A/N: Hi! First, as always, I want to thank all of you for reading this story and for all the amazing reviews I have received. They always make my day! This chapter contains the first of many flashbacks. I have chosen to work with flashbacks as Bella reveals her life story to Mr. Whitlock. Naturally the flashbacks are in italics. I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations and I'm curious to know what you all think of it, so don't forget to leave a review!
Disclaimer: SM owns everything.
''My mother died when I was eight.''
Mr. Whitlock halted his movements and the porcelain cup filled with herbal tea hovered in midair, his mouth slightly open in anticipation. He regarded me with sympathy, but this news shouldn't come as a surprise to him.
''And your father?'' He put the cup down without taking a sip and rested his elbows on the table instead.
''He was never the same after that.'' I felt a stab of pity in the pit of my stomach whenever I thought about my father. ''He threw himself into his work, hoping, I think, to distract himself. He wasn't around as much after that.''
''That sounds like a lonely childhood,'' he observed. I smiled and circled the rim of my cup with my pinky finger.
''I wasn't alone.'' I took a sip of herbal tea and Mr. Whitlock watched me intently. ''I spend most of my time with family friends down at La Push.''
''The Indian Reservation on the coast?''
''Yes.'' I couldn't help but smile when I thought about that place. Despite all that had happened it had been my childhood home in all the ways that counted.
''Was it a happy home?''
''It was a hazardous home.'' I chuckled and shook my head at the fond memories that played before my inner eye. I noticed Mr. Whitlock's quizzical brow.
''In the best sense,'' I added and he returned the smile that hovered around the etches of my mouth. ''The boys didn't have any regards for safety and I, curious as I was, tagged along willingly. It's a trait I inherited from my mother.''
''What was she like?'' His fingertips danced along the etches of his cup, his eyes still trained on my face.
I closed my eyes and pictured the woman I had lost so many years ago.
''She was a work of art that puzzled even the most well-read critics; a walking contradiction. She was very beautiful. Her smile lit up the room and her laugh was so infectious you couldn't help but laugh along with her. She had these mysterious blue eyes that could make you do anything. They made you want to be in on her secrets. She was adventurous, slightly eccentric and full of life. She had the wildest imagination. But she was also childish, moody, impatient and sometimes downright mean and selfish. She didn't make it easy to love her, but my father never stopped trying. She held his heart in the palm of her hand and when she died she took it with her, leaving him broken beyond repair.''
''Do you resent your father?'' Mr. Whitlock's eyes bored into mine, trying to lift the answers from my mind. It seemed my answers were somehow vitally important to him. It had been a while since someone had shown a genuine interest in me and my twisted life.
''No.'' I shook my head and took another sip before I elaborated. ''I understand his pain. Now more than ever.''
''Do you miss her?'' It seemed an obvious question, so when he didn't receive the obvious answer I suspected him to be surprised, but he wasn't.
''You lost someone too,'' I observed. I recognized the look in his eyes all too well.
''My father.'' I noticed the slight twist in his features when he uttered those words.
''You hated him.'' It wasn't a question.
''My father was a bully,'' he said, his eyes drifting out of focus when he recalled his memories. ''A business man through and through.'' He scoffed and shook his head in distaste.
''And your mother?''
''My mother is weak.'' I couldn't detect any hate in his voice, only the sadness that was reflected in his eyes. ''Which makes sense, since my father didn't like to be contradicted.''
I didn't need a masters degree in psychology to deduct that Mr. Whitlock's resentment for his father ran a lot deeper than mine would ever go. He shook his head, banishing the unwelcome memories and turned his fixation back to me.
''Nothing screws a person up more than parents.'' His statement hung in the air for a moment before he cleared his throat and fired another question my way.
''Any siblings?''
''No biological ones as far as I know.''
His eyebrows knitted together and a low chuckle tickled my throat.
