Chapter Four: Accident

I loved my job. Not in the "I'm grateful to be making money" kind of way, but in the sense that it was a perfect fit for me. I got to spend most of my shift among the stacks, restocking books, and making mental notes about which ones looked interesting enough to check out for myself. When I wasn't putting books back, I sat at a desk waiting for students to come to check out books. I was able to get quite a bit of homework done at that time, which seriously helped my stress levels.

I wondered all day on Tuesday if I would see Edward at the library or if my blathering had scared him away. I was trying not to be too intense, trying to keep things light between us, because even if he wasn't interested in me, part of me didn't care. I wanted to get to know him. I wanted him in my life. To summarize, I was a hopeless case.

But he never came, and when I arrived at Lit. class on Wednesday, he was sitting several rows away from me. He smiled tightly when he saw me and said goodbye when we left the classroom, but nothing more. It was like we hadn't spent over three hours together in the most riveting intellectual conversation I had ever had. I knew I spent too much time wondering why, but once again-hopeless case.

I tried to put him out of my mind and focus on my studies and work. I almost wished I'd had some sort of relationship in high school, some head-over-heels type crush so I could have gotten it out of my system, but no one had caught my eye, and I think that was part of the problem. No one held a candle to the version of Edward I had begun creating in my mind, and I began to wonder if even Edward himself could compare.

Friday was much the same. Edward was in class but didn't say a word to me until the end when he spoke briefly to both Robby and me about our project in the fifteen minutes Professor Poole afforded us. We began to divide up the work, giving Robby the intro, which I had already fleshed out for him, and Edward and I took a novel each as our parts. He was not unkind, but there was none of the warmth about him when I had felt earlier in the week.

I arrived at my shift, confused and disheartened, and honestly tired of feeling like I wasn't in control anymore. I resolved that once we had finished our presentation, I could properly let this whole fantasy of Edward Cullen go. I had far more important things to worry about...right?

So when said Edward Cullen appeared in front of my help desk on Friday evening, feigning an inability to find some book within its proper place on the third floor-a book which I recalled shelving not twenty minutes prior-I was more than a little irritated.

"What's wrong?" Edward asked me, following close behind as I stormed to the section of books in question, absolutely sure I would find the book right where I had placed it and annoyed that Edward felt the need for pretenses. He'd been avoiding me all week. If he couldn't just make up his mind as to whether or not he wanted to talk to me, whether or not we could be friends, I would make it up for him.

"I'm honestly tired of this emotional roller coaster you seem to want me to ride," I said as I brushed my fingertips along the call numbers in search of his book on fashion design in the 1800s. Honestly, what the heck did he want with a book like that, anyway? Oh, right. "Varied interests."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Bella," he said lightly, watching my face as I found the place where I had placed the book, only to find it missing.

I wanted to punch that self-satisfied look off of his face, but I refrained.

"Someone must have checked it out," I muttered, knowing my face must have been a horrible shade of red. But I wasn't going to be distracted from the matter at hand. "Are you trying to tell me that you are unaware of your mood swings? One day you talk to me, and the next, you ignore my existence. We go from talking for hours to not talking at all. What gives, Edward?"

He stood beside me, too close for comfort. His mouth was a thin line, his eyes boring into me. He lifted a hand to rest behind me on the bookshelf, but his stance was casual. "We shouldn't be friends, Bella."

"And why not?" I asked, my lips pursing with displeasure.

"I wouldn't be a good friend for you," he said with false lightness.

"If you're referring to your mood swings, I kinda got that impression already."

His arm fell, as did his semblance of levity, as his expression darkened.

"Tell me you don't want to be my friend. Tell me you don't want me in your life," he said softly. "And you won't have to worry about me bothering you anymore."

"I can't do that, Edward," and suddenly, the thought occurred to me, "Is that what you want?" My eyes betrayed me-I just knew it. They were growing misty, my voice beginning to feel less steady.

He didn't answer, didn't move. I wasn't even sure he was breathing.

"Fine," I said, moving past him to return to my post at the help desk. To give me something to do, I rechecked the status of the book he had been looking for. It was checked out.

But he was walking back to me, determination set on every inch of his face. "Bella," he began again, but I'd already tuned him out.

"You were right," I said. "The book isn't there. Someone must have checked it out on another floor. Sorry I couldn't give you what you wanted. Enjoy your night, Edward."

I left him there, standing at the help desk with his mouth open, eyebrows raised, and eyes wide in surprise. It was an odd look for someone I had imagined to always be so composed, so...proper.

