Little Plastic Castle by Yogagal

Summary: Even the best built castles sometimes fall. In a coffee shop, in a

city...two people struggle to remember how to put those pieces back together.

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6484653/1/

In a coffee shop in a city

Which is every coffee shop in every city

On a day which is every day

I picked up a magazine

Which is every magazine

Read a story, and then forgot it right away

They say goldfish have no memory

I guess their lives are much like mine

And the little plastic castle

Is a surprise every time

And it's hard to say if they're happy

But they don't seem much to mind

- Ani DiFranco - Little Plastic Castles

Edward

It's gray today. Thin strips of pale yellow sunshine struggle to force their way
through the dense clouds, but they hardly make a difference. It's still gray.

Was it gray yesterday? I can't quite remember.

I shuffle across the floor, wondering why it's a pale green linoleum. I'm pretty
certain that I prefer hardwood. I look down and notice that my white slippers are
tinged gray and wonder how long I've been wearing them. There's a basket of
folded laundry on top of a chair, and while I can't remember when I actually did
laundry last, I'm thankful that it's been done. I put my clothes away, careful not
to wrinkle them.

Socks get put away first. Drab blacks, browns and blues, all rolled up and neat,
staring up at me from the top drawer of my bureau. Next, crisp white boxer briefs
make their way into the empty space near the socks. Once I'm certain everything
is in order, I close the drawer quickly, ready to put away something else. The
drawer ends up sliding shut way too fast, and before I can remove it, my thumb
gets caught.

"Shit!" I cry out, unable to help myself.

My shout echoes in the empty room; nobody else around to hear it but myself.

I pry the drawer back open and pull out my thumb, sucking on it as it throbs in
my mouth. I can feel the blood beating heatedly, reminding me that despite the
gray surrounding me, I'm still here.

I'm still alive.

Sometimes I need that reminder... or I forget.

Once the pulsing in my thumb simmers down to a slow beat, I notice I have
laundry to put away and work on neatly putting away my undershirts. After
hanging up a few button-down shirts and some pants, my laundry basket is
empty, and I stuff it away in the closet. I look at the clock, and realize I have a
bit of time before needing to go out, so I relax into an overstuffed arm chair.

There's a magazine on the side table, and turning on the lamp next to me, I
begin to flip through it, curious as to why all the articles are about summer fun in
the sun. Peering outside once more, I reassure myself that it's certainly not
summer, before turning the magazine over and noticing the publication date.

June 2009

My eyes flit to the calendar by my bed, which reminds me that it's actually
October 2010. I frown, a bit put out that I still have an old magazine lying
around, but continue to read it anyway. Time passes, and I find myself growing
hungry. Looking at the clock, it seems like a fine time to head out. Bending over,
I swap out my dingy slippers for some brown lace up shoes with particularly
sturdy looking rubber soles. I opt for a cream colored wool sweater, since the
orange-tinged oak tree outside my window shivers slowly in the breeze.

When I reach the door to leave, I take a moment to think of whether I've
forgotten anything or not, but nothing springs to mind. A bright red, spiral
notebook is perched right next to the door. I stare at it and take the keys sitting
next to it before deciding it might be a good idea to take it along with me as well.
There is a pen tucked conveniently in the spiral spine, and I hold them both close
to my chest as I leave my space.

The hallway appears empty, and the solitary echo of my shoes plodding against
the floor confirms that thought. As I reach the doors to outside, a pleasant
looking woman smiles kindly at me.

"Good morning, Mr. Cullen," she says, moving to allow me to pass.

"Good morning," I mumble in response, not quite certain I actually know who she
is.

This is one of the pitfalls of living in a populated place. Many faces pass me by,
but very few stick with me. The rest seem to meld together, not making much of
an impression. I just nod and smile and hurry along.

The brisk air hits me at once, and the overpowering smell of cleaning chemicals
from inside the building dissipates with the wind. It's quickly replaced by the
smell of freshly cut grass and whiffs of burning leaves. I take in a deep breath
and allow the scents to calm and ground me before setting out on my way. One
foot moves in front of the other, and soon I've found myself in front of a coffee
shop. I don't recognize it, but something about it feels warm and welcoming.

The outside is dusky red brick with a bright yellow door. I let myself in and am
immediately hit with the familiar smell of bitter coffee and overly sweetened
pastries. My mouth salivates instinctively as I take in the variety of scones and
danishes in the display case. There's a bit of line, so I file in, contemplating what
I'd like to order. I think hard and try to decide what my favorite drink of choice is
as I wait my turn.

I note the tired-looking woman at the counter, talking to a customer in front of
her. She looks sad, defeated, and as if she's carrying the weight of the world on
her shoulders.

She also looks incredibly familiar.

Her face is screwed up in concentration as she patiently explains to the customer
that there is no way to make the cheese danish vegan friendly. I want to laugh at
this ridiculous exchange, but the pained look on her face stills me. She can't be
that upset over a cheese danish. I find myself unable to tear my eyes away from
her, and she must feel my stare because she suddenly turns her head and looks
directly at me.

I offer her a shy smile, embarrassed at being caught staring, and avert my gaze.
Waiting my turn, I hope that she's still at the counter to help me.

Bella

I roll over, and the harsh glare of the red numbers taunts me. It's one AM. If I
want to get any real sleep, I need to leave now and go back to my place. The
heavy arm around my waist feels comforting and right, and I hate having to
sneak away from it. I've learned my lesson, though, after a few mistakes in the
past when I just could not find it in myself to leave. There's no way I can face
what will most likely happen in the morning if I stay.

I make the ten minute drive back to my apartment in eight and fall down on my
bed. Sleep quickly pulls me under.

"Never gonna give you up! Never gonna let you down!"

I groan, pissed off that my own alarm clock has Rick Rolled me. Although, I have
to say that a little Astley in the morning is far preferable to the loud, blaring noise
of the monotonous alarm I used before switching to the radio. Either way, it
really doesn't matter. It's still five in the morning, and that sucks. I roll over,

peering at the empty space next to me and close my eyes, imagining it full and
warm for one second.

Just. One. Second.

That's all I'll allow before hoisting myself out of bed and into the shower where
the hot water wakes me up and hides the tears that slide down my face. I make a
quick pot of coffee, knowing I'll end up having my fair share today, and then it's
back to the bedroom to get dressed. Clothes are strewn all over the floor, and I
can't tell which are clean and which are dirty. At the end of a long, stressful day,
I usually end up stripping my clothes off and tossing them aside, sometimes
aiming for the laundry basket and other times missing completely. It's not like it
matters anyway. There's nobody here to remind me to clean up or roll his eyes
when something's a smidge out of place.

