Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, I just play with them. This story is rated M, and is not suitable for younger readers. Story contains violence, coarse language and sexual "situations". Please do not read if any of these things offends you.

Note: [ Beta'ed by: Project Team Beta ]

Chapter 5 - Scam

Isabella Swan POV - Two days before the accident.

I was biting my lips so hard that I was on the verge of breaking the skin, while my leg was bouncing restlessly on the generic linoleum in the waiting room at the hospital. I was forced to sit between a woman and her crying baby and an old man who couldn't stop coughing. He also smelled like he had taken a shower in whiskey.

It was almost three-thirty in the afternoon, and I was waiting for Dr. Cullen to call me in. I really didn't know what to expect from him, and the fact that he was most likely related to Edward Cullen freaked me out.

I had dreaded this all day, and I had gone over my 'illness' again and again in my head, making sure that every detail was thought through and that I had an answer to any question he might ask. I had to be on top of my game, without overplaying it, in order to succeed with this.

I took a deep, cleansing breath and almost choked on the old man's odor. Seriously, did he shower in whiskey or did he simply use it as a perfume?

In an effort to try to be a little optimistic in this situation, I kept telling myself that Dr. Cullen was just like his son, and that he would be unethical enough to prescribe me any drug I asked for. I'm sure Edward would, he simply had no morals, and if Dr. Cullen was anything like his son, I'm sure the only reason he became a doctor in the first place was to get access to prescription pills. Maybe he was even making extra money on the side by selling it to kids?

"Miss Swan? Dr. Cullen will see you now," a nice-looking nurse said. I didn't bother to give her a polite smile; I just picked up my bag and followed her towards Dr. Cullen's office without a word. I didn't need to have a casual conversation with an unimportant nurse; all I needed was to get this over and done with.

We reached an office, with Dr. Cullen's name on an expensive looking sign on the door, and she knocked once before letting me in. Dr. Cullen looked up from his desk and gave me a friendly smile as I stepped into his office.

"Isabella Swan?" he said and I nodded softly.

The very first thing I noticed about Dr. Cullen was that he didn't look like Edward at all. Edward was tall and muscular while Dr. Cullen was tall and lean. Edward had green eyes and bronze-colored hair while Dr. Cullen had blue eyes and blonde, almost white, hair.

The third and final thing I noticed, and the most unnerving thing of all, was that he had a very friendly and approachable demeanor about him, and I knew in an instant that he was nothing like his son. He had that demeanor that made you feel relaxed by his mere presence.

And that was not good, not good at all.

Edward must have taken after his mother, because there was no likeness between him and this man in front of me. None at all – except that they were both utterly beautiful.

"Please, take a seat," Dr. Cullen said and gestured to the chair across from his desk. I carefully sat down on the edge of the seat with my bag clutched tightly to my chest. I really needed to hold on to something if I was supposed to be able to pull this off, with evil Dr. Devil turning out to be friendly Dr. Gorgeous.

"What can I do you for today?" he asked with a friendly tone.

"Anxiety," I croaked as I tried not to gape at him.

"How would you describe it? Do you have panic-attacks as well?" he asked, frowning a little as he opened up a file on his desk and picked up a pen, so he would be ready to scribble down anything I said.

He was looking at me expectantly and I was drawing a complete blank. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He wasn't supposed to ask me to explain my anxiety and show such sincere concern while doing so. He was supposed to ask me what I wanted and then give it to me.

He was Edward's father for crying out loud.

Then again, maybe I was wrong. Maybe there was many other Cullens' in tiny Forks after all, because this man could not possibly be related to that jackass.

I tried to remember everything I had read on the internet about anxiety, and what would be the most appropriate answer. Maybe I should just be honest and tell him about the episodes I had before? Damn it.

I should know this.

"I… it's like I can't breathe… something is pressing down on my chest and… I just can't breathe," I mumbled, feeling my face redden. It felt like I was lying, although it was the truth. The few panic attacks I've had were exactly like that.

Maybe I should have brought cue-cards? I thought sarcastically to myself.

He scribbled something down before looking back up at me.

"And how often does this occur?" he asked, still friendly and patient, and not a hint of disbelief was to be found in either his eyes or tone. I almost felt bad for trying to scam this poor doctor. It seemed as if he genuinely wanted to help people, and here I was trying to scam pills from him.

Then I remembered why I was doing it. Suddenly, I didn't feel so bad anymore.

"Everyday… mostly when I come home from school and everything just… gets to me…"

I was totally lost now and was grasping at whatever came to mind. He was throwing me off my game completely, and I couldn't remember anything I'd read. Who was this witch doctor?