''I grew up with a lot of kids on the Reservation. I always considered them my siblings. Family runs deeper than blood.''
''Yes, it does,'' he agreed. ''You said it was a hazardous home. Tell me.''
''Have you ever been there?'' He shook his head and I chuckled. ''Rocky beaches with high cliffs and a deep, dark forest. Combine that with a bunch of reckless kids and you find yourself in trouble in the blink of an eye.''
''A lot of dangerous pastimes?''
''Hide and seek in the forest after sundown, unsupervised bonfires on the beach, cliff diving, shabby dirt bikes,''I ticked them off on my fingers and Mr. Whitlock laughed.
''How many times have you been in the hospital?''
''I was a regular costumer,'' I chuckled and he shook his head in amusement.
''I bet.''
His easy laughter blended with the hot summer sun that shone on the porch and I rocked back and forth in my chair, resting my head while I observed him. One of the nurses arrived with another tray and he thanked her with a kind smile. He filled his porcelain cup with sugar and stirred with a small tea spoon. The clinking of the metal against the porcelain echoed around us and formed a strange duet with the birdsongs.
Mr. Whitlock took a sip of his sugary sweet tea and hummed in appreciation.
''That's where I met him.''
His eyes flew back to mine and I tried to name the emotions they reflected.
''But you knew that already,'' I added, measuring every slight change in his sky blue eyes.
The emotion that should have shone in his eyes if he hadn't known remained absent, betraying his knowledge. A flash of recognition appeared instead, leaving his eyes again when he seemed to remember himself. He opened his mouth, ready to disclaim my assumption, but then he closed it again. His eyebrows knitted together and his eyes left mine and focused on the swirling contents of his cup instead.
''How old are you, Mr. Whitlock?''
When I first laid eyes on him I assumed he must be somewhere in his thirties, but now I wasn't sure. I tried to look past his immaculate suit and well-groomed appearance, wondering if maybe…
''I'm twenty-eight.''
''When I first met you I thought you were older,'' I admitted.
''The suit adds a few years.'' He chuckled, but it wasn't as genuine as before. I could hear the slight strain in his voice and noticed the small changes in the muscles around his sky blues. I leaned my head to the side and appraised him, amused.
''You seem on edge. Have I said something?''
''Not at all.'' His trained politeness returned almost immediately and I wondered if his father had taught him that. No, if his father had conditioned him to act a certain way I should say. That seemed probable. ''You are simply very different from the people I usually meet. Your words are either blunt and direct or very obscured. There doesn't seem to be a middle ground with you.''
''Is that a complaint, Mr. Whitlock?''
''Quite the opposite.'' He smiled and wrapped his hands around the porcelain. ''I find it very refreshing.''
''Your eyes are very clear,'' I noted and this time his smile was genuine. ''Like the summer sky.'' I watched as he looked up and followed a flock of birds that flew over our heads. ''Nowhere to hide.''
His eyes found mine again and he sighed.
''Just like those birds.'' I could hear the bitterness in his voice.
''Honesty is a virtue.''
''My father would've disagreed. He said it's one of my greatest weaknesses. The thing that kept me from truly being great.'' His eyes showed the hurt that was audible in his voice. ''He would have loved your eyes. Dark, unfathomable pools full of mysteries and riddles.''
''I like your eyes just fine.'' A wistful smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. ''They can't lie. I find it refreshing also.''
''It seems I am at a disadvantage.''
''On the contrary,'' I disagreed. ''We made a deal, remember? I have no reason to lie.''
I closed my eyes and turned my face toward the sky, loving the way the sun warmed my pale cheeks.
''Why did you agree to our deal?''
I opened one eye and felt the corner of my mouth curl up in a smile. ''Curiosity.''
I reached for my tea and cradled the porcelain cup in my hands, watching the swirling contents. ''I can never seem to help myself.'' I smiled at him. ''Speaking of weaknesses.''
''Do you consider curiosity a weakness?''
