DISCLAIMER: Stephenie Meyer owns the whole thing. I like to think I own the storyline.

There were some questions asked by some of the guest reviewers this week and I'd like to answer them.

So, will there be an Edward's POV?

Honestly, I'm not planning to post a chapter from EPOV in this story, purely because this is Bella's story and I believe it's her place to tell it. BUT! What I really want to do is to post this story separately told from Edward's POV because I believe his reasons for some of his decisions or reasons for saying certain things might not be completely explained in this story and I'd like you to guys maybe later look into his head and see how he felt in certain situations. Because I think that in a way, he had a lot of difficult decisions to make and a lot of difficult emotions to process. So, if everything goes well, you'll get the whole story from Edward's POV. Lovely, lovely, lovely!

It's almost too depressing now. Is it going to be turning around soon? In the next few chapters?

Ahmmm... Yes. And no. It is going to turn around at some point, don't worry about that. It's going to go slow, of course. I'm not a big fan of I hate you now and love you right in the next chapter thing. But the whole story vibe is not going to change that much I'm afraid. This is the story of a girl who is continuously sad and in pain. It is going to get worse at first, but then things will go better and better, and I can't wait when those chapters will come where there will be a lot of exploration, experimentation, laughter, happiness, fluff, lemons and eventually love. So... be patient with me, please. I know I have to be with myself, because I just want them to be together already. But for them to be in a relationship I need them to be in, they need to go through some things first.

Love you all and thanks A LOT for your reviews, I cherish and read all of them.

EdwardsFirstKiss, you're fantastic. Thanks a lot again.

Now, finally...

Enjoy. R.

16. Simon and Garfunkel – Sound of Silence

CHAPTER 15

This Forgotten Sound

"Hello darkness, my old friend
I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence."

"In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone
'Neath the halo of a street lamp
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence."

Monday, March 4, 2013 (6 days later)

The man tugged on my hand making me hiss. It wasn't because of the pain per se as I couldn't feel any there, but that didn't mean that I was immune to feeling strains and pulls and other strange things that I was gradually getting used to having. It was weird how I could detect those sensations as my whole forearm was sealed off by a hard greyish cast. They weren't, however, any similar to what I had been used to feeling before. These weren't tingling or slight burning sensations. These sensations were much duller in nature, not as palpable, but they were definitely there. I roughly remembered where the cut was located, but even if I hadn't there was no doubt about where it was because the cut was the place where all of these odd things originated, crawling uncomfortably down my wrist, palm and fingers while the pain I felt went upwards. I could move peeking tips of my fingers - or better said - I tried to move them, but it required super-concentration. It was like I wanted to move them, but the command itself registered with the brain three seconds later, and the movement was only a third of what I wanted its range of motion to be, sometimes not even that. It put me in even bigger misery than I already was.

I looked away when the man grabbed a special saw intended to remove casts. I didn't need to look at this. The moment he turned it on, I heard its buzzing sound and without a warning felt vibrations on the top of my forearm and tickling that continued down as he moved the saw in the same direction. It wasn't painful, but the moment he passed the spot of the wound, it was as if he entered a different world, the tickling diminishing immediately, leaving me only with the feeling of my hand being moved up and down as he was slowly uncovering my arm, removing the bits of the cast. I could feel how light it felt with the case gone, but not feeling didn't mean I didn't know how heavy the cast was as it had been my muscles that were responsible for carrying it.

"All done," the cast technician said, turning the saw off. I didn't want to look down at it, but I could barely avoid it. My gaze travelled instinctively down and at first, the sight made me nauseous and I had to look away only to turn and take a glimpse of it again. This time I didn't avert my eyes from it and forced myself to look at it properly. The first thing I saw was a fairly long, narrow scar with stitches still in it, protruding and clearly visible. I swallowed the bile coming up in my throat. The scar was red and the skin around it had a reddish tint to it as well. It was bigger and longer than the one on my right hand. The places that had been previously covered with the cast were scattered with fine white flakes – dead cells coming off of my skin. My forearm, wrist and hand were also covered in white patches from the cast, making it look dirty. I lifted my forearm and when I saw my wrist helplessly dangling as if it were dead, my eyes welled with tears. I tried to move my fingers as I had tried before, but nothing happened. Dr. Angelic had been wrong. I not only felt nothing, but I couldn't move it either. They should've cut my hand off completely. What use did I have for it now? It really was dead. Useless. Just like me.

