Disclaimer: I do not own anything Twilight. If I did, I would be living in the Caribbean sipping pina colada's and working on my not-tan, not sitting here typing away and watching Burn Notice re-runs.

My most fabulous Beta is Danell...as of today she owns my soul and gets my first-born offspring for putting up with me.

Please slip me some lovin' and tell your friends, I'm a whore that way *shrug-winks*

Chapter Two

There was a reason that Alice, or Mary Alice Brandon as she was referred to by fans the world over, had become my best friend. The petite brunette was feisty as hell and would do anything to protect me. I had no family to speak of. My mother had apparently died years ago, and after being estranged from her since preschool, I really had never spent too much time obsessing over it. My father and I lived thousands of miles away from each other and had little, if not nothing to say. I sent him gifts for his birthday and Christmas. I got a birthday card from his secretary, his name stamped inside, with a check or money order for $22.64, which I never cashed. If we spoke on the phone, which had been six years, he asked me who I was screwing now. We did not have, what you would call, a healthy relationship. Alice Brandon was my family.

I sat across from her at the cafe now, watching her dig into the loaded omelette she ordered with total abandon. I sipped my coffee somewhat bitterly. I loved Alice, "Ali", as I usually referred to her. But it was the kind of love that one has for a princess they just happened to know intimately well. You may love them, but you can't relate. She was stunningly gorgeous. Her jet-black hair, an ash-black hue now for the winter months, mixed with her bright blue eyes and flawless skin for true perfection. And despite the fact she had silky fair skin, she was not plagued with paleness year-round. She tanned beautifully. Her hair never frizzed. Her teeth were pearly white and straight. She was married to a god. Oh, yeah. Her husband, Jasper Whitlock, was not only the sexiest thing to walk Los Angeles, but adored her more than the air he breathed. The fact that his step-brother, Emmett McCarty was my ex, only slightly hampered the relationship.

"Bella? Earth to Isabella Marie Swan?" Alice was waving around her fork in exasperation. "Where were you just now?"

"Thinking about you," I smiled, "And how much you love me."

"I do, you know," she smiled softly before furrowing her beautiful brow. "Now, I need you to tell me this again. Start from the beginning."

"Agghhh, Ali! Come on! I've told it twice! It's not going to change!"

"You must've left something out," she leaned forward, waiting for the scoop, then once again getting distracted by her omelette.

"No. Nothing got left out. It was utter humiliation and degradation. I wanted to die. I almost cried in front of him. He laughed at me. I. Hate. Him." I looked at her pointedly. Our eyes met and we both stifled back a giggle. Our laughter rang out in the cafe and the few patrons they had eyed us suspiciously.

"Ah, Bella... Those were the days," Alice sighed, wiping a tear from her eye. I tried to stifle my hysterics, but exhaustion only made them worse.

"Ugghh, whatever, Al," I rolled my eyes, "I know you wouldn't go back to that time if you could. You have the perfect life!"

"Nothing's perfect, Bells," she looked at me intently, and then smiled, "But I guess my life comes pretty close."

"Yeah, lucky bitch. How's Jazz? I haven't talked to him in a while, it feels like," I asked.

"He's good. He says Emmett misses you," she lowered her voice.

"Yeah, I'm sure," I muttered. God, when had I become this old bitter woman?

"Okay, change of subject," Alice perked up. "Did it ever occur to you that Edw—"

"Don't. Don't say his name, please. It's less real that way," I shuddered and pulled my gray hoodie closer around me.

"Okay," I could tell she really didn't understand. How could she? "Did it ever occur to you that, this person, maybe truly wanted to get to know you?"

"No," I looked at her like she'd grown another head. Was she kidding?

"Did you not hear my story?" I asked her in shock. It seemed so obvious to me.

"Yes..." she said cautiously. "And if there is one thing I know about you, is you have taken every little thing he said and did and turned it into something malicious. Like he was mocking you."