He looked at me for a long time. His gaze was so intense that I was sure he was reading my mind. He was only seconds from calling my bullshit. He put his pen down and clasped his hands on the desk. He frowned again.

Busted. Crap.

"How long would you say that this has been going on?" he asked seriously.

"Three months," I replied instantly, and I wanted to kick myself. Why did I say that?

"Three months?" he echoed, before flipping a page in the folder. He looked down and nodded to himself, before looking back up at me. "I took the liberty of looking at your file earlier, and it says you were admitted three months ago for-"

"I don't want to talk about that," I cut him off.

"I assume that the incident is the cause of your anxiety?" he replied softly. I gnawed on my lower lip, and looked away from the scrutiny of his gaze. What was I supposed to reply to that?

Damn straight it's the cause of my anxiety. And that's why I'm here trying to scam pills so I can kill myself because of it.

I didn't think that response would have gone over well with him. My mind was spinning as I tried to come up with a plausible explanation and response, but nothing came to mind, and the longer I was quiet, the deeper his frown became.

"Have you talked to anyone about this?" he asked.

I shook my head. Finally something I could answer honestly.

"I can't," I replied, my voice barely a whisper.

He sighed and leaned back a little in his chair, picking up his pen again. He made a quick note, and then went on to play with the pen between his fingers as he watched me.

"Isabella, I would love to help you, but I don't think there is anything I personally can do for you," he sighed. "But the one thing I can do is recommend you to one of our psychiatrists here; they are very good and much more qualified to handle patients with different grades of anxiety disorders. You can talk to them about what happened, and hopefully they can find a way to help you."

I held back a groan. This was the worst news he could have given me.

"Can't you… prescribe something?" I asked quietly, "something to make it… easier?"

The way he was frowning made him almost look pained, but he didn't shake his head or tell me no.

"I don't feel comfortable with writing you a prescription, since we don't know what you need. I can't pinpoint the cause of your anxiety based on this short conversation, and sometimes the medication can even make the situation worse. We need to make a proper evaluation, preferably with a psychiatrist, to make sure you get the best care possible. It's not even certain that medication is the right thing for you, maybe therapy would be enough," he explained.

God, this man was trying to kill me in the most painful way. Maybe he was related to Edward after all, since they both seemed to get off on hurting me. Freaking Cullen family.

"If you want, I can make an appointment for you to see someone as soon as tomorrow," he said with a gentle smile. I shook my head, before standing up on shaky legs and hugging my bag to my chest.

"No, that's okay… I… I guess I'll just have to endure it," I mumbled.

I put my hand on the doorknob and was just about to leave when he cleared his throat.

"Miss Swan?" he asked and I turned my head, careful not to look at him.

"Yes?" I whispered.

"It's very common for teenagers, especially girls, to suffer from anxiety. With the pressure from your parents, stressing over good grades in school and the added stress of peer pressure, it's not unusual to suffer from anxiety. It's not easy growing up, I know that. And while some teenagers grow up and do just fine, some need to get some help when things get too much. In your case, I would really recommend seeing someone, to talk about what happened. Nobody should have to suffer through that alone. Medication doesn't need to be the answer," he said softly.

This coming from the very handsome doctor; the handsome doctor who most likely was voted prom king, and 'most likely to succeed' in the yearbook. The doctor who most likely didn't have a single defect on his perfect body, and who most likely grew up in a loving home with two parents who loved him… he had grown up to become a freaking doctor for crying out loud, what the heck did he know about suffering?

His perfect life was probably the reason why he sounded like a freaking hippie, saying that medication wasn't the answer… it wouldn't have surprised me if he suggested I do yoga, or that I should start every day with a fifteen-minute meditation.

Yes, I might have tried to take advantage of the system by claiming that my anxiety was far worse than it was, in order to get some pills, but I did it for a real reason. And weren't doctors supposed to help their patients feel better? Even if I didn't suffer from 'real' anxiety, I knew for a fact that those meds would help me feel better. That was what the health care system was all about, right? Making people feel better?

Who was I kidding? Of course it isn't.

"I'm sorry I wasted your time," I mumbled as I pushed open the door and stumbled out. I walked quickly down the hallway, almost tripping three times in the process, in order to get to my car as quickly as possible.

What the hell did Dr. Handsome know about mental suffering? Nothing, that's what.

How dare he deny me my way out? Freaking sadist was what he was.

As I climbed into my car and tried to put the key into the ignition, my hands were shaking too violently and I dropped the keys instead. I felt too frustrated to pick them up, and instead took out my anger on the wheel. I gripped it tightly as my entire body convulsed in anxiety.

