Bella Swan gets the flu

By: Summer25

Prompts: Sick, kitchen table, piano

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And so it came to pass that on a certain Monday, I woke up with a terrible ache. I was not just in pain, I was The Pain. I didn't go searching for it and I'll probably vivisect the one who gave it to me but it was irreversible. My attempts to achieve vertical position were rendered futile and I was reduced to cabinets for a much need drug dose.

Sometime later, I made my first mistake.

I called my mother.

I know that my mother has only has my best interests at heart but the woman could be mind-boggling. Consider this:

"I'm calling Esme. Edward's is in town, isn't he? I'll have him bring you some soup. "

Edward Cullen was my mother's best friend Esme's son. We only have a couple of hours between us, as our mothers deemed it necessary to give birth simultaneously. They married us when we were infants.

Edward Cullen, the bane of my existence. For years, I squirmed to be associated with him. I was convinced that he was gay and I was chubby (not a very attractive quality in high school). Except in the last couple of years, some bizarre event would throw us out of the loop together and I would notice certain things. We would dance around each other awkwardly for sometime and then quietly recede to our separate existence.

At best, we were coincidental friends, like planets in orbit. Only we had this uncanny ability to be near each other when one needed something. Over the years, our separate paths had crossed and uncrossed with startling accuracy that had me wondering if our mothers were manipulating the events of our adult lives. Except not all of them had been pleasant.

"Hi!" Edward Cullen, piano prodigy, rising youngest conductor of Seattle Symphony Orchestra, greeted me an hour later.

"Uh, where should I put this?" His eyes roved my apartment in concealed disgust, taking note of the unwashed laundry, the haphazard arrangement of blankets, the dirty dishes that stockpiled like unwanted missiles on the kitchen table. "Your mother asked me to bring you some soup."

"Uh," I wheezed. "Can you just place it there? Over the piano?" It was the only uncluttered surface.

He looked at the piano in surprise before before his face morphed in absolute horror. He swung his eyes to in righteous disbelief. How dare I desecrate such a piece of handsome furniture? his eyes glowed at me accusingly.

Yes, I still play, thanks for asking. Piano lessons were one of our mothers' matchmaking schemes when we were five. We spent hours inside a common room, polishing our talents. But while my talent remained hidden, his sparkled. I withdrew into musical obscurity and took up liberal arts instead.

"I'm so sorry that my mom had to drag you into this but I'll be fine in a couple of hours." I spoke through the pillows.

"It's all right," he said in a small voice, terrorized by my quaintly messy abode.

As much as I wanted to dazzle him with my wit so he can report to both our mothers that I had been gracious, I couldn't lift my eyelids. I've always thought that the good thing about being sick is one could sleep until one gets a headache from too much sleep. Then one would have to sleep off the second headache. It was almost like being on vacation, only in excruciating pain.

I drifted in and out, dreaming that somebody was moving around my apartment. At one point, I could have sworn the floor was being vacuumed.

I woke up, probably hours later, and found Cedric Diggorydoing my laundry while smoking.

No, sweet, I wanted to call to him. You don't have to do that. And can you pretty please squash the offending cigarette? Otherwise, I might be tempted to rip your lungs out through your nose.

I must have spoken out loud because dear sweet Cedric came over and put his hand on my forehead.

"You're burning. "

Hmmm, wrong voice. I smiled up to him and ..... sneezed.

Jesus, he swore softly, wiping the snot from his robes.

I drifted to sleep again, and woke to find my apartment spic and span. Dear sweet Cedric must have waved his wand. There was some movement and through my drug-induced haze, I saw something that could only happen in my dreams (and his nightmares). Robert. Pattinson. Was. In. My. Kitchen. I must have done something either really, really good in my past life or something extremely stupid.

I limped towards himand noticed that one, his shirt was off and two, he was washing the dishes.

"Rob, honey," I rasped as I wrapped around my arms around him from behind, spreading my fingers so I could map the contours of his body, taking my time to let his hair tickle my skin. "You don't have to do that."

The mass of manmeat in my arms shivered but didn't answer. Hmm. Silent and broody. I considered giving him the ultimate proposition. The man, after all, cleaned and disinfected my kitchen.

"I've always wanted to ask you," I said, seizing the day, "would you consider being my baby daddy?" Before my uterus shrinks and my vagina closes?

The man in question shook in what suspiciously felt like giggles.

"Sure....honey." The voice was still wrong, deeper than I imagined. "When do want me to start, exactly?"