I finally locate a decently clean pair of jeans and a non-stained top. They'll do.
The coffee is ready, and I rush to make myself a cup. In doing so, I spill it all
over me. I almost don't feel the scalding liquid seep through my shirt, but I'm not
completely numb. The tender pink mark it leaves flares into a deep red, and I
grab an ice pack to press over it. Tossing the now stained shirt into the bathroom
sink, I hunt for something else to wear. An old, worn t-shirt that is too big for me
is balled up in a corner of the closet. I pick it up, debating whether or not to wear
it, but I know I'll never chance getting it dirty. That would mean I'd have to wash
it.

I bring the shirt up to my face and breathe in, transporting myself to a time not
too long ago. My nose tingles as stinging tears prick at the corners of my eyes.
Pressing my lips to the shirt, I place it down on the bed and notice the glaring red
numbers on my clock.

Shit!

I'm going to be late. I spot a tank top on the ground and put it on without even
bothering to check if it's clean. My apron will cover it up if it isn't. I don't have
time to bother with it at the moment.

I hustle and pull into my spot in the alley behind the coffee shop and let out a
sigh of relief. I'm only a minute late. I pull down the visor and flip open the
mirror, cringing at what looks back at me. I swipe some foundation over the dark
purple circles under my eyes, products of fitful, sleepless nights. There's not
much to do for the seemingly permanently etched lines in my forehead, so I grab
my hair and toss it into a somewhat presentable bun. A coat of lipgloss is all I can
be bothered with, and I throw it back in the glove compartment before grabbing
my key to open up.

Alice is already there, standing at the back entrance with her eyes closed as she
bops along to whatever music is pelting through her earbuds. She looks so
happy...so carefree, and her ease and lightness spread to me as a smile finds its
way to my face. My cheeks almost hurt from it. Those muscles have rarely had a
chance to stretch lately. I'm careful not to spook her and gently jostle her
shoulder so she knows I'm there. Her pint-sized body melds itself to mine in a
hug, and I can't help but hug her back. We walk into the kitchen with our arms
around each other and stand there staring at it as the lights flicker on.

I let her know what we should get started with, and without talking, we dive in
head first. We both toss on our aprons, and Alice plugs her iPod into a set of
speakers. Then, we move around the kitchen, partners in this dance that we have
done for a while. We gather ingredients and mix, stir and bake for the next
couple of hours. There is a moment of panic when I cannot find the raisins for a

particular scone we make, and I narrowly avoid a full-blown anxiety attack.
Alice's quick thinking and ability to calm me down saves the day when she
remembers to look in the fridge.

"Sorry, Bella. I must have put them away in there instead of the pantry. But it's
okay. We're fine. You're fine," she reassures me, rubbing my back.

A few deep breaths later, the buzzing in my skin and the beating of my heart
slowly subside. An hour later and I have no time to think about raisins anymore.
The line at the register hasn't stopped since seven this morning. It keeps me
busy, however, and it certainly keeps my mind off other things, if only for a few
moments here and there. Of course, it all crumbles when I see a young couple
sitting at the table by a window, sharing a muffin. My stomach drops, and the
painful pit in my stomach throbs, reminding me of what I used to have.

I hold it together, just barely, through the breakfast rush before I allow myself a
second cup of coffee during a short lull. Alice peeks in from the back to check on
me, and I let her know I'm fine. Or...as fine as I can be.

As the crowd picks up again, I find myself glancing at the clock, continually
noting the time. My hands shake a bit, and I can feel a thin sheet of sweat coat
my forehead. I try to take a deep breath and calm myself down, but between the
completely aggravating customer in front of me and the two large coffees I've
consumed, it's hard to do.

"I'm sorry sir," I repeat for what feels like the twentieth time. "While I am
sympathetic to your desire for vegan friendly pastries, I simply cannot come up
with a decent substitute for actual cheese in the danish. We do have a lovely
selection of vegan-friendly muffins if you'd like to try those?"

My eyebrows furrow as I concentrate on not crying. I really don't need to deal
with this asshole when I have one hundred other things on my plate. I do my
best to think of some sort of compromise that will be acceptable to the die hard
vegan in front of me, who's wearing leather shoes no less, when I feel the fine
hairs on the back of my neck stand up on end. Without even seeing who it is, a
wave of calm washes over me.

The man in front of me might as well not exist at the moment, as I revel in the
light, relaxed feeling I'm experiencing. I look over and a pair of intense green
eyes are staring right at me. For a moment or two, I hold out a glimmer of hope
that maybe...maybe.

And then he turns away, averting his gaze as he fidgets uncomfortably.

My eyes close for a second, defeat flooding through me.

Edward

"A large latte, please," I say after peering up at the colorfully decorated
chalkboard for a moment. "And a cinnamon-raisin scone ."

I look back down into a pair of deep brown, penetrating eyes. This brown isn't
dull or drab. In fact, it's vibrant, sparkling with life, and I can't help but turn my
lips up into a smile at the sight.

Beautiful.

"Five-sixty, please," she says with a grin, holding her hand out for payment.

I reach into my pocket and find a rectangular piece of plastic. As I hand it over,
our fingers graze, and the unexpected tingle that shoots through me makes me
jump back. I'm not sure if she feels it as well because she just winks and rings
me up, sliding my card through the machine. It's nice to see her laugh. Her
features are much prettier when not marred with a furrowed brow or suppressed
scowl.

Placing a slip of paper in front of me to sign, she speaks again.

"Thank you...Edward."

I blink repeatedly, wondering how she knows my name, until I notice it's printed
on the receipt.

"You're welcome..." I look down and notice she's wearing a name tag. "...Bella."

Her smile turns shy, but her eyes remain bright and inviting, so I give her a wave
before moving off to retrieve my coffee at the next counter. I can tell she's
watching me, despite the fact that she seems completely engaged with her next
customer. I can feel the heat of her stare on my skin, but every time I glance up,
her eyes are elsewhere, causing me to wonder if I'm just imagining this in my
head.

My coffee is ready, and I collect it, along with my scone, and find an empty table
in the back. My view is skewed from here, and I can no longer see the beautiful
woman at the counter. I take a tentative sip of my coffee and am more than
pleased at what I find. It's the perfect blend of sweet and bitter, the creamy milk
smoothing it out. I take a bite of the scone and my eyes close reflexively. Tastes
of cinnamon, nutmeg and some other spice I just can't place dance on my
tongue. With each bite, I feel as if I'm that much closer to figuring out what it is
I'm missing, but at the last moment it slips away.

I wash down the crumbs with the rest of my coffee and allow myself to look
around the cafe. The walls are a deep plum color and are filled up with black and
white photographs. I make my way around, checking each one out. There doesn't
seem to be any artist or information listed next to any of them, and I'm not even
quite sure what they are.