What the hell was wrong with me? I had memorized everything I had read about anxiety. The symptoms, the physical as well as mental aspects of it and… freaking everything! Why couldn't I do anything right? Why did I have to screw up everything? Now I was forced to find another way to off myself. What options did I have now that weren't painful? I had enough of pain in my life to last… well, a lifetime. And I wasn't planning on going out that way.

I don't know how long I sat in my car, silently seething over this turn of events, before I finally reached down, grabbed the keys and drove away from the hospital.

I didn't go home, though. I wasn't in the mood for seeing the answering machine blinking with countless messages from the insane woman. I wasn't in the mood to see my father either.

I drove aimlessly through town and I didn't register where I was going until I drove past a sign that said that I was a couple of miles away from La Push.

Now my mind was just messing with me. La Push? What a freaking joke.

La Push might have been the last place – aside from home – I would ever want to go to, but I still didn't turn the car around. Instead, I kept on driving and didn't stop until I reached First Beach.

I parked my car on the parking lot by the cliffs before turning off the engine and stepping out of the car. It was freezing and the cold wind from the ocean wasn't helping matters. My teeth chattered in the cold, but I kept moving, climbing the steep trail up to the highest point of the cliffs.

My family always used to come here when I was little. We used to have the most amazing picnics along with another family, the Blacks, who were living in La Push. The Blacks had been friends with my family for as long as I remembered, and they had a son who was just a year or so younger than me. We used to have so much fun together and he had been my only friend for years. But that all went to hell when someone thought it was a good idea to go batshit crazy on my ass.

I hadn't seen or heard from Jacob Black sinde the incident. Not a single phone call or even an e-mail. I guess he also felt bad for what happened.

One could only hope that at least one of them still had a conscience.

I walked closer to the edge of the cliff and looked down. The sea appeared to be particularly angry today. It crashed against the rocks in a murderous rage. I wondered how much it would hurt and how long it would take for me to die, if I jumped right then and there.

I looked down at the dark water and shook my head.

No.

I didn't want to die that way and I didn't want to try, either. The risk was simply too big, because I might just survive. What would have been left of me then? Maybe I would end up paralyzed from the neck down and never be able to move a single muscle ever again. How the hell was I going to kill myself then?

I sat down carefully, and when I dangled my legs over the edge it felt like I was flying.

Mom used to hate it when I sat like this with my legs over the edge of the cliffs. She was always so afraid of me falling down and hurting myself. That was pretty ironic, considering the source.

I leaned back on my arms and closed my eyes. The cold air was stinging my eyes and I had goose bumps on every inch of my body. But it was all quite all right. This felt good. It was a comfortable cold.

I smiled crookedly at nothing in particular and opened my eyes again. The clouds were rolling in fast and I could see that it was already raining a few miles away, over the ocean. Soon the rain would be here and I would get soaked. That was quite all right too.

It was nice to sit there and not think about anything. I almost felt normal. I almost felt like everything was back to what it was three months ago, before everything went to hell.

Maybe I should have taken Dr. Cullen up on his offer and made an appointment with the psychiatrist. If I had enough time before the appointment, then I would most likely be able to come up with a plausible situation and memorize all the symptoms I was supposed to be having.

But that was dangerous. Psychiatrists were dangerous. Beyond dangerous. They messed with people's mind on a daily basis. They did it for a freaking living. And they probably wouldn't believe me, instead they would most likely manage to manipulate me and get the truth out without me even noticing what was going on before it was too late.

I had walked down that road before and almost blew it then.

Like I said, way too dangerous.

I sighed and took a deep breath in a sad attempt to calm myself.

I remembered the last time I was here; it was the end of July. My family and the Blacks were all having a picnic on one of the lower cliffs. Jacob and I were jumping off the cliff edge, competing in who could do the coolest jump. Jacob won, of course, when he jumped from the cliff and did a back flip.

"Hey, Bella, top this if you can!" Jacob smiled at me in a cocky way, before jumping and doing a back flip off the cliff. I watched as he disappeared into the dark water and surfaced a moment later with a smug look in his face, "Top that!" he challenged me again.

I rolled my eyes and shook my head.

"That would kill me!" I called to him.

"Yeah, you're the only one I know who would be able to trip on your own feet and miss the ground," he chuckled, "So you might not wanna do a back flip, since you will most likely kill yourself."

"I'm not that clumsy!" I argued, feeling slightly insulted.

"Of course you're not," he mocked, as he swam towards the shore and climbed back up.

He sat down on the edge next to me and shook the water off his long black hair.