"He was!!"

"Bella!" she looked stricken. "For what purpose? Don't you think he has better things to do with his life?"

"Apparently not." I scoffed. "I mean, he WAS at Ralph's at 3 a.m. searching for someone to help him cook. Still don't know what that was about."

"I guess we never will," Alice spoke so softly, I was unsure whether she intended me to hear or not. Her eyes told me she had.

"Whose side are you on?" I felt my face going red.

"I didn't know there were 'teams' to join," she teased, her skin still a damn perfect shade of soft ivory cream.

"Very funny. Can you be serious? This was humiliating!"

"Why? I must be missing something, Bella," Alice shook her perfect, glossy raven head, as though to taunt me and flashed her perfect, strait white teeth.

"Why did I think you would understand? You've never understood when it comes to my insecurities with men!" I accused, although I knew as I said it that it was unfair.

"That's not fair, Bella," she said calmly. I knew she'd say that. Damn pixie mind reader.

"Well how can you really understand? Things have always come easily for you! You're beautiful, without even trying! I work non-stop and at best, am meagerly attractive! You—"

"I am not going to listen to the same assault on yourself, Bella. It's just not true. Wake up and see yourself the way other people see you. You're beautiful! I'm sorry that you were put down your whole life by your father and that you can't let a man get close to you. Emmett wanted to spend his life with you—"

"Oh Lord. Emmett dumped ME, remember?" I spat at her angrily. Why was I angry at her? It was the stupid limey I was mad at. Wait. Why was I mad at him again? Oh, yeah, he made me feel like shit. On purpose. Right.

"Em begged you to go to counseling, to open your eyes and let him love you, to believe you were worthy of it—"

"I can't do this right now," I stood. I had never really told my friends all the details about our break-up. To many friendships were on the line and it wasn't worth it to me to feel justified. We were getting loud and people were starting to feel uncomfortable. I was one of them. "I'll call you later."

"Please do, Bella," my best friend said softly. She was so calm; she'd barely got worked up at all, and only at the end when defending her brother-in-law. I knew what they all thought of me where Emmett was regarded. I knew they thought I had ruined my chance at happiness. Alice and Jasper loved me enough, thank God, to not throw it in my face. They were amazing people. More than family to me.

As I climbed into my SUV I pulled my iPhone out of the recesses of my cavernous purse and hit redial.

/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/

I seemed to spend a lot of time over the next few days in Borders on 3rd Street Promenade in Santa Monica. I lived on 2nd Street in a purchased condo that I had gutted and refurbished. I liked the ease of the neighborhood, even though it could be quite touristy in some areas of Santa Monica in general. I loved walking a few blocks north and up Montana Avenue to my local Pavilions grocery or continuing onward where there were an interesting mix of eclectic shops and cafes.

I'm not sure what was calling me to the tourist trap Promenade, but I inevitably wound up in Borders, the largest size of cafe au lait available, 'accidentally' winding up in the magazine section. Where of course, pictures of him were everywhere. I pretended that I was looking for House and Garden or some other decorating magazines.

I genuinely loved looking at the pictures and reading the articles of house renovations and remodeling. I wasn't as keen on landscaping, although I definitely appreciated it's beauty, I couldn't relate really. I preferred living in an apartment, and the selling point with the condo I had ultimately purchased was that it came with it's own private courtyard which happened to have a pool in it. The only reason I had been able to afford it was the seller had agreed through his attorneys to sell it for a fraction of it's worth, simply to avoid all the renovations it required. It was an older building and aside from the fact that it wasn't going to literally fall apart over my head, everything else was kaput and needed to be redone. The courtyard even looked like something Miss Havesham would have frequented in her love-lorn walks amongst her ruins in Great Expectations.

It had taken me three years to whittle away at project after project, hiring help only for those endeavors that I simply could not physically perform myself. I still had some aesthetic tweaking to do here and there, but essentially, the condominium was finished, and it looked fabulous. It lived even better.

