the bedside table, he slipped his arm around my shoulders to help me sit up. He took his place on the edge of the bed again, offering me the juice. I took it gladly, feeling as though I could drink the entire carton. I didn't have to ask him to pour me more; as soon as the glass was empty, he refilled it wordlessly.

"What time is it?" I asked, when I was done drinking, avoiding his eyes. Carlisle took the empty glass from me and placed it on the bedside table.

"Just after two in the morning," he answered, giving me a close look. "How are you feeling?"

I blinked, trying to comprehend what he'd said about the time. "How long was I asleep?"

"A little over thirteen hours."

I blinked again. I'd never slept that long in one go – not even as a teenager. I stared at the crumpled bed covers, realizing my jeans were gone, and my sweater had been replaced with a t-shirt. "You've been here all this time?" I asked quietly, still not meeting his eyes.

"Yes. Of course." I could feel him watching me. I didn't know if he was assessing my physical state or my mental one. Maybe both. He seemed to reach the same conclusion as I did; I wasn't fit to talk about what had happened yesterday, about what I'd seen. He helped me lie down again, telling me I should try to sleep some more. A part of me wondered if he was just trying to postpone the inevitable discussion, but I complied and fell on the pillows; the beautiful woman with caramel hair was something I didn't want to get into right now, either. I just had no energy. No strength.

I closed my eyes, and before sleep claimed me, I was very aware of his comforting weight next to me on the bed.