"A nurse will be with you shortly," the cast technician said timidly, bringing me back. Raising my head, I saw pity in his eyes while he was looking at my hand. When he noticed I was looking at him, he turned away from me and left the room. He was lucky he had escaped from an upcoming tantrum I would've thrown had he not stopped looking at me like I was some kind of charity case. Fucking idiot.

I let my hand drop and wiped my tears away with my right hand which was already stitches and bandage-free. In a minute, the door opened, and Brenda came in. "Ready?"

I nodded even though I wasn't. I jumped down from the table I was sitting on and followed Brenda to the room where Dr. Angelic and his team performed MR angiography and a CAT scan of my hand. He removed the stitches and examined it after that, then let a physiotherapist look at it. I waited for approximately twenty minutes for Brenda to come and collect me again from the waiting room I was sitting and actually talk to Dr. Angelic about this unfortunate situation I had put myself in.

"So?" I asked when the door closed. "Did you finally decide that it would be better if you had just cut it off?"

He scowled at me. "No, there was no need for that."

With a raised eyebrow I lifted my forearm again, as I did before, showing off my dead hand hanging in the air. "I think you should return your medical degree. This is not going to work again." And to emphasize my point - maybe a little theatrically - I started to move my forearm up and down swiftly, making my wrist and hand swing in different directions, looking limp and lifeless.

"Bella, stop! Do you want me to put your hand in a cast again?" he said right away, putting his hand on my forearm gently.

"So that was the reason I had to wear a cast for two weeks?"

He shrugged, smirking. "I couldn't possibly let you do this with your hand when it needed rest and attention. I knew you wouldn't listen to me if I told you to leave it alone. You never have."

"Oh, I have," I argued. "At first."

He chuckled at my sheepish tone. "You'll get a bandage for support until your physiotherapist decides otherwise."

"So, you're letting me live with this?"

"Of course. There is no reason for us to amputate your hand. Yes, we had to remove several connections between the nerves, and yes, we didn't expect the mobility of your hand to be affected so much, but I have no reason to believe you won't be able to move it after proper physiotherapy treatment. Do you remember what I said to you about patience and healing? Now, you're going to need loads of it."

I looked down at my awfully looking hand, silently sighing. "What is wrong with it?"

"Besides the obvious, we believe that a few tendons might have been affected by your injury as well. We naturally expected the mobility to be somewhat limited, but certainly not to this extent. Don't worry," he said, reacting to my eyes widening, "it is going to get better. But you need to be patient, alright? You need to work on it and you can't give up on yourself now." I nodded mindlessly, looking down at my hand. "When it comes to your somatosensory system, things are just as we expected. You see, Bella, in your skin, all over your body, there are sensory receptors that are connected to your brain by special nerve fibers that you damaged. We had to remove these nerves and therefore your brain cannot detect any changes to the surface, be it temperature change, pressure, vibrations or change in texture. There is a slim chance that your nerves might eventually regenerate and grow together, but now it is really hard to tell if it's going to happen." He stopped talking for a while. "You know, Bella, you were lucky. I know it might not seem that way now, but the fact that you can move at least the tips of your fingers is a great accomplishment already. Mr. Greene was impressed."

"Mr. Greene?"

"The physiotherapist who examined you. He's one of the best we have."

"I can't always do it," I mumbled.

"Nobody expects you to," he sighed. "Patience, sweetie."

"Sure, sure."

"Is it painful now?"

"A little. I mean I can't feel the pain in my hand, but from the scar upwards, hell yes. Though, it isn't as bad as last week."

"It's going to get better." And then he smirked wickedly. "Did you tell Edward what medication you're taking?"

Oh, crap. The Vicodin crap. I'd said Vicodin. "Kind of..?"

His smirk widened. "Bella? What did you say? Didn't he ask you?"

"He didn't have to. I might have joked about Vicodin," I admitted.

He sighed loudly, shaking his head. "Did you know he has taken that seriously? He called me right after your session and asked me if I had lost my mind, prescribing Vicodin to you."

I chuckled. It had worked better than I thought. "That was the point."

"Bella." He started going all fatherly on me again and I huffed. "There is a certain trust that has to be maintained between a patient and their doctor. Now if you violate or disrespect that trust it might result in unsuccessful treatment or even – in this case - unintentional harm."

"What do you mean?"

"The medication I prescribed to you a week and a half ago is used in psychiatry as well – it is essentially an antidepressant, basically working as an opioid in a sense, suppressing pain in the nerves. Now I knew about the antidepressants you were prescribed in the hospital, so I could make the correct decision as to not cause any contraindications. If Edward had decided to change your medication and he wasn't aware of the fact you are taking this type of antidepressants, your overall condition could've worsened."

