A/N: I've recently been re-reading Twilight (for the gazillionth time) and was inspired to write this story because of how...creepy Edward can come off, at times lol. Or, maybe a better word to use is intense...? Either way, this has been the result of my imagination so far.

Thanks for the reviews, favorites, and follows! They truly mean the world to me :)

Happy reading, guys!

I only spend one night in the hospital, but I still come home with a raging headache. Between the pain and painkillers, I've been pretty out of it for the past two days. I'm not sure how long I've been drifting in-and-out of consciousness, but I know when I wake up this time that I'm really awake and am going to stay that way.

My room is bright and airy since my window is open, but the light makes my head hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. I throw my arm over my eyes and reach beside my bed where I always keep one of those grabby things. Usually I use the grabby thing when I leave my game controller on my nightstand or drop one of my Twizzlers, but today I use it to grab my window shade.

Concussion or not, I have excellent hand-eye coordination, and with just one little grab I plunge myself in total darkness. "Hey!" Alex immediately protests.

My sister's voice is not what you want to hear when you are recovering from a concussion. "Get outta my room!" I groan, since I don't really have the energy to yell.

"No way, Bella. You have a much better view than I do."

"View of what?"

"The new kid is playing darts in his garage."

"Darts?" I snort at the idea. "Who plays darts?"

Alex pulls the blinds up again. Just as I'm about to protest, she says, "Who cares? He's doing it without a shirt on."

I get out of bed, find a dark pair of sunglasses, and push Alex aside to take a peek. Just as I look, the new kid flicks his wrist and sends a dart flying into what looks like the direct center of a bull's-eye. He smirks to himself as he crosses the garage and admires his aim. Then he reaches for his shirt. I'm worried that he's going to put it back on, but instead he uses it to wipe the sweat off his face before guzzling a bottle of water.

"This is even better than Grey's Anatomy," Alex sighs, plopping down onto my bed when he disappears into his house.

"He's gone. You can lave now," I say, pushing Alex out of my way so that I can lay back down.

I pull my covers over my head, but Alex yanks them right back off. "Get up and get dressed," she instructs. "We're going over there."

"Excuse me? We?"

"C'mon, while we know he's home."

"Why do I have to go?"

"You have an excuse to go over there. I don't."

"What excuse?" I scoff.

"Duh! You want to, at the very least, know the name of the boy who saved your life."

"He didn't tell you his name? Didn't you spend hours flirting in the waiting room while I was unconscious?"

I laugh when Alex frowns. Apparently, the answer to my question is 'no.'

"Shut up! He just never got the chance. As soon as we got to the hospital, he let some guys wheel you inside, and then said he had to go."

"He just left us at the hospital?"

I think that's strange, but Alex doesn't agree. "It's not like he could have done anything else. They wouldn't have let him come back with us because he wasn't family."

"Still, to just dump two girls off at the emergency room and not even stick around to see if I was okay?"

"Way to be self-absorbed, Bella."

"That's not what I mean. There's something really weird about New Guy."

Alex finally lost her patience with me and began tapping her foot as she stood over my bed. "Get our lazy ass up right now, or I will be forced to sit in here with you all day."

Ugh. She would do it, too. I have no choice but to drag myself from bed.

When I get up, Alex narrows her eyes at me. "Nothing dirty; no jeans with holes in them, and absolutely no jerseys. When you're dressed, I'll do your hair so that we can cover up those nasty stitched .Thank goodness the cut was low enough that they didn't shave half your head."

"Would you give it a rest, already? My head is pounding again," I grumble. "And it's not from the concussion."

"Just hurry!" Alex snaps, and slams my door on her way out.

I go to pull my shade down again so that I can change and, not that I'm looking for anything, but I just happen to notice the new kid reappear in the garage. He examines the dart still stuck in the target, and then pulls something from his back pocket. He throws so fast I don't even see the knife until it'd lodged in the bull's-eye in the exact spot the dart just was moments before.

There is no smile on his face as he admired is aim this time. He pulls the knife out of the dartboard, and then as quick as the first time, he throws it again. The action is so fast it takes me a minute to figure out where it lands. But then I see a mannequin in the corner of the garages rocking on its stand, the knife sticking out of its throat.

With a gasp, I quickly duck out of view from the window. I jump back so fast that I bang my head on my closet door. I fucking hurts, and I yell like there is no tomorrow.

"What's going on in here?" Alex asks, barging into my room yet again. She took one look at me and her frown got bigger. "You're not even dressed yet!"

"Alex!" I hiss, pulling her out of view of from the window. "He's crazy!"

