Okay, I know I was writing in third person, but I had to switch to first, because I do better with first, and have no idea why I ever started writing in third to begin with. Anything from Martha's POV will be in first from now on, so help sort out any confusion. Sorry it's been so long. Please review!
He gave me a look, which I took as a glare. "I do not believe we have met before," he said icily.
"Yeah, we did, well actually, you sort of ran into me, if you know what I mean," I said in a cold voice, with a glare as icy and venomous as his.
"Oh… I apologize. I was in a hurry to tell my father something." His stare penetrated through me, as if into my very soul. Shivers ran down my spine.
"Well whatever the hurry, you could stand to be polite." I scolded.
"Edward, thank you for letting me know. You'd better be getting home, now. I presume you have a lot of homework?" Doctor Cullen interjected, leaning against the side of his desk.
"Yes, I do." He looked at me. "Graduation soon, I have loads of homework every night. It was nice to meet you…"
"Martha." I told him. "The pleasure is all mine."
He smiled wryly at me, a somewhat sarcastic look in his eyes. His very odd-colored eyes… He inverted his eyes away from mine, turning and quickly striding out of the room. I watched his retreating back, in a state of hypnotic curiosity.
"Martha, what did you want to see me about?" Doctor Cullen asked me, snapping my attention back to reality.
"Oh.. I… I just came to see how you were doing."
"Fine, fine," he said. "Thank you for checking in. You're on your way out?"
"Yeah, gonna pick up some food, watch some movies… fun stuff." I smiled. "Have a good night."
"Yes, you too." He smiled pleasantly, sitting back down in his chair.
I turned and walked out of the room, thoughts swirling through my mind. Why was Edward Cullen in my dream? Attacking… possibly killing me? I tried to shake the thoughts from my head. But then, who else had been in the dream. It was the Doctor. So what was better to think about? The son of the new Doctor killing me, or the man I loved, but had to leave? I sighed. It was so complicated being me.