I felt awfully embarrassed. "Oh my god. Why can't I have just one? Aren't they all the same?"

"Essentially, yes. But it is up to Edward to make that decision. You can work it out between the two of you."

"So he knows now?"

He chuckled. "Yes."

"You talk to him about me?"

"Bella, I can't discuss your condition with anyone. And I'm sure you would like it either. But as doctors - yes. We talked about you."

I sighed loudly.

"But, hey, Bella," he said after a while. "I wouldn't feel comfortable discussing it with someone I know you are not comfortable with personally. So I tried to keep most of the things to myself. If you had a different psychiatrist, we would most likely never meet and discuss your condition. Although in this case, you were lucky it was my son and not some other colleague. You might have made a fool out of me." He chuckled again. Christ, Bella. Dr. Angelic was a safe bet to annoy Edward, but I didn't want to hurt him in the process. "How's it going, anyway? With your therapy, I mean."

"Don't you know? Being doctor and all?"

He detected my mocking tone. "No. Edward didn't tell me anything, he respects your privacy. You can tell me. Just as you can tell him about your physical condition, but if you're not comfortable, I won't pry."

I sighed. "We've met only once, last Tuesday. We were supposed to meet on Thursday, as he suggested that we should meet twice a week, but he canceled at the last minute." I was ecstatic then. A bright point in a terribly dull week I'd had.

He nodded, obviously knowing what it was all about. "Oh, yes. He might've mentioned you."

"Do you talk about me all the time?"

He chuckled. "He only said he had to cancel your session. Don't worry that was all he said."

"Sure."

"Bella, give him some credit. Me, too, for that matter," he winked at me. "Now, tell me. What was it like?"

I shrugged. "Uncomfortable. He sure is a pain in the ass." Dr. Angelic suddenly laughed out loud, throwing his head back. I wasn't sure what was so funny. "I'm obviously missing the joke here."

He shook his head. "Maybe. But I'm sure I'm the only one who would find it funny."

I didn't understand and wasn't even trying to. "Does that mean you got over the Edward-being-my-psychiatrist thing?" I raised a brow.

His face got more serious now. "No. My opinion is still the same."

"Does Edward know?"

"Yes."

"What did he say?"

Dr. Angelic was quiet for a while and by the look on his face, I could tell he was thinking if he should tell me or not. "He basically said I'm wrong and that even if it was true, he would never let his personal feelings – if there were any - influence his treatment and how he sees the patient. Though, at that time he wasn't sure if he should accept you as a patient even if you really wanted him."

I groaned silently. "Well, I can't really say it was good or bad because the shrinks I had ten years ago were mental. It wasn't as bad as it could have been I suppose, maybe a bit weird when we started talking about food. Your son's confusingly weird."

He smiled. "That's Edward."

"Yeah," I mumbled. "That's Edward."

"Now, I want to see you two weeks from now. Mr. Greene scheduled your therapy for every Monday and Thursday, starting this Thursday."

"Oh, wait; I have a session with Edward."

"I'm sure it would be no problem for you to reschedule it with him."

"Yeah, I suppose," I thought out loud. For a while there I thought I would be lucky to skip the Thursday ones. Dr. Angelic put a special elastic bandage with a support on my hand and warned me about taking it easy. While he was talking to me I tried to lift my hand and move my fingers but no. I could sort of move my wrist and keep it upright if I really wanted to, but it took a lot of effort. It was my fingers that were like jello for Christ's sake.

The next day when I had my second therapy session with Edward, I remember a thick blanket of grey clouds covering Seattle. It wasn't unusual, especially this time of year. But I remember walking down the street towards Edward's office, looking up and thinking they looked menacing. There was something about them; they were fast moving and cumulating, in some places darker than others. One would think it an omen, but omens – as frightening as I had once considered them to be - had no real power over me anymore. My life was pretty miserable; I could imagine only a handful of things that could make it worse. If anything, maybe living in Seattle with the constantly lingering clouds over my head was the reason why my life was this awful. Maybe moving to Washington had been one big mistake in the first place… but given the fact I hadn't had a choice in the matter, I was going to - as fatalist as I was - blame fate for throwing me into this big messy puddle I was in… no pun intended.