I stop in front of photograph of a meadow. Something about it calls to me, and it
looks hauntingly familiar. I wrack my brain, trying to discern if I've ever been
there before. Wisps of memories flutter through my head, and if I close my eyes I
can see a red checkered picnic blanket spread out under the tree. A woman in a
blue dress faces away from me, her long, chestnut-colored hair, fluttering softly
in the wind. She holds her hand out, a beautiful diamond sparkling in the sun.

"It's beautiful," she whispers, and with those words, the entire memory seems to
dissolve into fractured pieces.

Shaking my head, I focus back on the photograph in front of me. Despite it being
devoid of color, you can tell it was taken on a sunny day. Short grass sways in
the wind, and a large, strong-looking oak tree looms in the foreground. A section
of the bark is peeled away with something carved into it. It's too far away in the
photo for me to make out clearly, but I think they might be letters.

I close my eyes again, hoping that the fleeting memory presents itself again to no
avail. Try as I might, it remains hidden, lodged somewhere deep in my brain. I
feel a surge of warmth behind me and something touches my shoulder lightly. A
warm, familiar voice ghosts past my ear.

"This one's my favorite."

Bella

I finish with the rush of customers and take a deep breath before scanning the
place. I don't see him anywhere. Panic sets in when I think I've missed my
opportunity and he's run out before I've had a chance to really speak to him, to
be near him. My breathing speeds up, and my chest tightens, pangs of fear and
loneliness spreading throughout me. I debate running outside to see if I can still
catch him walking down the sidewalk, when Alice comes over, grabbing my hand.

"It's okay, Bella," she reassures me.

"No, it's not," I say, shaking my head, slowly getting hysterical. "It's not okay,
and it's not going to be okay."

Alice pulls me into her warm embrace and rubs slow circles on my lower back,
calming me down as best she can.

"He's in the back by the photographs," she tells me, and I let out the breath I
was holding.

Handing me a mug of tea, Alice unties my apron and pushes me from behind the
counter.

"Go," she instructs, and I don't need to be told twice.

I don't rush over immediately, not wanting him to see me with red-rimmed ,
glassy eyes. I brace myself against a wall and take a sip of the tea, sighing at the
scent of chamomile as it infiltrates my nose. A few sips and some deep breaths
later, I'm calm enough to head over. Smoothing over my hair, I walk slowly and
stop when I see what he's doing.

Edward is standing at the wall of photographs I've taken and is staring intently at
the one of the meadow. My fingers itch, just wanting to reach out and touch him,
to shake him so he can see what I do. But I don't. Instead, I bide my time,
watching him take it all in, curious to see if anything jars him.

A flicker of hope occurs when I watch him close his eyes, a smile spreading
across his face, but it's soon replaced with an anxious, fretful look. It doesn't suit
him. I walk quietly until I'm right behind him. Suppressing the urge to gather him
up in my arms, I place a hand on his shoulder.

"This one's my favorite," I say, my voice coming out only slightly above a
whisper.

If he only realized why it's my favorite.

"It's gorgeous," he replies, and I nod, even though he can't see me.

"Join me for a drink?" I ask as I walk into his line of sight. I hold up my cup in
friendly offering, hoping he'll take me up on it.

He stammers for a second before nodding.

"Please."

I follow him to the table he's been sitting at and slide into the chair across from
him.

"Who's the artist?" he asks, motioning towards the photographs.

I blush before answering.

"Me."

He grins, taking this in.

"I knew they were beautiful for a reason."

I melt at his words, the natural flirt in him rising to the surface. It's amazing the
things that are innate within us. They never seem to disappear. I clutch the mug
I'm holding tighter and avert my eyes, unsure if I can keep it together if pinned
under his stare.

"Thank you," I whisper.

I drain the last of my tea before setting the cup down. We talk, and it's easy and
effortless, which simultaneously elates me and makes my heart clench. During a
pause in the conversation, I find myself fiddling with the rim of my mug, and
trace circles around it with my finger around it. I can feel the heat of his gaze and
look up to see Edward staring at my ring finger. My heart immediately drops into
my stomach.

He realizes he's been caught staring, and his face flushes in embarrassment, but
that doesn't stop him from asking a question.

"You're, um...married?"

I fight the tears that sting at the corners of my eyes as I answer.

"Yes."

I don't elaborate, and he doesn't ask me to. Instead his eyes drift down to his
own, bare hand.

"Oh," he says, as a mixture of sadness and relief creeps onto his face. "I'm not. "

Edward

I can't stop staring at my naked hand. I rub the ring finger of my left hand over
and over until I swear I almost see a faint indentation from where a wedding
band would be. I'm not sure why it hurts so much when Bella tells me she's
married. Of course she is, why wouldn't she be? She's beautiful and successful
and clearly very talented. I almost want to ask her if the photographs are for
sale, but I can't bring myself to do so.

She watches me with pain in her eyes as I mess with my hand, so I drop them,
not wanting to be the cause of her sadness. I don't need or want her pity. We
stand there, the silence encompassing us, until I feel as if I'm almost suffocating
from it. I wrack my brain to come up with an excuse to leave, but something is
rooting me to the spot.

"Bella!" calls a voice, and I turn to see a girl with fiery curls tossed up in a
haphazard bun. "I'm so sorry to do this to you right now, but we're backed up
and Peter's not here yet and Alice is all tied up in the kitchen, and..."

"Victoria," answers Bella wearily, cutting off the girl. "It's fine. I'll be there in one
second."

My chest tightens with the realization that our time together is over. I try and feel
an ounce of shame, knowing that this beautiful woman is already spoken for, yet
I simply can't do it.

"Edward, I..." Bella starts, and I can already hear the list of excuses and
explanations wanting to escape her lips. So, she surprises me when she continues
speaking.

"...I need to go. But, hopefully I'll see you later?"

It's a question, putting the ball in my court, and I honestly have no idea what to
say. Every fiber of my being is aching to say yes. I want to talk to her again, get
to know her and... I stop myself before I allow any indulgence of impossible
fantasies. I sigh, my shoulders sagging a bit under the weight of my decision.

"Perhaps," I offer Bella in response, followed by a small smile. That seems to
placate her, and I feel her hand squeeze my shoulder as she walks swiftly past.

I stare after her retreating figure until she disappears amidst a crowd of people
up by the counter. I watch until I can no longer make out her shiny chestnut
brown hair amongst the rest. I turn back around, hoping to at least lose myself in
the photographs again, only to be disappointed to see that a couple is standing in
front of them. The man has his arm slung around the girl, and she leans into him,
resting her head on his shoulder. They look happy and light, without a care in the
world.