But these past few days, despite my hand grabbing up my usual Architectural Digest and West Coast House, as I sat in a vacant corner of the bookstore on an upper floor with my ear buds in, relaxing to Flogging Molly, I found suddenly that my stack of periodicals was peppered with entertainment publications and smut mags. I was horrified as I realized I had been sitting for two hours staring at pictures of him, on more than one occasion the magazine held close up to my face as I tried to determine if something in his eyes would explain the other night. It's official. You've lost your mind.

On one such evening, as I stared diligently at one such picture and perused the article linking him to his leading lady from his popular film series, I found myself trying to figure out their body language. The pictures were taken from an after-party of another friend's film and usually it was not just the two of them snapped. They looked happy in each other's company, as they always had, and the chemistry between them was undeniable. It had been over a year since their last movie together had been released, much less filmed, and yet they were still 'friends.' I wondered.

Of course, honestly I had to admit that most of the photographs I'd seen pertained to projects he was currently filming, or occasionally him out on the town seeing one of his friend's play in a pub. His closest mates were all abroad currently apparently, according to the Star, and he was burying himself in his work wholeheartedly. Except for his early morning-late night haunts at local grocery stores to throw you into a total mind-fuck

I had thankfully just thrown down all the gossip magazines onto a nearby table, making my way to the restroom. My last Molly iTunes playlist had just rotated to the original song and I juggled my coffee, remaining architectural mags and my iPhone so that I could turn the music off when I heard someone clear their throat. I looked up into a dark corner to the left, in the direction of the persistent hacking, and saw him. He was pointedly motioning for me to walk toward him, but keeping to his small cubby tucked behind several bookshelves. He was wearing about sixteen layers of clothes, a skull cap and a full beard along with thick black glasses.

I wanted to keep walking and pretend I had not seen him, but my shocked expression and repressed chuckle gave away that I had. I tentatively removed one ear bud as I approached him, my voice soft.

"What the hell are you doing?" I laughed and crouched down beside him after he beckoned me to.

"Hiding," he answered with a laugh.

"From whom?" I was still going with my pretense of not knowing who he was, and I could see in his eyes that he knew it. To his credit, he did not call me on it.

"Debt collectors," he narrowed his eyes and smiled as if certainly this were the proper way to go about avoiding a few past due bills.

"Ah, well, I was just leaving," I lied. I had nothing to do and had planned on perusing various works of fiction before being detained.

"Oh? Where-you-eaded?" his English accent seemed to flow together in one sweep and I struggled to concentrate on what he was even saying instead of the tone in which he said it.

"No where," I answered too sharply and saw disappointment in his eyes. Is he really that lonely? Couldn't he just have books brought to him at his hotel rather than hide out in dark corners of stores hoping to go unnoticed?

"Would you like to get a cup of coffee with me?"

I shook my cup gently at him and smiled when he realized his error but sat down on the ground beside him nonetheless when he offered. I had no idea why I even sat down. I immediately wished I hadn't. Now we would have to talk, and I was sure I would regret that.

"So, why'd you run away from me the other day?" he cut right to the chase.

"I wasn't running from anything," I countered and then thought better of this, "I really can't stay. I was just headed out. Have a good day."

I hopped up despite his protests and bid him good day again before rushing off the floor, down an escalator and out the store, ignoring my aching bladder. I don't know if he followed me or not. I did not look back. I didn't want to see that injured look in his eyes from the parking lot. It was silly to feel sorry for someone like him. He's certainly got plenty of friends and more than enough things to occupy his time without harassing someone like me.

/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/

It was a rainy afternoon, the first week of November, the day before I started back on my rotation at work, and despite my protestations that cloudy weather does not get me 'down,' I was feeling a bit peakish. I had been in a funk all week, I acknowledged. Despite my daily trips to Borders, coffee shops, Anthropologie, and an occasional stop at my favorite pub, The Kings Head, I was still feeling 'out of it.'