I woke up that morning more with an expectation and apprehension than an actual fear for what therapy was going to be like today. It was the central event of the day since I wasn't in school yet, so it was naturally on my mind for most of the day. The girls were back at work, and I had at least some time for myself before one or both of them barged into my apartment to check on me. It was nice to have time just for myself, to finally be alone after a week of being in the constant presence of one or the other, but the silence and solitude weren't as forgiving as I expected them to be. During the week I had spent with the girls, I felt fairly okay. Exhausted and in physical pain, but emotionally fine to as much of an extent as possible. I guess the girls had provided me with a distraction. It was a sense of preservation I had – It was impossible for things to get worse in the presence of another human being. I couldn't allow anyone to see just how awful it could get. I guess it was due to the experience I'd had with people when it came to my bad days. So, with an exception of sleepless nights when everything came to haunt me and prevented me from getting enough rest, I was alright. Empty and in physical pain but distracted.

But when I was finally alone… everything seemed to go down-hill from there. Last week's days were long and the nights were even longer. Somehow, even Edward's presence in my dreams was pissing me off. I had felt restless, so I had taken long walks and listened to shitloads of music. I talked to Newton over the phone yesterday, telling him I'd like to come back on Wednesday. He was quite reserved, and I could tell that he didn't know how to navigate the conversation. I told him I was in therapy and that I would bring him a letter signed by Edward to prove it. After a few awkward questions about how I felt, he agreed and allowed me to come back to school this week. I thanked him and quickly hung up. Honestly, it was the best piece of news I had gotten in a long time.

I cried a lot, too, that goes without saying. I was alone now and sometimes I just involuntarily burst into tears in the middle of the day. All the pent-up emotion was coming out, and I wasn't surprised. My hands were better and now that I had the stitches out from both of them, I could move the fingers of my right hand to the point where I could take care of basic tasks like drinking from a glass, taking pills or making myself something easy to eat. Not that I ate much. Yesterday I only had a ham sandwich, salad and a cup of tea. Somehow, I wasn't able to push anything down. I was tempted to stop taking the pills, but Alice and Rose were controlling that shit and I thought I wouldn't be able to get away with it. Yes, I guess I could've thrown them away, but I felt like they would find out. I was a terrible liar. And if they did find out, I would be that much further away from gaining their trust again. I wasn't going to risk that.

I went straight to the elevator when I reached the building where Edward's practice was located, and I tried not to think about what was about to come. I felt more nervous the closer the next session became, and I guess it had a lot to do with how more vulnerable I felt last week and how well I knew Edward could go around certain topics. I was positive that if he wanted, he could find what he needed, there was no doubt about that. That frightened me a little and made me more reluctant than ever of going to today's session. More so than the one last Tuesday when I hadn't known what to expect. Because this day just felt downright off. Normally I would call it a bad day. You see, the thing about depression was that your days were generally pretty shitty. All of them were bad. But there were better bad days when things didn't seem so daunting and unbearable. You could even ignore the pain and enjoy your day because in time you adapted to how sad you felt all the time. But then there were days when you just couldn't see a point in anything. Everything was pissing you off, making you uncomfortable; you were on the edge and became angered and stressed very easily. At that point, you reached for the things that would numb your pain, whatever it was. In the worst-case scenario, apathy took over. You didn't give a shit. A car could be heading in your direction and you would just shrug your shoulder, because there was no reason, and I mean no reason for you to move away. Days like these were the worst. In a way, today was one of those.

Timidly, I knocked on the door to Edward's office. My heart was beating fast, and I was physically very uncomfortable. The door opened almost immediately, and I was greeted with an almost relieved expression on his face. Every time I saw him I got a bit flustered when I realized just how handsome he was. I thought that the mind of a painter was enough to make me remember his face in perfect detail, but there was always something new to discover about how his face changed. Today it was his forehead that visibly relaxed when he opened the door. He smiled, but somehow tensely. "Miss Swan. I thought you had stood me up."

Again with Miss Swan… I rolled my eyes. "I wish I could."

He ignored me, the emotionless mask of Dr. Psycho on his face again. "Come in, please," he said in the professional voice I recognized from the last session. I was already getting worked up; irritated. I entered the practice, following him into his office. Again, he let me enter the room first and his politeness and calm approach were inexplicably pushing me to the edge. It had only been a mere minute and a half I had spent in his presence, yet I already felt like punching him in the face. Handsome fucker.

