Disclaimer- The characters belong to Stephenie Meyer, not me.

A/N- Yes, Bella has an eating disorder in this fanfic, among other things. I thought I'd show it to you all, what it's like to live with one, the amount of guilt that it puts you through with worrying your friends and family.

EPOV

I watched from a distance as Isabella Marie Swan sat at her table, alone, wiping it off, carefully, with a Clorox wipe from a small pack in her backpack. Then, she wiped off the dampness of the wipes with a paper napkin. She very carefully shined the water spots off her silverware, even between the tines of her fork. She carefully arranged her silverware on an unbent, unsoiled paper napkin, as if she were expecting a plate of food to be set down. I watched as she arranged her salt and pepper shakers in a particular way. She frowned, stole a glance around the dining room, and swapped out her pepper for one that had as much in it as the salt. She arranged them, perfectly, side-by-side, with the artificial sweetener packets box in the middle. She smiled, briefly, but not happily. She polished off all the salt, pepper and sugar on the canisters with a paper napkin. She set the sugar canister over to the side, then. She set her water glass down on a paper napkin, wiping up the condensation circle. It was a ritual for her. She rubbed her forearm, that strange way I had seen her do at my party, and smiled, smoothing her hair.

When the waitress stopped by, she set the coffee cup and saucer down, splashing a few drops of coffee down on the table, accidentally knocking it with her hip, sending Bella's carefully arranged pieces precious centimeters off. She lifted the coffee cup and wiped off the saucer with another paper napkin until it was completely dry. Paper napkins were Bella's best friend. Bella looked a little upset by this, but didn't say anything. She wiped off the offending coffee stain from the table, and started her ritual all over again, including the polishing of the canisters, although I thought it unnecessary.

She seemed to relax when things were in order. When it was done, she finally put some artificial sweetener into her coffee. The way she did it was interesting. The first thing she did was she picked up the little pink envelope. Then, she flicked it with her fingernails to make sure it was all in the bottom of the pouch. Then, she tore it carefully with the tips of her fingernails so only the ridges of the envelope were off. She emptied it into the bowl of the spoon, first, then stirred it into the coffee itself. She ladled a spoonful of the coffee into the spoon and carefully sipped it like soup. Then, she carefully stuck the torn off envelope bits into the pouch and then folded it into an even tiny square. I could see that she had been exercising and she looked a little green. Probably low blood sugar from hard exercise and no carbohydrates in her system for her body to run off. Coffee wasn't going to do it. And it was obvious to anybody.

Classic eating disorder. The rituals held off the panic attacks- and the rituals were so lavish they caused her to eat less and less, they were so exhausting. The weight loss was just a side effect of the OCD behavior. She blew onto the coffee to cool it some more. She waited for a few minutes until it was cooled off, just watching it. The coffee cup sat where a plate of food would have gone. She carefully took the coffee in like soup with a spoon. It was bizarre, at best, but I had seen it before. Lots of teenage girls who had predisposed heart conditions made them worse when they fell into eating disorders. I had to understand them in my field.

Something about her was in pain. At her apartment on Spencer St., I had dropped off her license, but Alice and Jasper had invited me in. I had commented on the different black-and-white prints and they walked me around to see the pictures. They were beautiful- the person who took them had a way of connecting with their subjects. You could see something personal in it. There was something about the artist in those photographs, too. The photographer saw something painful, but beautiful. And then, Alice informed me that Bella had taken all of those pictures- some with the camera that had been ruined.

I had to stop her from acting so strangely in public for now, although she was so good at making it look normal. Nobody in the restaurant was watching her. A part of me, after seeing such a personal side of her, felt as if I owed her something normal. I fought myself for a moment, but it felt like forever. I had to. I came over to her table. She didn't see me.

"Hello, Bella," I said, standing by her table.

She looked up, and her cheeks flamed. She had such a lovely blush against her pale, almost translucent skin. Her mouth opened, slightly. She actually looked pretty for a moment. My heart ached.

BPOV

I sat at the diner table and arranged the salt and pepper shakers perfectly side-by-side, the sugar right behind it. I needed a little something to keep myself from feeling so nauseated after my run this afternoon. I had done well today- no food, yet, just a diet coke, some water and an apple. I shouldn't have eaten that apple at all, too many sugars. But, it was better than eating a cookie. I should have been eating an ounce of lean protein, like broiled chicken, but I had given myself an apple, which resulted in extra laps at the track.

After the waitress served me, the coffee cup was at a perfect 45 degree angle, and the utensils were perfectly straight. My napkin was at a perfect perpendicular angle to the coffee cup and the salt and pepper shakers. I rubbed the lump on my forearm. I could finally began to sip my coffee through my spoon. I began ladling it through my spoon so I didn't burn myself by sipping it.

"Hello, Bella."

I looked up to see jewel-like green eyes. I flushed with embarrassment. I had been doing my stupid rituals while dressed in my fugly sweatshirt with a stain on it, my hair was fuzzy and looked like crap and Edward Masen had seen it. I wondered how much he had seen.

"Hi," I replied finally.

"Can I sit down?" he asked.

"Oh, sure," I said.

He sat down across from me. He had circles under his eyes and he looked tired. It had obviously been a long couple of days for him. "So, how have you been?" he asked.

"I'm alright," I said. "How was your three-day shift?"

"It was a three day shift," he said, shrugging. "Would you like to go out to dinner sometime?"

The idea of actually eating dinner in front of someone was frightening to me. I wasn't used to eating in front of people, but I rarely got asked out by anybody that was as sexy and fascinating as Edward Masen. I didn't have to actually eat. "OK," I said.

"Can you give me twelve hours to recover?" he asked. "Tonight, can I pick you up at 8?"

"Sure," I said.

"I'll see you then," he said, getting up.

"Alice, I have a clothing emergency," I said, dialing my cell phone once he was out of sight.