I padded barefoot around my condo, cup of English Breakfast in hand, although it was three p.m., and let out a long sigh. I loved the way the charcoal grey stained concrete floors felt beneath my feet, even in the winter time. Jake followed me in my pacing, watching me pick up a book and put it back in frustration, listening to my sighs, his bright blue eyes seeking some sort of answer in my movements.

Plopping down on the sofa dramatically and grasping the remote, I surfed through the cable television channels in disappointment. Nothing was ever on! Jake laid at my feet, letting out a loud groaning complaint so I put my tea cup on the floor and stretched out on the couch, my arm hanging down to scratch his ears. He sighed complacently and closed his eyes. I lay there, listening to the rain falling, alone with my thoughts. Alone period.

I could always have gone to see Alice today, I was always welcome on set if I felt like it, and it was easy for her to square away a pass. Unfortunately, I just didn't feel like getting out. I wasn't enjoying being 'in' either. It was days like this I kinda missed Emmett. The problem there had been we just weren't compatible romantically. Not that we didn't get along as friends.

Rosalie and Alice and I had been friends before. Strange as it sounds, we met online. I was in nursing school in my hometown of New Orleans, Louisiana still at the time. We had met from a Facebook group devoted to our...what? Obsession with a certain film series? What a gripping life I led. I shuddered at the thought again. When I graduated, I moved out to Los Angeles, where my two close friends had landed roles on a television sitcom called Strangers. It had been their first real break into acting, aside from small roles here and there, and modeling gigs. Because they are both more gorgeous than you could ever imagine from Facebook. That was true. I had been stunned when I met them face to face.

Alice was a petite, sprite-like nymph with a ballerina background who bounced through life with such an enthusiasm, it was definitely contagious. Rosalie had been more successful with modeling, especially due to her height, but certainly not ignoring her being stunning. She's a goddess among women. The leggy, curvaceous blonde towered above both of us, especially since she practically always wore heels. I was well aware of the fact that if I had not known her before her hit TV show, there's no way in hell I would be friends with her.

When I moved to LA, Alice had just started regularly seeing Jasper Whitlock, an executive at Warner Brothers studio, which to my understanding was sort of a family job. Jasper's father had been a CEO, as had his grandfather. The Whitlock's apparently helped found the studios in some respect or another, and while Jasper certainly worked his adorable tail off, the job was probably a given. His stepbrother, Emmett McCarty, was an executive as well, but he had been in Europe a good bit doing over seas projects working in their foreign office.

When he moved back to take up the corner office down the hall from Jasper, pleasing both his mother and Jasper's father, it had been natural for us to meet. Rosalie was in a hot and heavy 'relationship' with a French heir and art collector and for a few months into Emmett's return, we didn't see her unless we happened to be onset while they taped Strangers. She spent all her time with Louis. And much of it in France.

It had all begun as just 'hanging out.' Jasper and Alice were literally inseparable. It was no surprise for them to announce their engagement only four months after beginning dating, and even less of a shocker that they eloped to Vegas one evening because they just didn't care about the wedding part. Emmett and I were their other 'pair.' We were always together. Jasper and Alice were yapping in both our ears constantly about how we were perfect for each other. I think happy people just want their best friends to be happy too. We should've left it at that.

I had loved Emmett. He was a great friend. Tall, and built like a Greek god, with one of the most agreeable personalities you will ever meet...well, it was easy to listen to my friend's advice. But loving someone does not equate being 'in love.' Caring about someone deeply does not mean you are attracted to them even on a slight level. I never felt turned on by Emmett. My heart rate would rise and my blood pressure would go up, but not because I wanted to jump him. Every time he would hold my hand, I had an instinct to pull it away. Whenever he would kiss me, despite him being an excellent kisser from what I could tell, I felt a stronger urge to run than to climb on top of him and rip his clothes off.