I took the reshelving cart with me and walked to the very end of the floor. Grabbing a handful of books, I turned to begin placing them on the shelf, not paying any attention to the numbers on their spines. Because Edward was still standing on the other side of the library, watching me, his expression unchanged.

Good. He didn't deserve for me to make this easy for him. Whatever his problem was, whatever issue kept him from being a decent human being, it was his to deal with. I was done.

I'd massively misjudged the weight of the next handful of books I picked up and I felt myself losing my balance. Self-preservation told me to drop the books, but in doing so I only served to crush my feet as I continued tumbling backward. As a last-ditch effort, I lunged for the shelf in front of me and held fast. For a split second, I thought it had worked-that I would be able to correct myself with only a bruised foot and ego. And then I was falling again, only this time the whole bookshelf was coming with me.

I had the fleeting thought that it was an odd way to go. Death by falling books. If anyone could do it, it would be me. I instinctually closed my eyes and braced myself for impact, knowing full well it wouldn't do any good. But I wasn't falling anymore, and instead, a cool arm snaked about my waist, holding me in place as the sound of books thumping to the ground around me filled my ears.

I opened my eyes to find Edward Cullen's face mere inches from mine, one arm still around my waist, while the other held the metal siding of the bookshelf in place. As he pushed it upwards with one hand, I noticed the indentation he had left there. Then his eyes darted from my face to the shelf behind me. Several massive tomes hit me before I registered that the first shelf had knocked the one opposite me, and, instead of falling backward in a domino effect that the laws of physics would dictate, it was making its way toward me. It just figured.

Edward cursed harshly, his body rotating to the opposite side, I realized, to try and shield me from the heavy encyclopedias which had already begun their descent. My eyes widened in fear-he was about to be crushed! Perhaps at this point, I shouldn't have been surprised that, when the shelf hit against Edward's back, it stopped moving. The rest of the books came tumbling down, and, aside from a goose egg on the back of my head and a smarting foot, I seemed to have survived relatively unscathed.

When the last book had tumbled to the floor and Edward had righted the shelves, he finally looked down at me, panic in his eyes.

"How did you do that?" I asked breathlessly, rubbing the back of my head.

"Bella, are you alright?" He asked, his cool hand ghosting down my arm. "I think you hit your head pretty hard. Does anything else hurt?"

"No," I said, pulling away from his hand. I didn't need him to baby me.

Edward's arm returned to his side instantly.

"How did you get over here so fast?" I asked in a whisper, my voice filled with wonder.

Edward's jaw tightened. "I was already on my way over here. You must not have seen me."

"No, I did," I insisted. "You were over at the desk-nowhere near here. How did you get over to me so fast? And how did you keep these shelves from crushing me? They're really heavy."

Edward bent down until we were at eye-level, his eyes searching. I felt my pulse pounding and wondered for a split second if he was about to kiss me.

"We need to get your head checked out," he murmured. "I think you might have a concussion."

"I'm fine, Edward," I said testily. "I just want you to explain what is going on. Seriously, how did you do that."

Edward followed my gaze to the handprint indented into the bookcase's metal siding. He winced, shaking his head.

"Come on," he said, carefully grabbing the sleeve of my sweater. "Let's get you checked out."

"I'm not a book, Edward," I said, stifling a giggle. Me? Giggling? Perhaps I was in shock? "Where are we going?"

"To the hospital," he said, pulling me towards the elevator.

"But-but my job! I have to clean up all the books! I can't just walk away. And my textbooks!"

Edward pulled out his phone. His fingers flew across the keyboard as he wrote what I assumed was a text. He stopped briefly at the help desk, grabbed my backpack, and continued on towards the elevators.

"Taken care of," he said. "Now, let me take care of you before there is any permanent damage."

"You're seriously overreacting-unless it is just a tactic to distract me from-" I waved an arm dramatically towards the other side of the library as Edward gently pulled me into the elevator. "-whatever that just was."

"I'm seriously concerned for you, Bella. I can see a bruise forming on your neck and shoulder, so I can only imagine what other injuries you have."

"I can't go to the hospital!" I said, feeling the panic rising.

"If it's a matter of money, you don't need to worry about it."

"Why do you automatically assume I'm worried about money?" I demanded, taking in his stupid designer clothes for the first time. No wonder he always looked so put together. His parents were probably loaded. He could afford to take frivolous courses like literary theory, after all.

"You are here on a scholarship, Bella," he said with a shrug. "Scholarship students tend to be more conscious of such things. But as I said, you don't need to worry."

"I'm not letting you pay for a stupid ER visit, Edward."