"Please, take a seat." I sat down on the leather sofa, sinking comfortably into its soft surface. Edward sat down opposite me, just like he had the last time. He had a clipboard in his lap again, writing something down. Then he looked back up to me. "I want to apologize for canceling the appointment last Thursday. It was a family emergency." I wondered what could have been so urgent and raised an eyebrow as to inquire some details, but he didn't elaborate.

I looked around the office to avoid looking at Edward, noticing details I hadn't seen last time– dark red curtains on the sides of the window, the titles of medical books on the library shelves, brown soft carpet on the floor, a very nice green plant in the left corner of the room. The color of the walls was a very soft brownish orange, a color not very bright but not dull either… butterscotch orange. Yeah, that could work. The colors in his office complimented each other very well and whoever designed it, knew what they were doing. I liked it, design-wise. Purpose-wise, not so much.

"…Miss Swan?"

"What?" I snapped back, looking at Edward.

"Can we begin?"

"It's quiet in here," I said in response, not really looking at him. "You know what they say – the type of silence that makes you uncomfortable. The silence that's deafening."

"Does silence make you uncomfortable?"

"No. Not usually."

"What's different now?"

"I don't know," I sighed, meeting his eyes. His face was still blank, but his eyes were slightly confused I would say. "I… I don't know."

He wrote something down. Only then did I realize he had already started his torture. "Do you like music?"

Defeated, I shrugged, avoiding his gaze again. "I guess so."

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know. I like it, but…" I trailed off, not really knowing what to say. I was awfully distracted today by how tensed up I felt.

"What types of music do you like?"

What was this now? "I like… Kanye West. I like him. Some people think he's a prick – and he is quite vulgar in his music at times - but I like his overall eccentricity. How even when he's rejected, he pushes through and does his own thing. Although, I can't say I'm a big fan of the Kardashian woman."

He chuckled. Edward actually chuckled. Not the reaction I wanted from him, but it was nice to hear it was a human sitting in front of me. And did I mention just how nice it sounded? I looked at him immediately. "I like his music, too."

"Really?"

He nodded. "Some of it is good, some of it not so much. But, yeah. I get the appeal. Do you like eccentric people?"

I nodded. "I guess I do. I've never really thought about it. Anyone who's out of ordinary, I suppose. People who are not afraid to show who they are if you know what I mean." He didn't say anything, and I kept thinking. "I like peculiarity in people, yes, you could say that. I like how they embrace their own oddity."

He wrote something down. "Do you think it's difficult?"

"What exactly?"

"To embrace one's let's say… quirky personality?"

I nodded without hesitation. "Yes."

He waited for a while before asking. "Do you consider yourself to be quirky or strange, out of the ordinary as you said?" It was amazing and a little frightening how his voice changed when he touched a sensitive topic as if he knew he was entering forbidden territory even if it didn't look like something sensitive to ask about. His voice was very calm and deep in general, but when he asked questions like these, his speech slowed down, and he tried to dazzle me not only by his eyes but also by his voice. It felt like he knew so much already, although I knew it was impossible. Something was telling me it was his impeccable ability of perception that made him this good.

I swallowed hard, looking at the hands in my lap. "Maybe. Once I thought I was."

"What changed?"

I looked into his green eyes. "I failed at embracing it." We kept staring at each other, his eyes trying to read mine while mine filled with sadness. I looked away quickly, surprised how quickly I had let my guard down and how easy it had been. Damnit. I didn't have a problem with telling him certain things as long as I kept them as neutral as possible. How was he doing this?

He had been quiet for a long time now. I don't know why; he was probably waiting for me to say something. I didn't dare look at him. I knew I was uncomfortable, and that tears were welling in my eyes and that I didn't want to be here. I just wanted to go home and lie down on my bed and curl into a ball. I just wanted to forget about everything. I didn't want to be reminded of any of it.

"How do you feel today?" he asked, after all, his voice somewhat gentle. I got an impression that his face had softened, but it was probably just my imagination. He was all on top of me today. Emotionless. Detached.

"Just peachy," I smiled at him sardonically. I was right; his face was a blank mask and to get any reaction out of him would be a challenge today as I felt emotionally completely drained. To be here was the last thing I wanted. Get your head back in the game, Bella.

"I'm here for you," he said after a while, firmly. His eyes were distant, but still honest and open. "I'm here for you and you can trust me."

