A/N: Hey guys. I know it's been a long pause, but...actually, I don't have a real excuse. So never mind. There's no playlist for this one, because nobody is playing anything. However, if you want you can listen to Moonlight Sonata by Beethoven on YouTube once you get to the second part. ;)

x.x.x

Bella

She woke up late, around dinner time, feeling disoriented. The walls of the room swirled slightly around her as she staggered up and sat on the edge of the bed, holding one hand at her temple, the other clutching the bed tightly. Her dream had left her feeling dizzy. She didn't even know why-it was just bright flashes of colour and emotion. Maybe that was why she had a headache now.

Bella exhaled and stood up carefully, stumbling a little when she swayed on her feet. The door opened then, and Edward walked in, stopping when he saw her holding onto the bed tightly. He frowned and reached out, holding her wrist. She yanked it away, scowling. He insulted her and thought he could waltz in now and pretend to help her?

He hissed a little. "Look, I'm trying to help, okay?" he snapped. She glared at him before walking out, deliberately turning her back on him. Asshole. He could go jump off a cliff as far as she was concerned.

She walked down the stairs cautiously, wondering if there would be a repeat of the morning's episode. She let out a sigh of relief when she found nobody downstairs.

"They're at school," he said from behind her. "And you will be too, tomorrow."

She frowned. School. She hadn't been to school in slightly over seven years. Going back to school now would feel strange. She turned and stared out the large glass window before turning again and examining the house, determinedly avoiding his steady gaze. She felt as though he was disconstructing her, breaking down into bite-sized pieces. She felt tempted to snap at him, but emotions were to be avoided. It would mean she had lost.

She briefly wondered why he wasn't as school. If it was a Monday, shouldn't he be at school to?

"I don't like going to school on Mondays," he said, as though reading her mind. Maybe he could. "School shouldn't open on Mondays."

She considered asking him to elaborate, but decided against it. She did, however, wonder why the parents hadn't insisted on his attendance. Surely his truancy would land him in trouble-why weren't the truant officers after him? They should be bailing for his blood by now, considering the lack of activity in Forks. It wasn't as though they had better things to do.

She felt a long, pregnant pause before sensing Edward leaving, his soft footsteps shuffling up the stairs quickly. Heaving a sigh of relief she turned to explore the room, enjoying the privacy she had been robbed of since moving in with the Cullens. She hesitated before stepping towards the row of cabinets, ignoring the various pictures hanging on the walls.

Quietly she opened the cabinet doors, wincing when a rusty hinge squeaked. She almost smiled-almost-when she discovered a set of guitars, microphones and a drum set arranged haphazardly in the dark confines. It was the only personal thing she found in the cupboards.

Bella strode over to the walls, examining the framed photos with a slight frown. They were all clever, artistic black-and-white shots of nature. She gently traced the frame of one photo in particular. It was a gorgeous photograph of a cliff captured in perfect detail. She could even see the rocky edges clearly.

The black and whites were beautiful, and it reflected the Cullens and their lives perfectly.

"Enjoy the view?"

His voice sounded unexpectedly from behind her, and she whirled around, feeling ridiculously guilty. She scrutinized his face, wondering what had made him the bitter person he was. What had made the entire family bitter.

He ignored her scrutiny and walked over to a side table, picking up a letter and retreating to his room without another word. She paused before moving over quickly to a drawer she hadn't noticed earlier. She jiggled it slightly before it opened, and she picked up a photograph. This was the one she was looking for.

It was the Cullen family portrait.

**

Carlisle Cullen sighed, loosening his silk tie slightly and frowning at the stack of papers balanced precariously on the edge of his desk. It looked horribly out of place in his neat office, but until he managed to read through each of the documents, they would have to stay. He sighed again and cast a longing glance at the medical journals sitting on a shelf before turning his attention to the pile of papers sorted into 'Read' and 'Unread' stacks. Naturally the 'Read' pile was considerably larger.

"Doctor Cullen?"