''No, but I would consider the inability to turn away from it a weakness.'' I gestured around me and Mr. Whitlock's eyes followed. ''What doesn't kill us makes us stronger, right?''
''When we first met you told me you were dead,'' he remembered. ''Are you finally accepting that you're still alive?''
''I'm a hollow vessel.''
''If that were true your curiosity would have died along with the rest.''
I considered his words and smiled before I took a sip. ''Perhaps you're right.''
''Tell me about him.'' His earnest eyes bored into mine again and I could hear the fervor in his low voice. The vital interest returned in full force and I decided to humor him with my truth.
''His name was Edward Cullen and he was the doctors equivalent of my knight in shining armor when I met him.''
I was barely conscious when someone lifted me off the ground, strapped me onto a gurney and wheeled me away. I could hear Jake's familiar voice shouting my name, his anxious calls mixing with the blaring noise of the sirens. I wanted to answer him, tell him that he shouldn't worry so much, but found myself incapable of moving. I had really stepped into it this time. I decided that if I died I would come back and haunt Jake for eternity for orchestrating this disastrous failure. That way I could punish him for his recklessness and myself for my damned curiosity. I'd always said that it would be the death of me one day. Perhaps that day had finally arrived.
Someone ordered me to open my eyes which I managed with herculean effort. I didn't recognize the face that hovered over me, but I recognized the look in his eyes. I had seen it one too many times before.
''Is she going to be okay?'' I saw Jake in my peripheral vision. His eyes were wide with concern and his copper skin seemed a little paler than usual. I noticed the blood staines on his shirt and wondered whether it was my blood or his own that had soiled the birthday present I had given him two weeks ago.
His eyes flew to mine and he let out a sigh of relief. ''You're awake.''
I wanted to tell him to man up, but the words got stuck in my throat.
''I'm so sorry, Bells.'' He grabbed my hand and I felt his thumb caress my skin. ''This is all my fault.''
Next moment I was carried out of the ambulance and wheeled into the hospital. I knew the drill. They would place me in the emergency room where a doctor would examine me and probably run some tests. Then he would mend the things that were broken and give me another lecture on the importance of safety before discharging me with a disapproving shake of his head and a prescription for painkillers or something equally pain- and mind numbing.
Jake kept up his constant stream of apologies until he was forced to wait outside while the paramedics rolled me into the nearest emergency room and closed the curtains around me to offer me a false sense of privacy.
I stared at the white ceiling while I waited for the doctor to arrive, pondering my current state. I couldn't move an inch of my body and supposed that they had strapped me down as a precaution. The neck brace dug into my skin and my wrists and ankles were tied, so I couldn't even feel any possible damage. The white lights on the ceiling bored into my eyes and stung the back of my skull, so I closed them.
''Isabella Marie Swan, seventeen years old, motorcycle accident.'' A familiar male voice filled the emergency room. I opened one eye and recognized the familiar grey hairs of Dr. Gerandy. He gave me a stern look before he conjured a light and shone it into my eyes. I closed them as soon as the light hit them and he grunted.
''Possible head trauma.''
I chanced another look at him and saw him writing on a chart. His eyes found mine again after a second and he clucked his tone in disapproval.
''That's the second time this month, Bella.'' I wanted to roll my eyes at him, but ceased the action when the movement shot a sharp pain through my head. He gave me a knowing look before he took out a pair of scissors and cut through the fabric of my shirt. His cold fingers ghosted over my stomach until he started pressing down. A sharp pain shot through me when his fingers reached my ribs and I hissed loudly.
''We need an x-ray to determine any possible fractures.'' He tormenting fingers proceeded and I gritted my teeth and closed my eyes.
''Those cuts need cleaning and stitching.'' He continued to mutter as he examined my mangled body while I tried to think of more pleasant things. Like all the ways I could make Jake pay for getting me into this sorry state. Dismantling his motorcycle and hiding the pieces was an all-time favorite of mine, but somehow that didn't seem to cut it this time. I could always make him my slave and force him to do all manner of unspeakable and embarrassing things. Guilt always made him very agreeable.