"Bella! Don't sit so close to the edge, you'll fall in!"

We both turned around and looked at my mom.

"Mom, we've been jumping off this thing for hours now, how can it be more dangerous for me to just sit here?" I asked in amusement.

"You… you can fall in and break your neck. And you know I don't like you jumping off that thing, it's dangerous," she chided.

"Mom, I've done it a thousand times. You should be happy that I'm not jumping from the higher cliffs," I laughed.

"I don't like it, you're gonna hurt yourself. I don't want you to get hurt," she replied sternly.

"Don't worry, Mom, nothing can hurt me." I smiled.

"That's right, Mrs. Swan, because Bella here is invincible. Nothing can ever hurt this one," Jacob laughed and put an arm around my shoulders. "Because she's not clumsy at all," he added.

I slapped his arm and he laughed.

"Shut up," I muttered.

I turned my head again and looked at my mother. The faraway look was back in her eyes, and it seemed to be a permanent fixture on her face nowadays. I wondered what was going on.

"Don't worry, baby, everything will be alright," she said, walking over to us and stroking my hair.

I looked at her, confused, but didn't ask what she meant. She smiled sadly and leaned down to kiss me on top of my head, before walking over to Dad and Billy and sitting down.

"Your mom is weird," Jacob commented.

"Don't I know it," I replied with a frown.

In retrospect, I'm surprised I didn't notice something was wrong back then. My mom was beginning to act weirder and weirder, and even my dad wasn't his usual self. He used to be so animated and excited when he discussed baseball with Billy, but on that day he was barely listening as Billy went on and on about their favorite team.

My mom kept stroking my arm and my hair, giving me soft smiles, telling me everything was going to be okay. I didn't know what she meant, but I didn't like the way it sounded. At first I had thought that my parents were splitting up, that would explain why she was acting so weird and why my dad was even more quiet than usual, and she was simply preparing me for the news by acting so sweet towards me. But the news never came. Not that news anyway…

A loud thunder awoke me from my musings, and I realized that the storm was getting closer and the rain was about to hit me. I quickly stood up and made my way back to my car.

I drove in a leisurely pace back to my house; I was no hurry to get back there.

It was almost five when I pulled up in front of our house, and much to my delight, I noticed that my dad's cruiser wasn't there. He was probably working late.

My stomach grumbled as I unlocked the front door and I decided to start dinner when I got in. I wasn't in the mood for doing anything extravagant, not with my awful afternoon, so I just cooked some rice and fried some of the fish that Dad caught on his last fishing trip with Billy.

I had just begun frying the fish when I heard the familiar sound of the cruiser. A few moments later, Dad walked into the kitchen.

"Something smells delicious," he noted with a smile, before taking off his gun-holster and stepping over to me.

"It's just rice and fish…" I replied quietly.

"How long until it's done? I'm starving."

"Fifteen minutes or so…"

"You take such good care of me, Bells, I don't know what I would do without you," he said and gave my head a quick kiss.

"I think you'd survive just fine," I replied dryly.

"Don't sell yourself short, you're what's keeping our life together," he chuckled.

I huffed and he ruffled my hair before finally leaving the kitchen to get out of his work clothes. It was as if he could smell my intentions from a mile away, with his comment about how he couldn't manage without me – way to give your suicidal daughter even more to feel bad about.

I set the table and the food was ready when my dad walked back into the kitchen.

He took his seat and dug in immediately, and though my stomach was growling I just couldn't get any food down at all. I really had no appetite anymore.

"So what did you do today?" he asked between bites.

"I went to school…" I replied.

"Yes, I know that, but after school? I could have sworn I saw your truck driving out of town earlier," he said, his voice muffled by the rice and fish in his mouth. I wanted to tell him to chew and swallow before speaking; I really didn't like it when people spoke with their mouths full.

"Well yeah, I went down to La Push for an hour," I replied honestly, leaving out the part about me being at the hospital.

"Oh? You were visiting Jacob?" he asked, looking up in surprise and sounding awfully hopeful.

I glared at him and he immediately looked down again.

"No, I was just hanging out by the cliffs, I didn't feel like going home right after school," I said.

"In this weather? It must have been freezing," he commented."I don't like it when you visit the cliffs during storms, you know that."

And I can't even begin to wonder why, I thought sarcastically.

"Nothing happened, I'm fine," I replied with a sigh.

"I just want you to take care of yourself, Bells, I don't want you to get hurt," he said gently.

"You might have thought of that earlier," I snapped, standing up abruptly from the table.

"Bells, c'mon…" he pleaded and I shook my head.