The new nurse opened the door slightly and peeked in, her peaches-and-cream complexion flushing for absolutely no reason at all. Carlisle inhaled and plastered a smile on his face, hoping it looked at least a little sincere. Usually smiles came naturally to him-compassion was so deeply ingrained into him-but today wasn't usual.

"Yes, Lilly?"

"It's time for your shift, Doctor Cullen," Lilly said meekly. Carlisle forced a strained smile to acknowledge her as she retreated from his office. He stretched and yawned, wishing desperately that he had chosen another career as he walked off for his rounds.

He entered the room breezily, noting the man who sat in the white recliner's bloody appearance. He picked up the chart and flipped through it without a word. He wasn't in the mood for trivial chitchat.

"James Trevone," Carlisle read. Carlisle looked up to inspect the man cautiously. James Trevone stared at Carlisle curiously, wiping away a little of the dried blood coating his face.

"That's my name," James answered. Carlisle walked over to examine the cause of the numerous bloodstains.

"What happened?"

James laughed loudly. "Some stupid fella at the bar decided it would be interesting to get into a drunk bar fight. I was the target."

Somehow Carlisle doubted it was the 'stupid fella' who was the agressor, but he kept silent, gently prodding a nasty gash along his arm. "Why wasn't the police called?"

James smiled coldly. "Fucker decided not to press charges after I broke his arm. I guess that's one ass who won't be drinking for a while, eh?"

Carlisle smiled politely. He wasn't concerned about bar brawls. "Well, Mr Trevone, it looks like you're going to need stitches. There aren't many injuries; however, those that you have sustained are serious. I hope you aren't afraid of needles?"

He was answered with a loud snort that he took to be a no. He turned and busied himself with assembling the proper equipment. From behind him James spoke. "You married, Doc?"

Carlisle wasn't in a mood to engage in small talk, but he answered nevertheless. "Yes," he answered, thinking back to five, six years ago wistfully. He retrieved the threads and turned to James.

"Any kiddos? 'Cause you seem kinda young to have little tykes running around the house. You're what, twenty? Twenty-five?"

"Thirty one," Carlisle corrected absently, stitching up a particularly nasty gash on James' forearm. "And yes, I have five-no, six-children." Had, Carlisle added silently.

"You seem rather indecisive in the amount of kids you have, Doc."

Carlisle smiled, the first geniune smile since the episode at breakfast. "Yes, I suppose I do, don't I? Me and my wife took another child into our home, you see. I'm still trying to get used to it."

James grinned. "Ah, a houseful of angst, I see. Who's the new kid?"

Absently Carlisle realized James appeared too eager to get to know him, but he was probably overreacting. After all, the dysfunctional Cullen family was a hot topic of gossip in the quiet town of Forks. "Isabella Swan. We're fostering her temporarily. The orphanage she was housed in was burnt to the ground, you see."

Was it him, or had James' eyes widened slightly at that piece of information? Carlisle shook his head a fraction of an inch. His imagination was going wild. He smoothly tied up the thread and stepped back to survey his work, each cut neatly stitched up. "All done, Mr Trevone," Carlisle said, looking at his patient, who appeared to be in deep thought.

Carlisle shook his head and turned to clean up his equipment before catching a sight of himself in the mirror opposite. He drew in a rough breath. The man in the mirror appeared horribly strange to him. His once thick gold hair was now visibly thinner and streaked with silvery gray. His already prominent cheekbones jutted out at an unnatural angle. Carlisle swallowed, shaken. He felt like the bubble around him had snapped. His little, calm world had ended with one look into a mirror. This was why Carlisle had avoided mirrors like the plague since the...incident.

"Doc? Am I free to go now?"

James' voice snapped Carlisle out of his masochistic remniscence. He sighed and nodded his consent without turning, hearing James exit with eerily quiet footsteps.

Carlisle wiped his hands with a cloth before exiting the room. He went to the pretty girl manning the desk and told her he wasn't feeling well and took a sick day. He then entered his Mercedes and drove, but not home.

He drove to a small meadow in the middle of nowhere.

Carlisle Cullen hadn't taken a day off from work in seven years.

A/N: Oops. I guess I left a sort-of cliffie there. Oh well. You know the drill!