I envy them.

oOo

"Mr. Cullen," somebody greets me upon my entrance to the building, and I nod in
their direction.

I shuffle back in, the drab gray walls almost painful in contrast to the warmth and
brightness of Bella's cafe. Despite having had the scone a little while ago, my
stomach contracts, feeling hollow and empty.

I guess I should find something to eat.

The smell of cooking food grabs my attention, and allowing my nose to lead, I
walk down the hall. I stop when I see an open space with a buffet of food spread
out on a long table. I walk over and glance at the offerings. Nothing stands out
really, but it looks edible enough, so I take an empty plate from a smiling person
wearing an apron and pile some on.

Turning around, I see tables set up on the other side of the room, a lone daisy
perched in a vase on the center of each one. I sit down at a vacant table and take

a few bites of the food in front of me. It's mushy, bland and barely edible. So
much for my previous thought. My taste buds crave Bella's flavorful scone,
bursting with spices. Realizing that I won't get anything like that here, I sigh and
scoop another forkful of what I think is chicken into my mouth. Resigned, I chew,
swallow and repeat the process, eager to quell my hunger, despite never really
feeling satisfied.

My head hangs low through most of the meal, but once I finish, I allow myself to
look up. A few of the other tables are occupied, some with couples, others with
just one person like myself. Nobody catches my eye, though, so I push my chair
back, ready to leave and go back to the solitude and familiar comfort of my place.

As I'm about to stand up, my eye catches the daisy on my table and something
tugs at the back of my brain. A fuzzy image of a couple racing through a
meadow, laughing. The girl runs behind a large tree as if to hide, but the man
immediately finds her and they fall into the dewy grass, dotted with daisies. I
strain to make out their faces, to no avail, and when the sound of a nearby chair
scraping across the linoleum pulls me out of my head, I notice my hands are
clammy with sweat beading at my temple.

I struggle to catch my breath and take my napkin to wipe away the wetness that
has spilled over onto my cheek .

Bella

"Victoria," I say, trying to get her attention while doing the best to keep the
annoyance out of my voice. She's been making eyes at some ratty-looking guy
for the last five minutes and continues to successfully ignore me.

"Do you have this? I need to go get something in the back."

She nods, barely looking at me, and I'm thankful that it's slowed down a bit in
the last couple of hours. At least it's not like she'll be ignoring actual customers. I
don't really need to get anything, but if I have to put up with another minute of
Victoria's incompetence there's no telling if I'll be able to keep my cool with her. I
need the extra help, and I can't be too hasty in firing her, no matter how damn
annoying she is.

I slink off to the alley in the back of the cafe and slide down until my body is
barely supported by the brick wall. Reaching beneath an overturned cracked
planter that sits by the door, I retrieve a hidden pack of Marlboros and a lighter.
I'm pretty sure Alice knows about my secret stash, but even if she does, she
hasn't said a word about it to me.

I just need this release.

I pull out a cigarette and place it between my lips. I flip the lighter on and watch,
mesmerized by the flickering orange flame. I reach out with my other hand and
trail my finger slowly through it, almost numb to the heat, but just as I nearly
make it through, the searing pain of a burn hits me. I pull my finger back and
into my mouth, letting the cigarette fall to the wayside. It's not like I'm looking to
hurt myself, but sometimes feeling pain in a place other than in my heart
feels...good, in a distracting way .

My finger stops throbbing so violently until it's a dull ache. I grab the cigarette off
the ground, brushing it clean before placing it back in my mouth and finally
lighting it. I take a deep inhale as the smoke invades my lungs and a wave of
calm floods my body. I know it's only fleeting, but I'll take what I can get.

My eyes close as I smoke, and flashes of my morning pass through my mind.
There was a couple that came in after Edward left, and it was a miracle that I
didn't have a complete breakdown. They were facing away from me, and the man
rubbed the shoulders of the woman in front of him. He leaned down and
whispered in her ear, and I could hear her laugh at whatever was said. When
they turned around, I could see that she was swollen around the middle, clearly
pregnant. My hands were shaking so bad that the mug I was filling slipped and
shattered against the floor, creating a mess of ceramics and coffee. I bent down
to clean it up but ended up just staring at it, unsure how to piece anything back
together anymore . Thankfully, Alice was nearby and brought over a mop to wipe
away my mess, so I could work on pouring a new cup of coffee.

It's not that every little thing sets me off. I'm not that fragile. I see pregnant
women almost daily and am usually able to deal with it. But this...this was
different. More familiar in a way. Maybe it was the way she looked at him or the
loving ways in which he cautiously touched her. As they waited in line, the man
wrapped his arms around her, gently rubbing her belly and whispering more
beautiful things into her ear. He fingered a solid gold band that was strung
around the woman's neck. Perhaps her wedding band was too small to fit over
her swollen fingers. I watched them for a while, equal parts jealous and sad,
pining for what I can never have. What I won't allow myself to seek elsewhere.

Smoke filters into my eyes, making them water, and I look down to see that my
cigarette is now only ash. I flick it onto the ground and stub it out with the heel of
my shoe. My eyes water, and I'm not sure if it's from the smoke or the memory
from earlier.

Watching the couple - happy, carefree, and so obviously in love - makes me
remember what I once had. I twist my own gold band around my finger and think
about Edward who was in earlier today. He looked at me, at my finger, almost
longingly. If he only knew...

"Damn it!"

I can't help shouting as I grab a nearby rock and throw it into the alley. It hits
something metal, making a satisfyingly loud noise. I am so angry that I want to
break something, hurt something. Instead, I lean back, pull out another cigarette
and light it. Closing my eyes, I allow myself to remember, if only for a brief
minute.

White satin and lace...

Matching gold bands...

Standing up at the altar in front of our friends and family, pledging to love and
cherish each other till death do us part.

Death.

I vowed not to leave him until death separates us and I've stuck to those vows.
Little did I know at the time that there are things much worse than death.

When Alice finds me, the cigarette pack is empty, and I'm surrounded by the
nasty, yellowed butts. My face is streaked with dried tears, and my eyes are itchy

and swollen. Thankfully, she doesn't say a word, just lifts me up and allows me to
lean on her until we reach the employee bathroom. She runs some warm water in
the sink and offers me a wet washcloth to wash my face. She finger combs
through my hair until I look as presentable as I can.

With a hug from behind me, she presses a kiss to my cheek before letting me
know I have some paperwork to go over in my office, so I should go do that while
she keeps an eye up front. It's like Alice knows that nothing good will come from
me being amongst people right now. I'm not sure how many times a week this
happens, but she manages to get me through each one.