"I'm going to my room, I have homework," I muttered and left the kitchen.

I heard him sigh before stuffing his mouth full of food.

Sometimes Dad could be such a hypocrite. He didn't want me to get hurt, but still he was one of the reasons why I was hurting so much in the first place. And if he didn't want me to get hurt, how come I had scars all over my body?

I lay down on my bed, ignoring the load of homework in my bag. What was the point in doing it, anyway?

Today had been a rough day. Though people ignored me in school, and didn't give me such a hard time by calling me names or anything like that, I still found it insufferable.

The principal had made a point to look at me every time I passed him in the halls, and my teachers were beginning to give me a hard time too. Why couldn't they just leave me the heck alone? It's not like I was failing every class! It was only art and gym for crying out loud, and when would I ever have a use for that crap, anyway? I was averaging Bs and Cs in the rest of my classes, so what was the problem? Most students in that school were averaging Cs and Ds at the best. I was still better than most of them, so why didn't the teachers go after them instead?

Maybe because the teachers wanted to torture me as well and not let the students get all the fun.

I rolled onto my stomach and propped my head up on my hand.

This day couldn't have gone worse even if I had tried. That was for sure. Although it all sucked, I still felt slightly lighter inside than I had the night before. Maybe it was the trip to La Push that did it.

I hadn't been there for months, and the place held many memories. Maybe the good ones were shining through a little more and shedding some light on my situation. Making me think that maybe everything wasn't all lost yet, because if things were good before, there was no reason for me not to think it could be good again. I just needed to work a little harder, and be patient and wait for that day to happen.

But as always when I tried to be optimistic, the face of my mother flashed in my mind and I was immediately reminded why things could never go back to what they used to be.

I closed my eyes and saw my mother's smiling face.

"Sweet, sweet Bella, it's all going to be alright. You have nothing to fear, everything is going to be alright," she smiled at me with a faraway look in her eyes.

"But Mom… this isn't right… it's insane!" I replied in a shaky whisper. "You can't do this."

"My sweet Bella," she cooed and stroked my cheek, "It's all quite alright. Nothing will ever hurt you again, I promise."

"But nothing has hurt me, Mom. Please stop it, you're scaring me." I was almost sobbing now.

"Now, now, Bella, we don't want to upset it," she replied softly.

"But Mom-"

Dad knocked on my door and my eyes flew open.

"Bells? I need to leave again, there has been a break-in at the Newton's house. I need to go check that out, I don't know when I'll be back," my dad said from outside the door.

"Okay," I called back.

He walked away, his steps slightly muffled by the carpet in the hallway, and soon I heard the front door slam and the cruiser rumble as he drove off. I sighed and closed my eyes again.

Nothing would ever hurt me again.

Yeah right.

Her usually blue-gray eyes looked almost black in the dim light, but as I looked closer I realized it wasn't because of the light, but because her pupils were dilated in an unnatural way. She was smiling at me, but not in a loving or caring way. It was sinister and terrifying.

"Bella, sweet, sweet, Bella, come with me," she said, taking my hand.

"I wanna sleep," I protested sleepily. I looked over at the clock on my nightstand; it was 3:05 in the morning.

"I can't let you sleep, we need to celebrate!" she protested and dragged me up into a sitting position.

"But Mom…"

"No buts! We need to celebrate!"

"It's three in the morning, can't we celebrate whatever you wanna celebrate tomorrow?"

"No, we have to do it now. It's the best time!" she said excitedly.

She dragged me to my feet and pulled me out of my room. I was too tired to protest, so I decided to humor her and celebrate whatever she wanted to celebrate at three in the morning on a Tuesday. The less I protested, the quicker it would all be over. I knew that from experience, since it wasn't the first time she had dragged me up in the middle of the night to show me something or do something. But this was the first time she used the term 'celebration'.

The lights were off when we reached the bottom of the stairs, but I could see the dim light from candles flowing out from the living room, it gave the room an eerie feeling, and I knew for a fact that this wasn't right.

"Come with me, sweet Bella," she cooed and pulled me into the living room.

We stopped by the door and I gaped at the scene before me. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening.

"Sweet, sweet Bella," she said, kissing my temple gently, "It's time."

I sat up straight in my bed, my heart pounding loudly in my chest. The nightmare was familiar to me, because I had it almost every night, but it never failed to terrify me and wake me up with a pounding heart and sweating like a pig.

I couldn't run away from what happened - that was one thing that was damn sure.

It took a while for me to relax enough to go back to sleep, and when I did, the dream just picked up where it had ended. And I had to relieve that horrible night, all over again…