Edward looked amused as he gently led me out of the elevator and through the first-floor lobby. "Okay. No ER visit."

He was still leading me across the quad to the nearest parking lot and I, too curious for what would happen next-probably to my own detriment-just let him gently pull me by the arm, staring trustingly into his amber eyes. Every few minutes as he bent down to check if my eyes were dilated or whatever such thing he felt the need to check for. It sent a shiver through me, which of course he took as chill brought on by shock.

We got to his car, a sleek silver Volvo that looked significantly more expensive than my old truck, and he opened the passenger-side door for me. Instead of dwelling on the fact that I was getting into a car at night with a guy from one of my classes who, for all intents and purposes, was a stranger, my mind chose to focus on the fact that his car smelled of him. Self-preservation who? But in reality, I felt completely calm. I trusted Edward, though I couldn't quite explain why. Edward, on the other hand, seemed to be having a panic attack.

"Careful how hard you grip that steering wheel," I said, watching Edward spiral. "You don't want to crush it with your superhero strength."

His eyes shot to my face. "What are you talking about, Bella?"

I laughed humorlessly. "Okay, so you're just going to pretend that what happened back there was normal? Edward, not even a bodybuilder could have done what you just did."

"You hit your head, Bella. Or rather, multiple things hit your head."

It felt like we'd barely been in the car for a minute before he was pulling into a parking garage.

"Where are we going?" We hadn't even left campus yet.

"The University hospital," he said, parking the car and quickly making his way to the passenger's side to open the door for me. He didn't hold onto my arm as I was perfectly willing to walk with him if it spent spending more time in his presence. Even if he was completely overreacting.

"You said no ER," I said as the emergency room sign came into view. Edward turned course slightly to a different door.

"No ER," he reaffirmed.

"Then why are we here, Edward? Do you have some secret job at the hospital? Are you going to use your superpowers to x-ray my brain? Or do you have some medical expertise you haven't let on about?"

"I'm taking you to see my father," Edward said lightly, pushing the elevator button.

"What?" I asked. My voice sounded hollow and I was pretty sure all the color had drained from my face. Edward seemed to notice too because he had his arms on shoulders and was looking closely at me again.

"Are you alright?" he asked. "Are you going to faint?"

I batted his hands away, reluctantly. "I'm fine, Edward. Honestly, I've had much worse. Ask anyone."

"Like your roommates? They would be just as concerned, believe me."

"You don't even know my roommates, Edward," I countered. "They know I'm not that delicate."

Edward kept silent as the elevator ascended to the third floor. The hallway was mostly empty, but we passed a nurse's station where a middle-aged nurse greeted Edward with a smile.

"Evening, Edward," she said. "Carlisle is on rounds. Did you want me to call him for you?"

"Yes, please," Edward said smoothly, not pausing on his way down the hallway. "I'll just wait in his office."

Edward opened a door down the hall, and we slipped inside. This, I guessed, was "Carlisle's office." It was an attractive little room, with medical books lining one wall, a large wooden desk, and some comfortable chairs. Edward insisted I sit in one and put my feet up on the other, still so sure that I was in shock. We only had to wait a few minutes before the door opened and one of the most attractive men I've ever seen entered the room.

If Edward hadn't told me his biological parents were dead, I'd have thought Carlisle was his real father. It wasn't so much that their features were similar-except for the eyes. They seemed to have the same amber eyes, and I wondered at the statistical impossibility of that. Additionally, they both had the same pale complexion.

"What's happened, Edward?" Carlisle asked, looking between Edward and me. They seemed to be locked in some silent staring contest before Edward finally spoke.

"Carlisle, this is Bella. Bella, this is Carlisle, my father. Bella had an accident in the library, and I'm afraid she might have a concussion."

Carlisle nodded, pulling a small flashlight from his pocket. "May I?" he asked, and I quickly pulled my feet down from the second chair, sitting up straighter. Carlisle sat down in the chair and leaned toward me. He held the flashlight up, instructing me to follow his finger while he examined my eyes.

"Several heavy books hit her head," Edward went on to explain. "And she was limping, so I think she might have hurt her foot as well."

I couldn't help the exasperated sigh that escaped my lips. The corners of Carlisle's mouth turned up.

"You don't like to be the victim, do you Bella?" he smiled knowingly.

I frowned and shook my head. Carlisle chuckled as he gently felt the back of my head where I had been hit by a book. His hands were cold and I flinched slightly as they made contact with my scalp.