We weren't dating long when he proposed. I was astounded. We had no chemistry, aside from our great friendship. But in all honesty, I had never felt chemistry in my life, and I decided that perhaps this was all there was for someone like me. Close friendship, companionship, true emotion and safety.

And then a tabloid, the blight of all mankind, had caught pictures of Emmett leaving what looked like an intimate dinner with a well-known actress I was unacquainted with. I had stared at those pictures for hours, trying to decipher his posture, his hand on her hip as they stood outside the restaurant, and the intent of the hug between them. When I confronted him he nonchalantly told me he had to get his needs met somewhere. He saw no need for us to continue unless I was willing to go to counseling and figure out what was wrong with me that I didn't want to 'screw his brains out like a normal fiancé should.'

We had been engaged at that point for six months, had dated for six weeks, and had been friends for three months before that....and all of a sudden, I was faced with this ultimatum when he'd been the one who was cheating. I figured his plan had been to just keep on cheating, get married, and continue his extra-curricular activities. So I gave him his ring back and just chalked it up to me being an idiot. And not worth his trouble. If you weren't so messed up emotionally, he wouldn't have been stepping out on you to begin with.

That had been six weeks ago. I had not seen Emmett since. I only went to Alice and Jasper's if I knew he wouldn't be there, I ignored his calls and emails, and shrugged when my friends told me he missed me. Missed what?? Maybe he missed the 'old' us. The friends that would play scrabble and fight over his made up words. The friends that used to go sailing, or for long drives up in the hills, or eat waves trying to surf. That 'us' had been good. But it was also ruined now. And the sad part was, even though he was the one who come to find out had repeated infidelities, I honestly didn't blame him. I knew that I was not what a girlfriend or fiancé was supposed to be. I knew that it was unfair to him.

I honestly did not see myself being in a relationship ever again. I was successful, confident in my work, happy with my small group of friends, and just didn't see a need for something that I had never had, therefore, never knew what I was missing. If I couldn't relax and be with someone who was one of my most trusted friends, who would I ever feel like that with? I just did not see an 'us' of any kind when I looked at my future. I envisioned vomiting on the next person who tried to kiss me, which would certainly end things then and there.

/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/

It had been over a week and five hospital ER shifts since the initial horrible encounter, and my consequent fight with Alice. Well, it wasn't a fight. It was an argument. Well, I was the only one arguing. It was a one-sided act of aggression against the one person on this planet who loved me. Okay, now you're just being melodramatic.

I stood at the doctor's bay in the nurse's station, clicking absent-mindedly on the computer screen, finishing up with my last patient's record. I looked at the clock on the wall, 22:45. Thank God, it was almost time to leave. It had been one of those nights, filled with MVA's, cardiac arrests, three gun-shot wounds, two stabbings, a fetal demise, four cases of heartburn that were mistaken for heart attacks, and six psychiatric consults. And I was getting off shift at 11 p.m. I could only imagine what was yet to come.

The ambulance bay doors shot open and the newest arrival rolled in, nursing staff and technicians joining the paramedic for report, beginning to hook the patient up to the cardiac monitor, EKG, oxygen, and prepping for an IV line. My attention swayed that way briefly, as I listened to the paramedic rattle off the patient's signs and symptoms, vital signs and allergies. I shook my head to clear it. I was done for today.

"Excuse me," a voice said from my left. It was a tortuous voice, soft and cautious. And I knew exactly whom it belonged to. What the hell?

"I'm just getting off shift, sir. I'm certain one of the other NP's or doctors will be right with you," I did not look away from the computer, despite knowing the eyes, which I could feel staring at me. It hurt for some reason. I could feel his gaze boring a hole into me. It burned. I felt my face flush and heard him snicker softly. Damn my Irish bloodlines.

"I'm not waiting...I mean, as a patient," he laughed. It was a magical laugh. It held a secret. I did not want to know what the secret was.