I'm not sure how much longer either of us can do this.

Edward

I'm standing in front of my closet, holding a sweat-soaked button down shirt in
one hand while I look for another one to put on. I'm still not certain what
happened to me at lunch, but it's left me shaken. I shiver, as a cool breeze whips
over my damp skin and walk over to close the window that's somehow been left
open. As I walk back to my closet, I catch sight of myself in the mirror. I frown,
seeing a dark mark near my shoulder.

As I get closer to my reflection I realize it's not dirt at all, but rather a tattoo. I
squint at the black ink, and it jars a memory.

I'm sitting in a red leather chair with a muscular man looming over me, a
vibrating needle in his hand. My eyes are closed, but I can feel a surge of warmth
in my hand. I crack open my eyes and look down to see a smaller hand in mine,
squeezing me back. I try to crane my neck to see who the hand belongs to, but
something prevents me from doing so. Then the fiery pain of the tattoo needle is
so great that the memory slips from my mind, and I'm suddenly back in my
room, staring at myself in the mirror.

I swear that my shoulder still feels tender to the touch when I look at it again and
trace the treble clef imprinted on my skin. I close my eyes once more in hopes of
seeing the person who's hand I was holding, but it's blank...a black chasm of
nothing.

I toss my shirt across the room in frustration and fall back against my bed. For
some reason, I think of Bella, and I wonder how her afternoon is going. I cant
imagine it being any worse than this. Defeated, I walk back to my closet and
select a new, clean shirt and finish buttoning it up before walking back and
sinking into my chair. I notice my red notebook sitting on the side table, where I
must have tossed it when I came back in. I pick it up, flipping through the pages.

On the first page I notice my own handwriting and pause to read.

Music Therapy - 4pm - Meeting Room B.

I glance over at the clock to see that it's quarter to four. I flex my fingers
instinctively as I think about getting to play a piano. My body seems to know
what to do even before my mind because I soon find myself walking out the door
and heading down the hallway. I note each door as I pass, happy to see that they

are labeled, and soon I come across Meeting Room B. The room is empty except
for a black baby grand in the back. I have no idea if I'm waiting for somebody or
not, so I walk over to sit at the piano. The bench feels hard and cool beneath me,
and I adjust myself until I feel comfortable.

My arms lift as my fingers flex over the keys. I stare down at them, the
alternating rectangles of white and black almost mocking me. And then, I play.
My fingers move on their own accord with no help from my brain. I'm not even
sure what tune I'm playing, but it sounds beautiful.

It sounds familiar.

I stare at my fingers as they fly across the keys, creating the beautiful music that
pours from the piano. I feel light, calm and strangely energized. Testing
something out, I allow my eyes to close, and yet the music keeps coming with no
interruption. I open my eyes and watch in amazement as my fingers slow down
and the song draws to an end. For a brief moment, the room is eclipsed in
stillness, and my rapid heartbeat is the only sound I can hear. Then, loud
clapping breaks through the quiet.

"That was wonderful, Edward. I'm surprised by the Bach, but it was stunning.
Simply stunning."

I turn around to see a man in a dark pair of slacks and a maroon sweater vest
walk in. He has a folder in one hand and a pen in the other. He drags a folding
chair up to the piano and gingerly sits down in it.

"How are we today?" he asks as he flips through the folder in his hand.

I'm immediately turned off by his question, not liking his use of the 'royal we.'

"I am fine," I say, stressing the singular.

"A little testy today, Edward," he chortles, and I fail to see the humor in the
exchange. "Did we see Bella today, perhaps?"

I bristle at his assumption and inch back from him slightly. How the hell does he
even know Bella?

"Remind me of your name, please," I ask brusquely.

His left eyebrow raises almost imperceptibly, yet I still note the reaction.

"I'm Dr. Volturi, of course. Dr. Aro Volturi, Edward."

I nod as if I remember and twist around so I'm facing the piano again. Before I'm
able to try and block out Dr. Volturi and play some more music, I feel the cool
slickness of his skin upon mine as he stills my hand.

"You can play in a moment, Edward," Dr. Volturi explains to me like I'm a five
year old. "But first, we need to do a little bit of work."

He holds up a stack of flashcards and has me look at them. They don't seem to
be anything out of the ordinary, and I'm not quite sure why we're doing this.

A blue bird.

A red ball.

A black book.

A gold ring.

I freeze at the last flashcard and ask him to pause for a moment. He does and
looks at me curiously, as if he's about to ask me something, but ends up keeping
quiet and just watches me intently. My eyes fixate on the picture of the gold ring,
and immediately, I start thinking about Bella. There is something about her,
something that draws me to her, that makes me want to know her in so many
different ways. I have no idea why this picture makes me think of her, and I
squeeze my eyes shut, trying to figure it out.

My head is suddenly throbbing, pulsing with pain. My fingers shoot up and start
to massage the temples, and I can barely nod when Dr. Volturi asks if I'm okay.
Once the headache passes, he shows me a few more cards and then he invites
me to play some more music. He moves off to the side, allowing me space and
freedom at the piano. I close my eyes, unsure of what to play, but just like
before, my fingers find the keys and the melody pours out.

This time the music starts off slowly - quietly, even. My eyes close, and I find
myself playing for somebody in my mind. I can see her as clear as if I'm looking
at a painting. She's in the middle of a room, clothed in a stunning white dress,
but her face is, of course, hidden from view. She sways in time to the music as it
gets louder...more bolder. The notes are like emotion spilling across the keys.
The song whips faster and faster until I'm pounding out against the keys, sweat
beading up on my forehead. And then slowly it subsides, the notes seeping back
into the piano.

My body is buzzing when I am done; my hands clammy and shaking. I finally lift
my head up when the sound of applause crashes the silence and look to see that
the room has been filled with people, all staring at me intently. A few people are
wiping their faces, tears having spilled down their cheeks. I'm not sure what to
do with myself, and I look to Dr. Volturi for some sort of cue.

He's staring down at the flashcards in his hands, shaking his head. He catches me
looking at him and replaces the cards in his folder.

"We can continue with this tomorrow, Edward. Why don't you stay and play for
everyone?"

I nod, and turn back to the piano, eager to lose myself in the music once more.

Bella

I roll my neck, feeling it pop repeatedly as I stretch it from side to side. A
memory of coming home to two strong hands that would skillfully knead my
shoulders and back until the dull ache subsided flits through my head. I close my
eyes and savor it.

It's been a long day. No longer than any other, time-wise, but it feels like an
eternity. I'm itching to get out of here, and when I glance back up at the clock, I
whisper a small prayer of thanks that it's only five minutes until closing time.
Victoria and Peter have been gone for almost an hour, leaving Alice and I to close
up shop.