I gave him a condescending smile and almost laughed at his attempt. "Look, Edward. I appreciate your effort," I lied. "But I'm not here because I'm a fan of yours. I can assure you that this is the last place I want to be and you're the last person I would like to spend time with. Besides, you don't like me either, so you don't have to act like you give a shit about me now that I am sitting here and I am your patient," I said, using air quotes at the word patient. "I need a shrink because I fucking need to go back to work and Rose and Alice will not let me live this shit down. We can talk about random shit as much as you like, but let's not go into details, okay?" I asked, his face unfathomable. "Let's face it - you don't really want to hear about it and I don't want to talk about it."

He frowned deeply and not expecting any reaction from him, I was surprised to see a flash of irritation appear on his face. He studied me for a while, leaning towards me in his chair. "You don't feel well today, do you?"

Was he ignoring me? Feeling restless, I stood up, frustrated. "Is that not obvious?"

"Please, sit down, Miss Swan."

"Don't call me Miss Swan," I muttered, rolling my eyes. I kept shuffling my feet in one place, avoiding his eyes.

"All I want is for you to talk about it with me. You don't have to worry about judgment or prejudice. I'm giving you an opportunity to free yourself from the burden I know you feel," he said, his voice calm and slow, his words sinking deep. What could he know about suffering? "To talk is to acknowledge the most hurtful and painful truths you're hiding inside. But to talk is also to let go. Don't let fear of pain stop you from living your life as fully as possible."

It sounded familiar, and I remembered Dr. Angelic ten years ago, telling me a paraphrase of the same thing Edward just said. He must have heard it from his father. I don't think I had really understood what he had meant at the time. And I didn't know if I knew what Edward was talking about now. I had never allowed myself to face the demons inside me. And I was sure not going to start now.

He continued. "Miss Swan, I understand if you're not ready to talk about anything today. We can talk about anything you like. As long as you talk to me, I'm fine with it."

Finally, I sat down, exhaling loudly, not looking at him. I stubbornly crossed my arms under my breasts. "You're contradicting yourself."

"What do you mean?"

"First you tell me you want me to talk about my feelings and then you say you don't mind if I talk about anything I like. You don't make sense."

"I'm giving you a choice."

"For how long?"

"For as long as you need."

I snorted and looked at him, wanting to see his reaction to what I was about to say. "What if I will never want to talk about my feelings? Will you be sitting here with me a year from now talking about music and food and alcohol?"

He nodded without hesitation. "Yes."

"That's ridiculous." I shook my head.

"No, it's not. I told you, you can trust me. And I'll do anything in my power to make you see that I can be there for you as someone who is objective and unbiased."

I laughed dryly. "You know that's not true. We hate each other, Edward."

He sighed. "If you keep calling me that, you will never see me as your doctor. It is you who has to make the first step and accept the situation you're in."

Annoying idiot. "Could you, please, stop quoting your father?!"

He frowned at the mention of his father, just as I expected. "Don't bring up my father. This is between us."

"Whatever."

"And I don't hate you," he said, his voice rather harsh as if I offended him by saying that.

"Yeah, keep yourself telling that," I smirked.

He sighed, evidently aggravated now. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger – an evident sign of frustration. And I did a little happy-dance in my head. I had gotten to him after all. "Let's change the topic of discussion."

"Am I getting on your nerves, doctor?" I chuckled provocatively.

"Tell me about how you feel about your antidepressants," he said simply, and I saw just how much he was trying to calm himself down.

"What? Why?"

"In case I need to change the prescription. Antidepressants change the chemical balance in your brain and while most of them function on a similar principle, it's my responsibility to make sure we're using the ones that will have the most beneficial effect with the least amount of side effects. Miss Swan, I'm your doctor, but I don't really know what I'm treating you for."

This got my attention, and I remembered what Dr. Cullen had told me about the medication he's given me. Edward didn't seem angry about me lying to him, but since he was cryptic as fuck who knew what was feeling now. "I don't understand."

"In the files from your previous psychiatrists, I found-"

"Wait, what? My files? You've seen my files?"

"I needed to know your medical history," he said as if it wasn't already obvious. I swallowed hard. I had no idea what those assholes might have written down. "Many of your previous therapists diagnosed you with various degrees of major depressive disorder, panic disorder, anxiety disorder; I even found an entry in which Dr. Varner believed you might develop psychosis. Now, it is difficult for me-"

"What the fuck are talking about?!" I cut him off. "I am completely alright! Is my life fucked up? Yes! But I'm not crazy!"

"I'm not saying you are crazy. Nobody with a mental disorder is crazy, Miss Swan. What I was about to say is that the information is ten years old and might not reflect your current situation. And I'm trying to the best of my abilities to assess your mental health condition in a way that you will benefit from. But without proper communication there is no way I can do that. And without a diagnosis, I don't know what medication you need."