"What are you going on about now?"

"The new kid!"

Alex pulls free from my grip and peers out the window. "There's nobody out there."

She's right. I look again, and he's already going back inside and has apparently taken his knife with him. "He was a knife reunion. He threw it at that dummy. Slit the dummy's freakin' throat. It hit dead center, too; like he could do it blindfolded."

Alex rolls her hazel eyes and then pulls the prescription pill bottle off my nightstand. "How many of these did you take?"

"I'm night high on painkillers, you idiot!"

"You sure sound like it."

Alex lets out a frustrated groan and begins tugging me out of my room. "I'm not going over there!" I protest.

"Fine!" Alex screams. "Be a loser! I'll go by myself."

"You can't go over there! What if he slits your throat next?"

Alex crosses her arms and gives me the evilest sneer. "Then you can blame yourself for my death because you made me go over there alone."

She stomps out of my room, and I can hear her as she trots down each and every stair. Then she slams the front door. "Alex!" I call down to her from my window in another hiss.

The glare she gives me is enough for me to know that she isn't going to listen to me. When she started to head down the driveway, my eyes drift back to the house across the street and then naturally make their way to his window. His blinds are adown but cracked open the tiniest bit, and I swear I see a shadow standing behind them.

What am I supposed to do? I can't just let her go over there alone. The guy is a psycho. First, he killed the Haskins's dog, and now he's an expert knife slinger?

Ugh. Sisters.

"Alex, wait! Fine! I'll come. Just...stay there."

"Ten seconds, Bella!" she calls up to me.

I throw on the first shirt I can find that doesn't have anyone's number on it, ignore the no-holes-in-the-jeans request, and then carefully pull my hair back into a ponytail. I, for one, don't care if my stitches are showing. Alex rolls her eyes when she sees me, but doesn't say anything except, "Took you long enough."

"I hate you," I huff, and then head across the street with my sister, against my better judgment, to officially meet the new neighbor.

We get as far as his mailbox when a car blares its horn behind us. I reach up to grab my throbbing had while Alex whirls around to greet her unexpected company. I have no idea which of her gazillion male admirers are in the car, but one of them hangs his head out the window and says, "Alex, babe, we're all going to the park for some Frisbee Football. Ryan and Greg are bringing a barbecue."

Alex glances longingly back at New Kid's house. She sighs, and then climbs into the car without even a second glance at me. I can hear her shrieking playfully as the car speeds off down the street. I sigh, too, but mine is one of relief.

The whole ordeal leaves me feeling particularly exhausted, and my head is throbbing. Especially since I've whacked it again. I head back home, refusing to look over my shoulder at the house behind me, and go straight to the comfort of my dark room. I swallow one of the pills on my dresser, turn on my fan, then collapse on my bed and wait for the painkillers to render me unconscious.

I'm not sure how long I sleep, but when I wake up I'm assaulted by sunlight again. "Ugh... Come on, Alex, give me a break!" I groan, throwing my arm over my eyes to shield them.

I reach for my grabby thing again, and with as much ease as I did it earlier, I pull my shade down. I'm about to yell at Alex to get out of my room, when a strange—very distinctly male—voice breaks the silence. "Now that's almost as impressive as your high score on Skateboard Pro 2000. I've been trying to beat it for three hours and haven't even come close."

I peer down to see a shadowed figure sprawled across my beanbag chair playing my Xbox and, well, what else am I going to do? I scream bloody murder. Only, when I scream it nearly makes my head explode, so it isn't all that impressive and turns into a groan pretty quickly.

"You know, Bella," the stranger, whose voice suddenly seems extremely familiar, says with another laugh, "you're going to give me a complex if you continue to scream like that every time we meet."

I feel like I should be fearful for my life, but even in the mostly-dark room I can see him grin at me from beneath these eyelashes that Alex would kill for. That face of his should be illegal.

As I continue to lay here, mesmerized by his beauty, his grin turns a little lopsided. "You feeling okay?" he inquires. "You seemed a lot more...," he searches for a word and settles on, "...talkative before."

Slowly, the memory of smacking my head pieces itself together. Though it's near impossible to look away from the gorgeous guy who came to my rescue, I throw my arm back over my eyes. "I was concussed!" I gasp. "My brain was scrambled. Whatever I said, it didn't count."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he remarks, chuckling. "I kind of liked the idea of being gorgeous."

I'm so glad my arm is still covering my face, because I'm pretty sure he'd take great pleasure in watching me blush. I've never told a boy that I think he's good-looking before, but since he isn't pretending I didn't say it, I don't see any way that I can deny it. "I'm sure you already know that," I grumble.