Sensing how weary I am, Alice goes around and alerts the last few straggling
customers that we'll be locking the doors in a few minutes, and I wrap up the

leftover pastries to sell at half price tomorrow. I notice we only have one raisin
scone left and decide to keep it for myself, not remembering the last time I ate. I
slump down behind the counter as Alice wipes down tables and allow myself a
minute to relax. I break off a piece of scone, popping it in my mouth.

I can't help but smile, remembering Edward and how much he enjoyed the one
he bought earlier. Watching his eyes light up as he ate it made me happy.
Despite the long day and the near panic attack from this morning, having that
memory of Edward smiling seems to dissolve all the shitty parts. If only a smile
could solve all of life's problems .

I sigh, picking at the scone some more once I realize how hungry I actually am.
Within a minute it's completely gone.

Brushing myself off, I stand up to see that the cafe is empty, save for Alice and
myself. Even with the last few tasks I need to do, I'll have just enough time to
rush home and shower before my evening plans. Thinking about what's to come
puts a smile on my face, and I may even find myself whistling as I take off my
apron to hang it up. These mood swings of mine are bound to give me whiplash,
and it's a miracle that I haven't gone completely crazy yet.

Alice says she'll finish up out front, so I grab the print out from the register to
finish up some paperwork in my office. I turn my iPod on because I always work
faster that way. I'm almost through the receipts when the music switches and I'm
no longer rocking out to The Who. Instead, it's the Beatles, and in particular, the
song that played as I first danced with my husband at our wedding. I haven't
heard this song in a long time, and I'm almost surprised I still have it on my iPod.

I close my eyes as the lyrics wash over me, and a bitter chuckle escapes as the
irony of the words is not lost on me.

There are places I remember,

All my life though some have changed.

The song continues, and I squeeze my eyes shut, both to stifle the tears and so I
can see the images clearer.

Some forever not for better,

Some have gone and some remain.

I see the two of us spinning around the room, whispering silly things to each
other as our guests cheered and clapped for us. His cheeks flared just as red as
mine as everyone demanded we kiss .

All these places have their moments,

With lovers and friends I still can recall.

Warm, strong hands clasped around me, stroking my back through layers of
satin. He started singing to me, and his voice was the only one I heard, eclipsing
even that of John Lennon's.

Some are dead and some are living,

In my life I've loved them all.

The music continues, and I wipe away a stray tear that's escaped and sniffle,
keeping the rest at bay. At least I didn't have a complete breakdown this time .
That's progress, right?

I'm humming along, lost in the moment when Alice's voice breaks through.

"He came in again today, didn't he?"

"Hm...?" I ask, slowly opening my eyes, sad to have been pulled from that
memory.

Alice is standing in front of my desk, looking at me curiously. She repeats her
question, and I can feel my cheeks heat up at the mention of...him.

"How can you tell?" I challenge her, wondering if I'm that obvious. He did always
say that he could read me like a book.

"You're different on the days he comes in," Alice remarks, trying to figure out
what to say. "Like there's a current of happy through the stress."

I smile, but it's fleeting.

"It's so hard," I admit to Alice in a whisper.

"You're never going to be able to give him up, are you?" she asks, leaning against
my desk.

"I don't think I could, even if I wanted to. "

Edward

After the music room finally empties, I'm left alone with Dr. Volturi.

"Thank you...?" I venture, wondering what I'm thanking him for exactly. I know
this was supposed to be a session of some sort, but I'm still unclear as to why.

"Anytime, Edward. Anytime," he says with a hint of a smile. "You're doing well.
We'll continue along tomorrow. I knew music would have an impact, although I'm
still curious as to what the final result will be..."

He looks down at some notes and shakes his head, immediately absorbed in
thought. I hardly have a chance to say goodbye as he walks away, eyes glued to
his papers. My stomach rumbles just then, and I walk out, hoping to find some
food. Coming across the same dining room as before, I make my way to the
spread of food and help myself to a few slices of roast beef, a scoopful of
potatoes and some salad.

When I turn around to find a table, I notice that unlike lunch, where most people
were sitting by themselves, the majority of people this evening are eating with a
companion or two. As I look more closely, I notice that some of the people are
wearing identifying badges with the word "visitor" printed on them.

I finally find an empty table and slide in, slowly starting on my dinner as I take in
the other tables around me. A young girl sits at a table while an elderly looking
woman hovers over her, cutting up the roast beef on the girl's plate. A man sits
across from the girl, making quiet conversation, but the girl just stares off into

the distance, clearly not paying attention. Her eyes are milky white and not
focused on anything in particular.

The next table over hosts a couple who are talking quietly with their heads bent
towards each other. From where I'm sitting, I'm unable to see which of them is
the visitor and which one is not. It feels strange to be staring so blatantly at
them, so I focus on my food for a bit, but the next time I glance over, the girl is
silently crying as the man looks on helplessly. I stare until it makes me
uncomfortable, but the sight of this girl crying hurts my heart for some reason.

My gaze moves from table to table, and slowly I start to notice that I'm the only
one eating alone. One table almost looks like they're having a party. Everyone is
laughing and smiling, sharing stories and warm looks with each other. A gnawing,
almost painful feeling in the pit of my stomach hits me as I realize that every
single person in here has a visitor except for me.

I'm all alone.

I look over towards the door, wondering if perhaps somebody is coming for me
and he or she is just late. The only person walking in is a janitor, called to clean
up some spilled juice. He sees me staring and gives me a look, swimming in pity.
My eyes move hastily, retreating to look at my plate instead. I shuffle around the
potatoes and take one more bite of roast beef, grimacing as it goes down since
I've let it turn cold.

A swell of anxiety starts to build within me as I try to figure out just what the hell
is going on. Why am I so clearly alone, while everyone else is enjoying the
company of somebody else? I wonder if I've done something wrong, and
suddenly it feels like everyone's eyes are on me...silently staring and judging.
When I raise my head to look, nobody seems to be staring, rather, they're all
engaged in their own conversations.

I sigh, feeling defeated, and try to force down the remainder of my dinner. After
I'm unable to choke down anymore, I stand up and bring my plate over to the
brown, plastic tub stationed atop the trashcan. Methodically, like I've done this
hundreds of times before, I scrape whatever is left on my plate into the trash and
then place it into the tub. I take one last sip of my water before my glass joins
the plate.

I spare a glance at the dessert table, and debate taking a wrapped cookie back
with me, but I have a feeling that it would only pale in comparison to the scone I
ate earlier. Something inside me refuses to tarnish that memory with a second
rate pastry.

