SM owns Twilight.

(CozItRunsInMyBlood /Rose B. Mashal) owns the plot.

(BandMum) is the wonderful beta.

(hlsmith) the amazing pre-reader.

Chapter 3

My vision was blurry, and I couldn't concentrate at all, or remember most of what happened after Dr. Cullen woke me. I remembered taking his hand; I remembered getting in his car, and hesitantly giving him my address. I remembered the warmth. But that was about it.

The pain I felt all over my body was unbearable. I didn't think there was any part left to hurt. Heck, I could feel the pain in my ears, fingers, eyes and even my toes. What drove me crazy was the fact that it wasn't even the flu. I didn't have a stuffy or runny nose, nor was I coughing. The sickness seemed concentrated in my aching bones and the constant pounding in my head.

When we made it to my studio apartment, I was afraid to have Dr. Cullen there. I wanted to thank him for the drive home, and then ask him to leave. But it hurt to talk, and after he'd done me this huge favor, I thought it would be rude to kick him out.

I was grateful that there was a tiny part of my brain still thinking reasonably. I realized that even if Dr. Cullen was evil, there was no way I could fight him; I was much too weak.

"May I come in?" Dr. Cullen asked, and the question struck me as silly. He was pretty much the only reason I was still on my feet, since he was basically holding me up. If he didn't come inside, I would probably end up on the ground again.

It didn't make sense in my throbbing head to refuse, so I nodded.

"I'm sorry? I didn't catch that," he said. I thought that was a bit weird; I didn't speak, I only nodded, and he was looking at me. How come he didn't 'catch it'?

"Yes," I whispered. Dr. Cullen smiled, and took my key from me. Once inside, I remembered him placing me on the bed. I recalled looking up at him and thinking that his designer suit and winter coat made him look out of place in the middle of the garbage can that was my apartment.

That was the last thing I remembered of that night.

~WtSGD~

I was awakened by the undeniable need to use the bathroom. The sunlight made its way through the window, and I realized that a new day had come. My body still felt heavy, but I could tell that I had improved a little bit.

My first thoughts were whether Mrs. Coper would take me back if I went to work today. It wasn't likely that she would forgive me for skipping work yesterday, but I hoped she would take pity on me, knowing how sick I was. I did pass out right in front of her, after all.

Then again, she had made it clear that I would have no days off, and she wasn't going to take any excuses. I decided to think about that later; I needed a clearer mind to be able to figure everything out.

"Ow!" I yelled as I tried to get out of bed. Looking down, I noticed a cannula inserted in the back of my hand. My frown deepened as I started questioning how it got there.

A minute later, everything came rushing back; I remembered that Dr. Cullen brought me home in his car. I didn't remember him inserting the cannula or examining me. But since I definitely felt better, I guessed he had treated me.

The thought of him examining me while I was unconscious was starting to freak me out, but then I realized that I still had all my clothes on from yesterday morning. That, at least, was comforting.

In less than two minutes, I used the bathroom and slid back into bed, sleep quickly taking hold of me again.

~WtSGD~

The next time I woke up, I was uncomfortably sweaty. It took me a few moments to comprehend that the apartment was warm, and I wondered if I was hallucinating again.

I sat up in bed, only to realize I was now connected to a slowly dripping IV. Before I could wonder if Dr. Cullen had returned, I noticed a heater near my bed. My eyes almost bugged out of my skull.

"What on earth?" I asked aloud.

"You were going to freeze to death without any heat." The voice came from the corner of the semi-dark room, and I gasped. Dr. Cullen was sitting on an old chair near the end of the bed.

I couldn't believe he had come back. Now he was giving me more medication, and to top it all off, he got me a heater!

Was there a limit to his kindness? I wondered. Or was it really all about kindness?

"You startled me," I told him, not knowing what else to say.

"I'm sorry, Bella."

"I- … the heater. I don't have electricity," I said as my cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"I've noticed you don't have electricity," he said, and I looked down at my lap. "Nor food, nor furniture. You barely own any clothes, Bella."

I didn't know how, or what, to reply to him, so I ended up saying nothing.

When I remained silent, he continued, "The heater runs on a battery that I charged at home. I will recharge it when necessary, so don't worry about it."

I nodded, still embarrassed.

I heard him sighing. "How do you feel now? Any better?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

"Good. I gave you an antipyretic, painkillers, and some vitamins to keep you alive." He said, "Whatever you have that's causing the blackouts – I haven't treated it yet."

"Yo-you haven't examined me?" Although I was still in the clothes I wore yesterday, I needed to ask. I knew that confirmation would ease the part of my mind that was still anxious.

"No. I'm not sure if you were having nightmares, but you kept saying 'Don't touch me'. So, I didn't."

I looked down again, imagining my face was redder than a lobster. My embarrassment mingled with my worries and fear. Who knew what else I might have said in my sleep? I hoped that whatever it was, wasn't something too serious. Though, if it was, Dr. Cullen wasn't showing it.