"I don't need any medication."

He sighed and the tension in the room was as thick as the grey clouds in the sky I saw today. "Now, listen to me for a while. It may sound strange, coming from a psychiatrist, but I don't believe all people need medication in order to get better. The brain and its chemical composition is still a huge unknown and many times – when it comes to depression - medication can be a step back in therapy, worsening a condition, weakening the brain and stealing the ability of neurotransmitters to work normally again. And I'm not mentioning the long list of side effects many of them have a high risk of addiction and overdose. It is true that for some people medication is necessary for them to lead a normal life and they will be dependent on it for the rest of their lives. And that is perfectly fine. But it is staggering how many people suffering from depression that I treated end up with no medication at all. With the help of psychologists, we were able to lower the doses of antidepressants, sometimes even getting rid of them completely. Of course, it's a slow process, but if you don't give me a chance, there is only so much I can do." His eyes were passionate and persuasive. He knew what he was talking about and I felt my mouth being dry, my heart beating fast. "While I have to take the conclusions of my colleagues into consideration, I will make my own decision and come up with my own diagnosis when I feel like I have enough information about you and your symptoms."

His eyes were making me uncomfortable. "I'm not ill."

"You don't know that."

"Edward, it's just who I am, okay?" I threw my arms in the air.

He shook his head. We were in the middle of a heated discussion, but it was astounding just how relatively composed he managed to be while I was basically defying everything he said. "You're giving up on yourself."

"I don't want to talk about this. You said we don't have to talk about this."

He exhaled deeply. "Yes, you're right. We don't."

"I don't have any side effects."

"Sorry?"

"I said I don't have any side effects from the pills I'm taking now. I feel fine."

He nodded in understanding. "Good. If there is any change, tell me immediately. Do you feel any… progress in terms of mood changes?" I only shook my head. I wasn't getting into that. I didn't see any difference from what I felt like before my suicide attempt and now. He nodded, writing it down. "So, what do you want to talk about?"

I shrugged. "I don't know."

"How are your hands doing?" he asked, motioning to my lap where my hands resided.

I couldn't stop the groan that escaped my mouth at the thought of them. It was annoying and tiring just how much the injuries affected my life and how helpless I sometimes felt when I couldn't do regular things - like brushing my teeth – without extra effort and caution. I lifted them up between us, the left one in an elastic bandage, the right one bare, with the pink scar facing him. "Amazing." He didn't respond, and I let my hands eventually fall back into my lap, sighing. "They're killing me."

Edward eyed them for a little while and then looked up at me. "What's the prognosis?"

I contemplated for a moment, not sure if I wanted to tell him, but then I realized that it didn't matter. "My right hand is a little sensitive now. I could barely move my fingers without feeling pain the first week, but I had my stitches removed last week, and it's not as unbearable as it was previously. It's still weak but should be alright. My left hand, on the other side, is basically fucked up for good. Your dad said something about it being functional up to sixty percent with therapy and what not, but to be honest, I don't believe it one bit. I can barely move my fingers. I don't feel anything. It's the weirdest feeling."

He was silent for a moment. "It might be frightening for you now to face the consequences of your suicide attempt, but you should trust my father and if he says you're going to be fine, I have no reason to doubt him. It is natural to feel helpless and maybe even like there was something stolen from you, but this phase is only temporary," he said, looking me deeply into eyes. "The moment you face your biggest fears and obstacles you will see your perspective shift. And after that, you will realize that the things you feared were not half as big as you thought. Actually, they'll seem pretty silly." I didn't say anything to that. It was deep as shit and I was already quite emotionally drained. I looked down into my lap, at the pink scar on my right hand because I couldn't bear to look into his face.

"Okay. That's all for today," he said finally after minutes of me sitting and staring at my hands. He stood up and walked over to his desk. I followed him.

"I need a confirmation letter from you regarding the psychiatric care you are providing. You know, for work."

"So, you're going back to school?"

"Yep. Tomorrow actually."

He smiled timidly. "That's good. Being alone can be daunting. Especially now. I think you'll feel better with kids around you." I nodded. I wanted to go already. I sat down on the chair while he typed the letter. "You know, Marcus should return to school soon, too."

My head shot up. "Really?! How is he?" I felt ashamed to have forgotten about him. Poor boy. I missed him a lot.