When I turn from the dessert table to leave, I notice somebody on the outside of
the room, staring in through the glazed glass window. The person notices me
staring and slowly raises a timid hand to wave at me. Instinctively, I wave back.

It's slightly blurry due to the tint of the window, but I'd recognize that profile
anywhere. I let out a sigh, and the air rushes out of my body in one big breath.

Bella.

Bella

Even though she hesitates, Alice leaves, knowing I need some alone time before I
have to head to my appointment. I sigh, knowing I need to steel myself for the
conversation I'm about to have.

I go through this once a week.

Every week, I psych myself up that today is going to be the day. Today will be
the day that I get the news I want to hear...that something is changing. That he
is changing. It doesn't help that I sometimes convince myself that I noticed
something different in his demeanor, or the way he spoke with me. They're all
phantom promises, however. Any hope or dream for change is squashed during
each weekly appointment...

Nothing new this week Bella. It's still status quo. Perhaps if we keep up with this
or that, in time...

Time.

I snort, thinking about how much time we've already spent dealing with this. How
much more time am I willing to give?

If I'm honest with myself, I'm willing to give an eternity. I know Alice thinks I'm
being a martyr, giving up my life with no hope of getting anything in return. My
eyes burn as tears start spilling down my face at the thought.

I'm just not willing to give up just yet.

Not yet.

I allow myself a quick cry and then use the sink in the employee bathroom to
freshen up. I notice the time, and am glad that I have another twenty minutes
until I need to be there. I check my email, force myself to eat something and
then wrap up a leftover scone to take with me. By the time I lock up the cafe and
start walking over, I realize I now need to hustle in order to make it on time.

As I reach the facility, I'm struck with how barren it looks and the same fears and
questions hit me, twisting my stomach until it hurts.

Can he actually be happy here?

Did we choose the right place?

Does it even matter?

These moments of self doubt come and go, but these always leave lingering holes
in my heart. I walk through the front door and nod a hello to the nurse at the
front desk. Almost mechanically, I make my way down a drab, yet pristine
hallway, until I reach a large set of double oak doors. There's a deceiving warmth
that hits me as I enter. Vibrant, lush plants adorn the corners and expensive
looking, perfectly arranged furniture is strangely inviting. I walk up to the
perfectly coiffed woman sitting behind a desk.

"Hi Gianna. I'm here for my five o'clock..."

Before I'm able to finish, the ever efficient Gianna stands up and beckons me to
follow her into the adjoining office. I follow, my body buzzing, wondering if today
is the day that I get a positive report. Maybe? Just maybe...

"Ah, Bella. Please, come in. Take a seat."

Dr. Volturi gestures to the smooth leather couch in front of him, and I sit, eager
eyes turned towards him.

I don't get any information right away. In fact, it seems like he takes his time
hemming and hawing as he reviews some papers on his ever present clipboard.
As the minutes tick away, I start to get more and more annoyed.

"Has there been any change?" I finally blurt out, unable to contain myself. If it's
just been status quo, he wouldn't be so slow on sharing with me ...right?

"Well...I'm not sure what to say," he starts, and even this little bit fills me with
such hope that I find myself sitting on the edge of the couch, eagerly anticipating
his next words. "But, no...not really. There are a few things that seem to be
strengthening here and there, but again, they are more muscle memory than
anything else. Unfortunately, I just do not see his condition ever changing. In my
professional opinion I would say that any chance of one hundred percent recovery
is absolutely nil. And even hopes of fifty percent recovery is slim to none.
Otherwise he is in perfect health and..."

He continues on, telling me about stuff that I've heard hundreds of times over,
and frankly, don't really care about. I stand up, and gather my belongings,
mumbling an apology to Dr. Volturi, but needing to get out of there.

Hadn't I seen a spark of recognition in his eyes today? I swear I noticed some
sort of difference in his demeanor.

I want to cry, but my body is just too spent. I don't even have enough energy to
make any damn tears. I find an empty room and hide out in it for a few minutes,
trying to collect myself. For the hundredth time, I wonder again whether or not I
have the energy to continue with this. My head is pounding, so I dig through my
purse for some Tylenol, sighing in relief when I spot some down at the bottom.

Not wanting to swallow them dry, I make my way to the cafeteria so I can grab a
glass of water. I can see through the slightly tinted glass at all the people eating
dinner. Most have visitors and seem to actually be enjoying themselves. I step
closer and see him, sitting there all alone. My heart aches, as I watch him glance
around at everyone else and I can tell his mind is whirring, trying to figure it out.
Trying so damn hard.

I want to run over there, doctors cautioning be damned, and tell him everything
all at once. Explain to him what's going on, and give him the answers he so
desperately seeks.

But, I won't.

I've done that before and know what the result is. It isn't pretty at all, and one of
the few times I've seen him lash out at me. I didn't visit him for a little bit after
that. That week alone was way harder then standing here silent could ever be.
So, we go at his pace, every day dancing this dance I've come to learn over the
past year or so.

Finally, his eyes make their way to where I'm standing, and he looks at me, a
brief flash of recognition flits across his face. I raise my hand slowly and wave,
but want nothing more then to rush in and feel his body crushed up against mine.

I hold my breath, only letting it out when Edward finally waves back.

Edward

We stare at each other until I've lost track of time, and it's not until I hear the
scrape of a chair near me that I break from Bella's eyes, finally looking away. I
don't understand the pull she has over me, but it's painfully strong. I want to call
out to her and have her come over. I want to take her in my arms and never let
go. A feeling of guilt rises up, and I try like hell to squash it back down.

I don't even really know this woman, and yet something screams that I can't let
her get away.

I assume she's here to visit somebody , and while I don't want to intrude on that,
I also don't want to be kicking myself for having missed a second chance with her
today. I do my best to steel my nerves and calm my rapidly beating heart before
walking out into the hallway. I take two more steps and find myself standing right
in front of Bella.

"Hi," I finally utter, restraining myself from reaching out to touch her.

"Hi, Edward," she responds quietly.

It's hard to read her. I can't tell what she's thinking, and her face isn't giving
much away. Her eyes are tinged with sadness but her face seems to light up
when she looks at me.

"How was your dinner?" she asks but I can't give her an answer. I can't even
remember what I ate. All my mind can focus on is that Bella is here, now, talking
to me.

I shrug, hoping that will suffice, and her smile grows a bit wider as she holds up a
small, white paper bag, shaking it in front of me.

"Dessert?" she offers and opens up the bag, allowing me a glimpse of a scone. I
can smell the strong burst of cinnamon from where I'm standing and my mouth
waters.

"Why don't we grab a couple of coffees and go back to your place?" asks Bella,
and I'm sure my response is etched on my face.