As a matter of fact, his face was too blank, clear of any emotions. I couldn't tell what he was thinking or read him at all. It was frustrating; I always read people so well.

"It wasn't directed to you," I told him, my voice so low I wondered if he heard me.

"To whom, then?"

I shook my head slightly. "Nobody." There was no way I was going to give him the answer to that.

Silence blanketed the room for a minute or two; the only sound that cut through was my stomach growling dramatically. I was grateful that Dr. Cullen wasn't close enough to hear it.

"When was the last time you ate?" he asked, and I wondered if he actually could hear the noises my stomach was making from where he was sitting. But it couldn't be possible; it must have been a coincidence.

"I don't – I don't remember."

Dr. Cullen gave me a knowing look, then got up. He took something out of a bag that rested on the nightstand beside my bed, then offered it to me.

"I brought you some chicken soup," he said. "Eat it, please."

I stared at him. I couldn't understand why he was doing all of this. I wanted to ask a thousand questions, and I wanted to tell him a million words, but I spoke none.

I thought maybe I was dreaming; all of this could be a dream. A nice dream. A dream where I was warm, and not in so much pain. A dream where warm chicken soup was waiting for me, brought by a nice guy who acted like he cared, for no reason at all.

Maybe I didn't mind living the dream.

I took the container from him, and said a small "Thank you." The container had kept the food warm, and I knew I would be savoring the hot soup as fast as I could.

I didn't care how pathetic I looked as I feasted on the soup like a cavewoman. It tasted great, but swallowing wasn't at all pleasant. When I finished, my stomach was again growling, but for different reasons.

"I'm going to be sick." I hurried to the bathroom. Dr. Cullen acted quickly, holding my IV as he trailed behind me. I couldn't make it to the toilet; it was just a step away from the sink, but that was the furthest I could get.

If I was embarrassed before, I was beyond that now. He held my hair out of the way for me with his free hand, telling me that it was okay every time I told him that I was sorry.

When I got back to my bed, Dr. Cullen was busy hanging the IV bag back in place. I took the time to catch my breath and try to quiet the thoughts in my head. There were too many, and I couldn't seem to be able to control them.

"The IV will finish soon. Only one left to go. I'll have to come back tomorrow if that's okay with you, Bella."

Instead of thanking him, the niggling thought made its way out of my mind and played on my tongue. "Why are you doing this?" I asked abruptly.

"Doing what? The IV?" he asked, although I had a feeling he knew exactly what I meant.

"The heater, the drive home, the treatment. Why are you being so kind to me? I'm a stranger." It wasn't making a bit of sense in my head. The only thing I could think about was that he wanted something in return. But I literally had nothing to offer him. Nothing. Well, maybe just one thing – but I'd rather die first.

Dr. Cullen returned to his seat by the end of my bed, and smiled softly before replying. "I'm not sure. Maybe because my wife would've killed me if I left you to die when I knew you needed help."

"Die?" Although in the back of my mind I was aware that I was slowly dying by living this way, it still felt horrible to hear it from somebody else.

"Yes, Bella. You were going to freeze to death if I left you in that alley where you were hiding. If not, then here in this – place." He said the last word as if he was trying really hard not to use another word and offend me. "You need a checkup; you don't look very healthy."

I looked down again, and it seemed that it was all I could do to escape replying to him.

"Bella, may I ask, how old are you?"

My cheeks heated up again. "Twenty … twenty-two." I said with hesitation.

"Don't lie to me, Bella. I saw your teeth when I checked your airway at the shop. I can tell you're not even eighteen yet."

I swallowed thickly; I didn't know that doctors were able to figure that out just by looking at your teeth. "Almost eighteen. My birthday is on the 13th of this month."

Dr. Cullen smiled again. "That's ten days from now. Well, in case I can't say it on the 13th – happy birthday to you."

It was my turn to smile. "Thank you." Maybe Dr. Cullen was truly a good person, and not looking for something in exchange for his help. Or maybe, like he said, his wife would've killed him.

"So, do you often do things because you're scared of your wife's reaction?" I meant to sound funny, but I guess I failed, because something changed in Dr. Cullen's eyes when I said that.

"She scared me, yes. But only because I never wanted to upset her. I never wanted her to be mad at me, or cause her to shed one tear of sadness. So, yes, she scared me that way." His smile was sad, "She was the kindest woman on planet Earth."

I gaped at him, "Was?"

"Yes, was. She passed away five years ago." He pressed his lips into a tight line.

"I'm so sorry, Dr. Cullen." I always hated those words being said to a grieving person, but it was all I could think of. It seemed that he was deeply hurt by her death, even after so many years.

"I'm sorry, too." He paused for a second, then asked the questions I had been fearfully anticipating since I told him my age. "So, I told you about my wife; will you tell me about your parents now? Where are they? And how did you end up living like this?"

~WtSGD~

Winner of the week is: brittany86

Author note:

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Until we meet next Saturday…
Love and kisses.

Cozy.