I was wheeled away after Dr. Gerandy had finished his examination and recognized the familiar route. The X-ray department.
''Bella.'' A familiar face appeared above me and I felt the corners of my mouth curl up in amusement. ''I'd say nice to see you again, but I don't think that's the appropriate greeting.'' Brad shook his head in wry amusement. ''Let's make some pictures, beautiful.''
He set me up and disappeared behind a closed door. Normally I would be able to see him through the glass wall, but my head was still trapped by that stupid neck brace, so all I could do was stare at another white ceiling and wait.
When he appeared again his concerned eyes hovered over mine and I felt a strange sense of foreboding.
''This doesn't look good, honey. A fracture in your left leg, a broken hip, three broken ribs, a minor fracture in your right arm, a dislocated shoulder and a concussion.'' He shook his head and I could see the sympathy in his grey eyes. Jake would receive a lifelong sentence as my slave for this.
I was wheeled back to the emergency room where a party of nurses stood waiting for me with Dr. Gerandy.
''Well, well well.'' He clicked his tongue again in disapproval. ''You have done it this time, young lady.'' He hovered over me and arched his eyebrow. ''What do you have to say about this?''
I opened my mouth and formed a garbled and whispered response. ''Shit happens.''
He cleared his throat and shook his head, muttering something under his breath that I couldn't make out.
''Your father is on his way.''
''Fuck.''
''Yes, I suppose he'll have plenty to say about this.''
''Whatever.''
Another disapproving look. This man was so predictable I wanted to laugh, but I knew it would only hurt my head.
''Someone will be with you shortly to stitch up those wounds and set the bones.''
After that pleasant statement Dr. Gerandy left the room and I was forced to wait and stare at that damned ceiling in silence.
I was starting to get tired and felt my eyes close of their own accord, but wrenched them open again when I remembered that I had a concussion. I couldn't fall asleep yet.
While I struggled with staying awake I felt the seconds crawl by as if someone had deliberately slowed them down just to torment me.
My vision was suddenly obscured by pair of troubled green eyes set in the most beautiful face I had ever seen.
''You must be Isabella Swan.'' A velvet voice caressed my ears as I inhaled the intoxicating scent of his breath. ''My name is Dr. Cullen and I'm here to stitch you back up.'' The smile that followed this statement clouded my brain and seemed to work as a natural painkiller to my throbbing head. I blinked, dazzled by his sudden angelic appearance.
''Bella.'' I whispered the only thing I could think of saying. ''My name is Bella.''
The clock chimed and I jumped at the sound. It was five o'clock in the afternoon.
''I suppose it's time for you to leave, Mr. Whitlock.'' He too had jumped at the sudden disturbance and his eyes flashed toward the clock before they found mine again.
''We'll continue tomorrow,'' I assured him. His clear eyes once again revealed more than his words ever could.
He stood and refastened the button on his jacket with a nod.
''It's the middle of August. ''
His eyebrows knitted together in confusion before he seemed to understand what I meant.
''I feel more comfortable this way.'' He cracked an apologetic smile and the left corner of my mouth curled upwards.
''As you wish.''
''Until tomorrow then, Miss Swan.'' He dipped his head and picked up his briefcase.
''Until tomorrow, Mr. Whitlock. Two o'clock.''
Well, I think it's safe to say that this chapter was a lot more revealing than the previous ones. Bella will tell Mr. Whitlock her story as promised, revealing her life piece by piece, flashback by flashback, while she continues to analyze him, revealing his story at the same time. I decided to work with the flashbacks to make it a little easier to time jump and unfold both the past and the present at the same time. Please tell me what you think and leave a review, good or bad. I'll update again soon!
TTFN! X