"Okay, well—" click, click, click....

"It's Isabella, isn't it?" he had moved closer. My eyes shot away from the computer screen and that was when I saw he was 'disguised'.

"Well of all the—"I laughed shortly. He had his normal mix of casual, clean grunge mixed with 80's flair and hippy enthusiasm topped by a black leather bomber jacket...but the grey hooded sweatshirt underneath was raised up so the hood covered his trademark odd locks. He had crammed a black toque cap on top of that, as well as a fake stick on mustache and black RayBan sunglasses.

My lips pressed together to try to stifle another laugh and I looked around to see if anyone was watching him. Amazingly, and thanks to the recent ambulance arrivals, everyone was occupied elsewhere.

"Um," I bit my lip. He was enjoying my uncertainty immensely. "Someone from security is going to mistake you for the Unabomber." I motioned upward to the cameras.

"Better than the alternative," he laughed and motioned toward the exit.

"I have to finish here," I unfortunately clicked my last edit and the screen flashed that I was done and did I want to save. He chuckled.

"And now?"

"You can't read over my shoulder! Patient's charts are confidential!"

"Tell that to the press next time I have to have a sprained ankle set," he muttered under his breath and goofy mustache, but I pretended not to hear it.

"I have to go to my locker," I nodded for him to follow me. This was completely disorienting, and although I still had not admitted that I knew who he was, I knew that I could not leave him at the mercy of screaming fans in the form of patients and nurses that would come from nowhere if they penetrated his disguise. Why did I have penetrating on my mind? This was unbelievable. He shows up in a goofy outfit and smelly mustache and I'm feeling...desire? No. Remember, he makes fun of you. THIRD grade.

I walked calmly past the nurse's station and down the hall to the physician's lounge. The facilities here were fairly new and we had benefited from an exemplary work area. As soon as we were in the lounge, I headed around the corner for my locker, and began stripping out of my lab coat and scrubs.

"Um," he was standing behind me frozen in place, looking a bit like a perverted version of a cartoon character or a has-been vaudevillian. He averted his eyes, slowly, and then cleared his throat.

"I thought you'd wait out there!" I exclaimed, pulling my scrub bottoms back up. Great, he'd seen size 6 thighs. The man who saw size 0's 24/7 in his line of work had just been flashed by my size 6 in skimpy black lace boy-short panties. Please kill me. Please say something.

"What are you doing here?" I finally asked. How did he know who I was? And why did that matter.

"I came to find you," he returned his face to my direction, keeping his eyes on my face only. I realized then that I'd removed my scrub top already and was standing there clad in scrub bottoms and a black lace brassiere.

"Why?" I flushed immediately. One arm came up my abdomen vertically, resting between my breasts and the other arm wrapped itself around, my hand clamping onto my shoulder. That makes everything so much better now.

His eyes, as if involuntarily, fluttered downward to my cleavage. I honestly couldn't complain when it came to this area of my body. I'd always had a fairly nice rack. Size D. I'd thought any bigger might look disproportioned. Now, I wondered. His eyes raked over me, becoming hooded briefly and then returned to my face. His expression looked strange. I was frozen in place. I felt like a deer on the 101. I stood transfixed. What do you say to a famous person, dressed like a lunatic, staring at you half-naked with a look of...what? His eyes were flashing. Was he angry? Of course, you dolt. It's not every day that a damn screaming crazy takes her clothes off right in front of him, I guess. This must be extreme, even for him.

I flushed about ten different shades of purple and looked down at the ground, turning around to my locker and pulling my sweater out. I felt the tears coming to my eyes again and brushed one away with a little sigh, trying to keep my lower lip from jutting out like a child. God, I was tired.

Please, let him be gone when I turn around and let him never come back!

/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*/

Like? Don't like? Wanna tell me to burn my computer? Do it! Silence is so not golden! xx