I nearly have a heart attack when my arm is lifted off my face. I didn't hear him get up, or notice when he sat down on my bed, but my new neighbor is now smiling down at me from an alarmingly close distance. "It's still nice to know that you think so," he says in a voice that no guy has ever used on me before—like velvet and hormones mixed together. It sends shivers through me, and don't think he doesn't notice my reaction.

He hovers above me for a minute, staring so intensely into my eyes that it's causing my heart to do strange things in my chest. When I gulp, his smile widens. "Edward Cullen," he says, those deep blue eyes of his twinkling.

"Edward," I breathe automatically, and then a second later am able to reclaim my swimming head. A little. I sound breathless, but still manage to voice my main concern. "What the hell are you doing in my room?"

He's surprised enough by my question that he affords me my personal space, but amused enough by it that he doesn't go far. "You should be nice to me," he says, still grinning. "I saved your life."

It's easier to concentrate when he isn't right there anymore. I start to gain my confidence back. "And that gives you the right to break into my room and try to beat my Skateboard Pro 2000 record? Which, just so you know, will never happen."

Now that I can breathe again, I start to sit up. I definitely can manage on my own, but the minute I move, Edward jumps up. "Careful, Bella." He actually fluffs my pillow for me, and then gently helps me lean up a little. When I'm situated, he asks, "Are you good? Need me to get you anything?"

I just shake my head incredulously. No guy has ever done anything like this for me before. I mean, the J's would probably keep me company and all, if they were here, but they would still make me do rock-paper-scissors to see who'd go downstairs to get the sodas.

"What's the matter with you?" Edward asks, laughing at the expression on my face.

I shake my head and say the first thing I can think of. "You killed Winston." Random, I know. But no way am I going to admit what's really wrong—that it freaks me out to be treated like a girl.

Edward bites back a smile and plops back down into my beanbag chair. "He tried to kill you first," he argues lightly.

I can't believe his response. It's so heartless. How can he be so nonchalant about taking the life of a big, dumb, but really sweet, and totally innocent, dog?

"He was just excited to see me!" I yell, forgetting that doing so will only cause me pain. I have to lower my voice again, but that is probably a good thing, because I'm suddenly a little choked up. "It was my own fault—always take the skates off before the helmet. Winston wasn't trying to hurt me. He wouldn't hurt anybody!"

"How was I supposed to know that?" Edward snorts. "I'm up in my room, hear you screaming 'No!' and look out the window just in time to see a big pit-bull plow you to the ground. You were bleeding all over, and he was attacking your face."

"He was licking my face. And he's not a pit-bull."

"Whatever." Edward rolls his eyes at me. "The dog's fine, anyways. I just stunned him, is all. He was tearing up my backyard before I even got back from the hospital."

"Winston's not dead?" This makes me feel so much better; my heart becomes lighter.

"Of course not. What kind of guy do you think I am?"

"I don't know what kind of guy you are. I don't know you. Which reminds me: what are you doing in my room?"

He thinks about not answering my question again, but then shrugs. "Your sister ditched you. I didn't think you should be alone in your condition."

"My condition? I have a headache. I'm not an invalid. I don't need a babysitter."

"Bella." His voice makes it sound as if what I'm saying is absurd. "You left me no choice. I have been dying for you to come introduce yourself to me since the day I moved in. It wasn't nice of you to tease me like that this morning. You got my hopes all up and then turned around and went back home."

"What?" I gasp.

"I don't know how it works here, but out in California it's customary for people to welcome their new neighbors."

"My mom brought you cookies the first day you got here," I say, confused.

"Yeah, your mom. I don't care about your mom."

"Alex went over there to invite you to her beach party the other day."

"Beach party?" he asks, distracted. Now he is the confused one.

"Michigan is surrounded by water on three sides," I say matter-of-factly. "We may not have waves, but we have lots of beaches."

Edward frowns. "Beaches are useless without waves."

"Not my point," I say, even though I happen to agree. I'm not much of a water fan. Unless it's frozen, of course. "I happen to know you were home when she went over, and you didn't answer the door."

His eyes flash up in surprise, and it takes him a minute before he can respond. I realize that I've just admitted to spying on him, but, thankfully, he seems to be more concerned with being busted.

"Maybe I was washing my hair," he finally says, fighting a smile.

"You blew off Alex?"

He can't hold back his grin anymore. "Maybe."

"Are you gay, or something?"

I'm glad to see that my comment mildly annoys him. "Not everyone from California is gay," he informs me.

"You blew off Alex," I repeat. "Nobody blows off Alex."