"Sorry," he murmured. "The A/C in here is ridiculous." Then, after another moment, "Well, based on what I'm seeing, I don't think it's a concussion. But if you experience any-"

"-nausea, blurry vision, drowsiness, or headache, go see a doctor immediately." I knew the list by heart.

Carlisle chuckled again, and Edward sighed loudly.

"How's your foot?" Carlisle asked, sitting back in his chair.

"I've had worse," I said with a shrug, and it was true. "I'm pretty sure I'd know if it were broken." And there was no way in flaming, fiery hell that I was taking my shoe and sock off in a small, closed space in front of Edward Cullen.

"You can't know that," Edward huffed. "It could be a hairline fracture. You would be dealing with chronic pain and possibly irreversible damage for the rest of your life."

"I don't know what you want me to tell you, Edward," said Carlisle, standing up and moving to the other side of the desk. "Your friend seems to be just fine to me. A little bruised, but bruises heal. I could run a whole slew of expensive tests to put your mind at ease, but I don't think Bella would thank you for it."

"I wouldn't," I grumbled, folding my arms across my chest. "I didn't even want to come here in the first place."

Carlisle gave Edward a meaningful look, then said, "You should take Bella home, Edward. It was nice meeting you, Bella."

Edward pouted the whole five minutes it took to drive back to school. He walked me to my dorm in silence, watching me like a hawk, as if I were a fractured china doll who would shatter at any moment.

"I expect some answers, you know," I said as Edward opened the lobby door for me. He was apparently determined to see me all the way to my dorm as if I couldn't handle a single flight of stairs.

"I know," he said quietly. "I wish you would let it go."

"I can't," I said. "It will drive me crazy wondering, theorizing...not good for my headache."

"You have a headache?" Edward asked sharply.

"Calm yourself. You're going to give yourself ulcers-or an aneurysm."

Edward laughed loudly and the sound echoed through the quiet hallway.

"Sh!" I whisper harshly. "This is a quiet zone. You're going to get me in trouble." Edward just shook his head in disbelief and followed me to my door.

"This is me," I said, pulling out my key but not wanting to open the door. Unless… "Did you want to come in? I'd love to hear your explanation. It might help me sleep more soundly tonight."

"I doubt that," said Edward. "Not tonight, Bella. I don't think that would be a good idea."

"You never think spending time with me would be a good idea." I still couldn't figure out why that was, and the not knowing was driving me crazy, especially because it seemed like he wanted to spend time with me.

Edward leaned against the doorframe, once again trying to look casual. I saw straight through his feigned levity. He was trying to put me off again. "Because it wouldn't."

"I'm going to want answers. I'm not letting this go so easily. And I don't have a concussion, so you can stop blaming it on that. "

"I don't have answers for you, Bella," he said, pushing himself away from the door and making his way back down the hallway.

"Edward," I called, annoyed.

He turned back to me, a finger to his lips. "Bella," he whispered. "It's a quiet zone."

And he was gone, down the stairs and into the night, wherever it is that superheroes go at night. My heart continued pounding and my stomach was fluttering until long after he was gone. Did he have any idea the kind of effect he had on me? Even when he was being a complete prick?

Contrary to Edward's insinuations, Jessica and Angela hardly batted an eye when I walked into the apartment limping, made my way to our little medicine cabinet, and took two Tylenol.

"Was it the stairs again?" Angela asked from her place nestled into Ben Cheney's chest as they watched the end of some movie, the romantic score building dramatically and pounding in my ears.

"Something like that," I said, making my way to my room. I laid in silence on my bed, staring up at the sloped ceiling and replaying the day's events in my mind.

Regardless of whatever excuses Edward was going to try and make, what he had pulled off in the library was not luck or normal. At. All. No one takes the entire weight of a long, tall, heavy metal bookcase and holds it with their back or one measly hand. It wasn't possible. And when he was peppered with books, he didn't so much as flinch. But he was concerned about the very few books which had slipped past his body-turned-shield and how they might have affected me. In other words, he was worried about how breakable I am but was totally unconcerned for his own safety. Meaning...he didn't need to worry about himself. Because of his inhuman strength, or something else entirely?

I wondered if I paid closer attention to the news, would I find stories of mysterious evil-doers being turned into the police, or of a masked vigilante doing good by the dark of night? Was I dealing with a Batman or Superman type situation? Human or superhuman? For a moment I let myself revel in how ridiculous that line of thought was but...what other explanation was there?

"Ugh," I groaned, knowing I would have a terrible night's sleep and a very long weekend waiting for Monday and the answers I had every intention of demanding from a certain bronze-hair young man.