The readers who are having fun with this are giving me LIFE. Thank youuu for understanding/accepting my brand of crazy haha

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six
white horse
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"Hey. Shit. Can you hear me?"

My eyes flutter open.

My head throbs.

I see the sky.

It's too harsh, too bright, and staying awake takes energy so my lids fall shut.

"Hey, no no no. Stay with me," the deep voice says, firmer.

My eyes open and without moving, I take in my surroundings.

Things could be worse.

I could be dead.

Instead, I'm lying in the middle of the fucking road, and Edward Cullen is crouched beside me.

Edward.

"There you are," he says, the panicked look in his gaze dimming when he sees I'm conscious. "Scared me for a second."

After my initial shock of surviving death wears off, my adrenaline kicks in and my instinct is to shove him away. To run. To fucking knee him in the balls because maybe I can't do this. Be near him.

"Get the fuck away from me," I snarl, panicking.

"I'm here to help," he reassures me, staying calm. "That car came out of nowhere. But you're safe."

"A car almost hit me," I say, still stunned by my almost fate.

"It collided with a parked car and then sped off. Hopefully, no one was injured," he says matter-of-factly.

"Don't move her!" some woman nearby—who I can't see—yells. "She could be paralyzed!"

"She's not paralyzed," Edward replies with an agitated tone.

"What are you, a doctor?" she asks him.

"Actually, yes," he replies. Then to me: "You okay? Feel any pain?"

I don't know if I'm okay.

Edward Cullen saved me.

I'm unsure how to feel.

"She's in shock! I've seen it on Grey's Anatomy!" the woman hollers again.

"For fuck's sake," Edward mutters under his breath, then looks over his shoulder at the stranger. "Make yourself useful. Call 911."

That's my cue to snap back to reality because the last thing I need here is the fucking authorities.

"I'm okay," I croak, trying to sit up despite my aching head.

"Easy does it." Edward grabs my shoulder so I stay sitting. His touch makes me shudder in fear and disgust, which he likely writes off as shock. "You probably shouldn't stand. You took a blow to the head."

I have a brief memory of him panicking and racing across the street before colliding with me.

Shaking my head, I take in more details. Under his suit jacket, there's spilled coffee all over his white button-up, and my cream camisole is tan and wet. I also notice his left arm is bent at his elbow and he's holding his hand against his chest like he's injured.

Maybe that should make me happy.

But for some reason, I don't think it does.

"You pushed me out of the way," I state. "Your hand—"

"Is a little sore, but I will be fine," he says simply.

"Where's my phone?" I ask, and he hands over my iPhone, the screen cracked. "Great."

"A broken screen can be replaced," he says with the wordless intention that I'm lucky to be alive. "What's your name?"

I hesitate, and think about using a fake name then say, "Bella."

"How old are you?"

I eye him. "Why?"

His brows pull together. "I'm trying to make sure you're coherent."

"You don't know how old I am so doesn't that defeat the purpose?"

"You got your license on you?"

Thankfully, I don't. I left everything but my phone back at the office. If I did have it on me, he'd see my name as Isabella Hale, and everything would potentially be ruined.

"I'm fine," I tell him. "Thanks."

With his help, I stand but am at an uneven height. It's only now that I realize I just have one shoe on.

A surge of emotions floods me, and my eyes burn with tears. The irony of having an emotional breakdown over a lost Louboutin instead of the fact that I almost died isn't lost on me. But maybe that's what I need to focus on right now so I don't completely lose it.

Still staring at the ground, I blink away my stupid tears. Edward must notice my missing shoe, too, because he glances around then jogs away for a second and returns with my scuffed black pump in his hand.

Wordlessly, he crouches down and eases the Louboutin onto my left foot.

It's oddly intimate.

"Nice shoes," he says, standing.

"Thanks. They're new, and I guess this is my way of breaking them in," I mutter, and he smiles wryly.

"They're a little tall. Might be safer for you to not walk in them, but—"

We hear sirens in the distance and more people on the street are starting to notice the almost accident.

A small crowd gathers around to witness the scene.

Someone pulls out their phone like they're going to take a fucking picture.

I need to go.

Now.

Without an explanation to anyone, I turn to leave. Pain immediately shoots through my hip, but it doesn't stop me and I'm able to limp away. It's not fast or cute but it's doing the job of getting me the fuck out of here.

Unfortunately, Edward follows.

I'm aimless.

This was not the plan.

I am not a damsel.

I am the predator.

He is the prey.

I was supposed to infiltrate his life, not be fucking saved by him.

I'm the one with the plan.

I'm—

dizzy.

Walking sideways.

Nauseated.

A warm, firm hand finds my elbow and Edward steadies me, nodding toward a bench near a storefront.

"It'd do you some good to sit. Please," he stresses, sounding more concerned than before.

He's being too nice.

Stop, I want to hiss. Just go away.

"I'm fine," I say instead.

And then I puke into the bushes.

In my peripheral, Edward patiently waits for me while I vomit.

I wish he'd leave.

I'm feeling vulnerable. Too exposed.

I need the upper hand again.

I also need to not have my breakfast in the fucking landscape in front of a drugstore.

"Look," he says like he's trying to reason with me. "I think we should wait for the ambulance."

I straighten, delicately wiping my mouth. "I'm not doing that."

"You're concussed."

"I'm fine," I say, weaker. Less convincing. "I really hate hospitals."

He's pensive, running his uninjured hand over his jaw.

"Then at least come back to my place so I can check you out," he offers. "I don't live far, just a block over."

I'm about to blurt yes, but I can't be too eager. I have to pretend like I have some self-preservation.

"That doesn't sound safe. I don't know you." Yes. Good. That sounds believable.

Edward glances toward where we came from, then looks back at me. His eyes are too green, too earnest.

"A group of ten people just witnessed us together. But if that doesn't make you feel comfortable enough, my name is Edward Cullen. I work at Virginia Mason Medical Center. You can send a picture of my ID to whoever you want."

"And why would I do that?"

"So you can send them my home address? I don't know. It seemed—"

I jump on that suggestion and hold out my hand. "Okay."

He looks momentarily surprised I'm going to do it, even though he's the one who offered the crazy suggestion. But then he reaches into his back pocket to pull out a black leather wallet. There's an awkward pause when he realizes he's still protectively holding his left arm against his chest and can't remove his license with one hand, so he offers me his entire wallet.

He's so trusting. It's almost stupid.

I swipe my thumb along the shattered screen of my phone to open the camera and snap a picture of his ID, pretending to send it to someone. But I don't. I just keep it for myself.

"You're one of those annoying people who never take a bad photo, huh?" I ask without thinking as I hand over his wallet.

He breathes a laugh, slipping it into his back pocket again. "Yeah, you must be concussed."

"Why do you say that?"

"Other than you vomiting in the bushes? That's an awful picture of me. You must not be thinking straight."

He says it with a hint of a self-deprecating smile.

It catches me off guard.

So far, he's not what I was expecting.

He seems warm.

Helpful.

Kind.

Maybe he's putting on an act, though.

Maybe this isn't who he really is.

But what the fuck do I know—I've also hit my head. Maybe nothing is what it seems.

"My condo is around the corner," he says. "Shall we?"

His offer hangs in the air, making the moment feel loaded.

I know I should take almost getting hit by a car as a sign that this is a bad idea. That would be the smart thing to do. I should walk away now, let my scheme dissolve, and leave both of us unscathed.

But I can't.

Our paths have already crossed

Collided, even.

He's making it too easy for me. He's offering himself up to me in a way I couldn't have expected this soon, and I can't pass up the opportunity to follow through with my plan.

So I fight a smile and say, "Lead the way."