Well, if I have any regular readers at all they should have learned by now to discount anything I say regarding when I'll update… but here we are! Leave me some love!
BPOV
I pushed open the door to my apartment. I looked around briefly as I yanked the key from the lock.
"I was here earlier and did a bit of clean-up," said Angela apologetically. "Sorry. I know you like your privacy."
"No, no, it's fine, Ang. Thanks; you really didn't have to." I walked inside very slowly. My body still ached all over from the accident. My legs and arms were covered in healing scrapes, and my head would pound if I sat or stood up too fast. But it could have been a lot fucking worse.
Angela helped me carry in my bag, even though it wasn't particularly heavy. I stepped into my room, somehow surprised it looked the same after all this time.
Once I woke up at the hospital, surrounded by Dr. Whitlock and complete strangers, I'd started crying. I couldn't remember anything that had happened, why the fuck was I lying in a hospital bed, bruised and cut. A tiny pixie-like woman had spoken up softly, and everyone except for my therapist had cleared the room.
Among them was a tall, bronze-haired guy about my age. For some reason, he looked absolutely crushed and on the verge of tears himself as he left behind Pixie Girl. I couldn't for the life of me figure out why.
Dr. Whitlock sighed as he'd pulled up a chair next to my bed. "There's no delicate way of saying this. Bella, you've been regressing as another persona for the past 3 weeks."
I swallowed hard. "Three weeks?" I'd whispered.
"You were… a Spanish woman called Isabella Cisneros." Dr. Whitlock stared at me intently. The name meant nothing to me. "You claimed it was 1697."
"What?" I burst out. "1697? What the fuck are you on?" I tried to sit up on the bed, but found my arms would hardly support my upper body weight.
"You have absolutely no recollection of these past few weeks?"
"No." I took a deep breath. "The last thing I do remember is… your office. My session was beginning. You were talking me under… and I fell asleep." I closed my eyes. "Then everything went black."
"When you woke up, you went into hysterics. I had to sedate you, then bring you to the hospital," he said simply. "You spent all this time at my house, under my care. Your friend Angela was not available to care for you, so as your medical proxy, I was responsible for you."
"So why am I back here?" I asked, tentatively trying to raise my arms again. Not a good idea; I winced.
"You were hit by a car. But you're going to be okay," he added quickly, when he noticed my expression. "You have a deep concussion and were in a sort of coma for the last 24 hours as your body and brain were healing themselves. But you should have no permanent damage."
Damage. Shit. A few tears escaped and I sniffed.
"Don't worry, Bella. After a few days of rest, I'll get you released. As soon as possible. Angela is on her way from Seattle. Is there anyone else you'd like me to notify?"
"Er, no. There's no one else." I wiped my eyes slowly with my hospital gown's sleeve. "But I do have a question. Who were those people here with you earlier?"
"Oh, yes," he chuckled. "I'm sorry, I didn't introduce you. The bossy little woman is my wife Alice, and he is her brother Edward. The one not wearing scrubs," he clarified.
"And why were they here, in my room?"
"Well, Alice has been translating for us. You only spoke Spanish during that time. And Edward—he's actually been spending days with you. He's helped to take care of you."
"Wait, wait," I interrupted. "I only spoke Spanish? I don't understand. I've never even studied the fucking language!"
"Yes, you were quite fluent," Dr. Whitlock said seriously. "Spanish royalty from colonial times."
"Colonial?" Something vague stirred inside me at the word.
"It's a long story." Dr. Whitlock smiled ruefully. "I'd better start at the beginning…"
I lay down on my bed at Angela's insistence. Though I'd done nothing more than leave the hospital (driven by her, of course), I was really fucking tired.
My mind couldn't stop going over everything Dr. Whitlock—or Jasper, as he insisted I call him—had recounted. And especially nagging was the thought that I hadn't openly expressed my gratitude for everything his family had done for me. I felt my independence was at stake; I didn't like owing people anything.
Alice had been by to visit at the hospital everyday. We had talked as though I had known her forever. She told me all about her life with Jasper, her job, and talked some about her brother, Edward. He, however, did not show up at all. When I'd asked Alice why, she shook her head sadly and shrugged.
From what she'd told me, Edward was the one who had really taken care of me, making sure I was safe, comfortable, and even well-fed. So it struck me as strange that he didn't visit.
I thought about paying him a visit myself. But since he was obviously dealing with some issues of his own, I reconsidered. He probably didn't want to see me anymore, after being my fucking babysitter 24/7. I tried to shake it off, but my head wouldn't let it go.
Jasper had also let on that Maison Rose was actually owned by his brother-in-law and his wife, Rosalie. Ahhh… he had also hastened to explain how for awhile, they thought I'd schemed to some elaborate lawsuit. But it turned out that they'd held my job for me, whenever I was ready to return.
The dinner shift was in full swing. I'd served patron after patron, offering some time at our bar for those who showed up without reservations. The restaurant was packed.
I steered an elderly couple to their table and handed them menus. Assuring them their server would be right out, I sidestepped the close-set tables and found myself facing none other than Edward Cullen.
He looked… fucking handsome. There were no other words. The bronze, unruly mop; he wore a dark green screen tee that complemented his eyes; a black blazer, jeans, and black boots finished the look. It was so hot, yet seemed effortless. As his eyes raked quickly over me, I couldn't help but glance shyly down at my own outfit. Shit, since when did random hot guys make me shy?
He opened with, "What, no Chucks today?"
"How do you—" I cut myself short.
"Oh, there was a pair in your bag. Um, Alice found them when she was looking for contact telephone numbers in your wallet… and stuff." He also flushed inexplicably, running his fingers through his hair. I suddenly imagined myself doing that for him, and damn… stop it, Bella.
"So… do you have a reservation?" I paged back in the ledger and traced my finger down the list.
"Yeah, 8:30." Edward leaned closer to me, pointing out his name. I got a whiff of his cologne, something citrusy and delicious. It smelled familiar. I wondered who the lucky girl was tonight.
"Ahem." I cleared my throat and picked up two menus. "Follow me, please." We walked to a secluded corner table. "Is your date arriving shortly? I'll leave her menu." Edward smiled at me and our eyes locked. I blushed again. What the fuck?
"No, it's just me tonight. One menu is fine." He reached for it, but I held on, realizing this was my chance.
"Um, before I go… I just wanted to thank you. Jasper—Dr. Whitlock—and Alice, they told me everything you did for me. I am… very grateful. So… thanks." I smiled back, but it felt more like a grimace of sorts. Real smooth.
"It was my pleasure, Bella," he said, peeking up at me. I felt a slight tug on the menu I still clutched like crazy in my hand, and I released it with a muttered sorry. "May I ask you something?" Edward asked hesitatingly.
"Sure." I shifted nervously on my heels.
"Jasper also said… well. I don't mean to intrude on your experience, but…" his brow furrowed.
"You really don't remember me?"
I froze. My heart pounded, my mind reeled as though from a great height even though my feet were firmly planted on the ground.
"No. I'm sorry. I don't remember anything at all," I whispered hoarsely.
Edward's expression was one of resigned disappointment. It made me wonder what the hell I had said to him—what Isabella had said.
"So, thank you, again." I gave a half-assed wave and left him quickly. Who the hell dines alone? He hadn't even brought a book or anything. The rest of the night passed in a blur. But I refused to let myself turn from the hostess' stand to peek at him. Not until he left the way he came, except for a wistful backwards glance he threw my way.
That was the first night I dreamt of Edward Cullen.
I have great admiration for those writers who can update on a regular schedule. Next story I post, I think I'll write it out completely first, so I can post chapters like that. Review? Even if I don't deserve it…