Edward chuckled. He should laugh more. It was a nice sight to see his eyes sparkle with amusement; his lips curl up in a smile and not that annoying sarcastic smirk he sometimes sported. Not that he was like that in therapy, no. He was very professional when I didn't annoy him; there was no doubt about that, but… When he smiled or laughed his whole face changed as if he was a completely different person underneath all that crap we were pretending to be in front of each other for the last couple of weeks. Like that man in the hospital who saved my ass. "Good. He's good," he said. "He wants to thank you for saving him."

I frowned at him. "What? I didn't save him, you did."

He looked at me. "No, I didn't. You were there, too. And you should've seen his face when I told him. I couldn't possibly break his heart by telling him otherwise. He adores you."

Oh my god, my little boy. I was indeed a selfish creature, thinking always of myself and throwing myself a pity-party. "God, I'm horrible."

Edward frowned. "How have you come up with that now?"

"I mean… I just…." I shook my head, suppressing tears. "Nothing, it's nothing."

"You sure?" he asked, his voice gentle.

I nodded. He returned to his laptop, and I quickly wiped away the tears that had escaped my eyes. I hoped he hadn't noticed. I looked away and spotted a photo frame on his table. It wasn't there the last time and although it wasn't turned entirely to face me, a person sitting in the chair could still make out who was in the photograph. It was a woman hugging a little girl from behind. The woman was beautiful. And I mean like the Vogue kind of beautiful. She had a perfect oval face with high cheekbones and full pink lips. Her eyes were big and ice blue in color and there was something in them, something that I had never seen in my eyes – confidence. She looked very intelligent, too. Her face was framed by wavy strawberry blond hair that complemented her pale skin which had a blunt reddish tint to it. The girl in her arms didn't look anything like her. At first sight, there was no doubt about who the little girl was. Brown-reddish messy ringlets and round green eyes would give it away every time she tried to deny Edward as her father. She was adorable, grinning widely at the camera, her cheeks lightly speckled with freckles. There was a little bit of her mother in her as well, but she was all Edward, through and through.

"My wife and daughter," Edward said when he noticed me looking at the picture. I turned to him, caught off-guard, because I felt various emotions swell in my chest at the sight of his family – not only envy and jealousy but also an unnerving flash of happiness for him. I could understand the former two, but why I felt happy for him was a mystery. But the feeling went as fast as it had come and soon it was forgotten.

"You have a beautiful family," I said. "Katie looks exactly like you. She's adorable."

He looked at the picture himself, smiling immediately. There was a wistfulness in his eyes. "She is, isn't she?" And then, he turned to me, cocking up an eyebrow. "Do you mean by that that I'm adorable?"

The way he asked that question made me crack up out loud, and the sound startled not only him, but me as well. Suddenly, he was all playful, smirking crookedly at me, sparks lighting up his eyes and it took only one look at his face to make me smile like a crazy person. I was laughing hard and about to answer him when he shook his head, the sparks going away as if he realized what he'd just said. "Oh, sorry... forget it." And he waved his hand, turning away from me. My laughter died down immediately as if it was a chain reaction of sorts; as if the moment we just shared was a surreal dream memory.

And I think it sort of had been because Edward Cullen had just made me laugh – a sound long forgotten.

The next thing I knew, he turned to me, his face all rigid and emotionless, handing me a piece of paper for Newton. He seemed to be a little uncomfortable now and almost as if I was attuned to his emotions, his distress carried itself onto me. "Thank you for coming, Miss Swan. I really thought you wouldn't show up."

I shrugged, taking the paper from him. The change in his demeanor was so abrupt that it only strengthened the oddity of the moment we had shared. "I'd hate to be predictable."

He nodded, smiling lightly, but it wasn't as relaxed as before. "I should remember that."

I turned to finally go and let this tension disappear when I remembered something. "That reminds me, I won't be able to come on Thursdays. I have physiotherapy scheduled on Mondays and Thursdays. Maybe we could reschedule?" I suggested but hoped he would just cancel.

He nodded in understanding. "Sure, no problem. Are Fridays okay? I know it may be a little inconvenient, but it's better if your sessions are not on consecutive days."

I nodded. "Okay."

"Okay."

And we stood there, looking at each other, both in quite a haze I suppose. It was awkward, and it only made me sadder in a way. I opened the door and gave him one last look. "Goodbye, Edward."

"Goodbye, Miss Swan."

And the moment I left the room, I felt the weight of the clouds above my head again, not realizing that for a few seconds they had been gone.

A/N Thouuuughts?