"She wasn't the sister I hoped would come see me."

What?!

"Me?" I laugh to cover up my sudden nerves. "Please."

"Your sister's hot," Edward admits, not with any real enthusiasm. He's just giving an objective observation. "But she knows it."

"Oh, so you mean she's just like you?"

It's the wrong thing to say. Edward gets really quiet all of a sudden. Then, after a minute, he says, "Would you like me to go?"

Something about this guy unsettles me, but the thought of him leaving surprisingly makes my stomach churn. "I...I don't know," I say honestly. I hope I sound casual. I don't want him to know that he both excites and scares me.

He smiles at me again, but it's less confident somehow; I think he's afraid I might actually kick him out. I relax a tiny bit, but I don't know what to say, so I wait for him to talk.

He gets off my beanbag chair and sits instead on my dresser, pulling the only framed photo I keep in my room into his hands. It's a picture of Jake, Jared, Josh, and me in our hockey gear. Jared's nose was bleeding, Josh was missing a tooth, and Jake, whose eye was purple and swollen, was carrying me in his arms. But we're all smiling as if it was the best day of our lives.

I love that picture. Edward seems to enjoy it, too. He studies it for a few minutes with a grin on his face, and eventually turns it towards me. He points to the kid holding me and says, "This is Jake, right?"

"Um, yeah." I'm startle. "How'd you know that?"

"Just a guess. Of all these guys, he seems like the one who would have all nine of the top scores behind yours on Skateboard Pro 2000."

I can't help smiling at that. "He's been obsessed with beating my score for almost a year now. He'll never do it, though. If he ever does, I'll just have to beat it ten more times and wipe his name completely off the list."

Edward looks down at the picture some more and then lifts just his eyes as he asks, "He's your boyfriend?"

"No!" I gasp, too appalled by the thought to blush at the question. I point to the picture and say, "He was just the only one strong enough to carry me home that day. I took a cheap shot from a kid on the opposing team. I actually tore a ligament in my ankle." I smile again as I remember the fight it caused. "As you can see, the guys didn't even take too kindly to that. I went down, and they didn't even know I was hurt before they started punching anyone and everyone they could. It was one of the finest moments in street hockey history."

Edward smiles at the story and points to the picture again. "So, what about these guys?"

"Jared, and Josh," I clarify as he points them out. "What about them?"

"Are either of them your boyfriend?"

Hearing him say the word boyfriend is just as startling the second time, and this time I do blush. Not because I'm in any way interest in Jared or Josh. Dating any of the J's would be like dating a brother. I blush because I'm embarrassed that this stranger is asking about my love life—which, of course, is nonexistent.

"None of those guys are my boyfriend."

I try to sound annoyed by the subject instead of freaked out like I actually am, but it obviously doesn't work, because Edward puts the picture down and comes back to my bedside. His smile shifts between amused and slightly cocky. "Does that mean you don't have a boyfriend?"

I narrow my eyes at him, but he still figures out the truth. He gazes at me for a moment, then asks, "Have you ever had a boyfriend?"

I blush again, even deeper than before. My lack of response answers the question for me. I think this is the reaction Edward has been hoping for since he leans in really close. I instinctively try to back away from him, but seeing as how I'm lying in bed and he's blocking my escape, the only thing I can do is sink down into my pillows.

"I wonder...," he murmurs when I can sink no lower. I'm flat on my back again, ignoring the discomfort the pressure is causing my stitches. He leans completely over me, trapping me between his hands and hovering at arm's length directly above me. His eyes are still quizzical, and yet they burn, almost wildly, as he stares down at me.

When he speaks again, it's a whisper. A velvety-smooth, dangerous whisper. "Have you ever been kissed, Bella?"

I suck in a deep breath and then hold it while the blood drains from my face. I'm frozen, completely terrified by this beautiful boy and what it looks like he's about to do.

When Edward leans in and brings one of his hands to my face, I flinch so violently it startles him. Instead of kissing me—which I'm pretty sure he wants to do—he sits up and murmurs, "Okay. Relax." He brushes the hair away from my eyes, and then runs the back of his fingers down the length of my cheek. "When you're ready." It sounds like a promise.

"I—I think I'd like you to leave now," I say, almost sounding like a whimper.

Edward retracts his hand back, his eyes studying mine, but the smile stays on his face. "Don't be a stranger, Bella," he says, and then disappears out of my window.

I listen for his retreat, but he never makes a sound. When I'm sure he's gone, I run to my window and lock it. Then, after that, I go through the house and do the same to every window and all of the doors, too.