"Don't you..." I start, completely surprised by her forwardness. "Aren't you here
to visit with somebody?"

"Yes," she replies, holding her hand out. "You."

I take her hand before I'm able to stop myself and follow Bella back into the
cafeteria where she gets two coffees.

"How? Aren't you? I..." Words stumble out of me, and I seem to be unable to
form a complete sentence.

Bella gives me a sad smile as she hands me my coffee.

"No. I came to visit you. Is...is that okay?"

She looks uncertain and the way she's nibbling on her lower lip makes me want
to reassure her, but I'm still not certain what's going on here. All I know is that I
can't resist the pull I feel to her.

"Yes. It's completely fine. It's more than fine, really. I...I'm very glad to see you."

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I can feel the truth of them in my body. A
surge of happiness courses through me, lifting whatever weight has been
pressing on me for most of the day. Bella seems to relax perceptibly as well and
her lips twist into a beautiful smile. My heart tightens at the sight. I take another
step closer to her, and Bella shifts her coffee and the scone into one hand,
hooking her other around my arm.

My body startles at the contact, even through the layer of clothes. I can feel the
heat of her small hand on my bicep and it feels right. I close my eyes, soaking in
the sensation of her fingers lightly drumming on my arm. My face heats up as I
wonder briefly would it would feel like to have her fingers elsewhere on my body.

Before I allow myself to tumble forward blindly into this blissful feeling, however,
I need to be sure of one thing.

"But...you said you were married."

There.

Now it's out in the open and we won't dance around it, pretending she's not. I
watch her face carefully, trying to get a read on it. She's not letting much show
as she comes up with an answer. Her hand never leaves my arm, and I swear I
feel her squeeze it just a bit tighter.

"I did say that. But it's not what you think. My husband, he..."

As she trails off, it's clear that she's trying to choose her words carefully. But
why? Is she lying to me?

"...he's gone."

Oh.

I'm not expecting that. The way she says it, with such finality, I have a feeling
she doesn't mean he's simply left her. It sounds like whatever's happened, he's
never coming back. Sympathy floods my body in a wave, followed by a swell of
sadness as I look at Bella.

"I'm so sorry," I say, knowing my words won't help much.

Bella pulls her hand from me and waves it in front of her face, but I can still see
her eyes glistening with tears.

"It's fine. Really. I'm almost used to it by now. Can we not talk about it?" she
asks, and I nod agreeably.

With a look of relief, Bella threads her arm back through mine, and we walk away
from the dining room. She leads me towards an indoor garden, which looks
relatively deserted. There are a few people walking through, but nobody stays
and sits. I spy a small table tucked away in the corner and nod in its direction.

Before she's able to sit, I pull out Bella's chair, receiving a whispered "Thanks" in
return.

I sit down across from Bella, suddenly aware of just how date-like this feels.
There's an air of familiarity about it, though I'm almost positive we've never done
this before. I take a sip of my coffee, surprised by how relaxed I feel. There are
no nerves, just excitement that Bella is actually here with me. I want to ask her
how and why, but I'm also afraid my time with her is short, so instead I ask her
how the rest of her day has been.

"Oh, you know." She shrugs. "Busy. Better now."

She can't hide her smile as she pulls the scone out of the bag and hands it to me.
I split it down the middle, offering Bella a piece back. We eat our dessert, and
Bella tells me more about her day and the cafe. The more she talks, the more at
ease she becomes.

At one point, I place my hand on hers as we share a laugh, and we both startle at
the contact, yet neither of us pull back.

I want to share with her something about my day, about my life, but nothing
comes to mind. All I can tell her is what I'm feeling at the moment.

"I really wish I could tell you more about me," I struggle to explain. "But, for
some reason..."

"It's okay, Edward. I understand," she reassures me as she caresses my hand.

"Thanks. I...I'm really happy you're here, Bella. I really...I like you."

I look directly into her eyes, seeing something so familiar and comforting there
for a second, and it warms me up from the inside.

"I really like you too, Edward."

We sit there for a little while longer, just enough time for me to gather up
whatever courage I can muster.

"Bella?"

When I get her attention it seems as if I've jarred her out of a thought.

"Sorry," she replies. "I was just lost in a memory."

Bella

"Hello?"

"Mrs. Cullen?"

"Yes?"

"This is Northwest Hospital. We have you down as the emergency contact for an
Edward Cullen. There's been an accident and he's been brought into the

emergency room at Seattle General. We would appreciate if you could come in as
soon as possible so his doctor can speak with you."

"..."

"Ma'am?"

"I..."

"Ma'am? Do you have anyone who can drive you over?"

"No. What? I can...I can come. I- I'm leaving right now."

"Report to the nurses desk at the ER. They'll be able to direct you to where you
need to go."

oOoOoOoOoOo

"So, he's okay? He's going to make it, I mean?"

I brace myself for the doctor's response. Nobody has been able to give me a
direct answer, and it's starting to eat away at me. If he were fine, they'd have
told me by now. Why aren't they saying anything?

I force myself to look at Edward. It's not him. That's not the man I married, lying
in that bed, hooked up to hundreds of wires with deep, dark bruises covering his
body. My husband doesn't have a blood stained bandage covering his head. My
husband doesn't have a broken leg or and arm hooked up in some sort of sling.

My husband has bright green eyes and calls me "his girl." He plays me songs he's
written about me, just because. My husband is able to squeeze my hand back
when I squeeze his.

"He...he's going to regain full motor function, Mrs. Cullen."

"Huh?"

I'm broken out of my thoughts by the man in a white lab coat, who is standing at
the foot of the bed. I don't even bother remembering his name. It will be
somebody else tomorrow, so why bother? The only ones I know are the nurses.
The handful of sweet men and women that rotate through on a daily basis.
They've been my constants through this. But they can't give me any answers.

"So, his body will heal?" I ask, making sure I understand correctly.

"Yes."

Perfunctory, one word answers seem to be a favorite of most of the doctors. Why
they won't elaborate with me is a mystery. I feel like there's something missing,
and I wish somebody would just tell me.

"So, when will he wake up?"

The questions hangs there between us, the silence more than just uncomfortable.
It's downright depressing. I can feel the weight of it press down against my
chest, heavier and heavier with each passing second. The doctor flips through the
chart in his hands and clears his throat.

"We actually have a neurologist coming in later today. He'll be able to explain
things better."

And then, he's gone, giving me no hope that Edward will wake up any time soon.

oOoOoOoOoOo

My hand feels pressure before I notice that his eyes are open.

"Edward!" I can't help shouting. It's been almost a week, and I've been feeling a
little hopeless.

"Where...where am I?" he asks, his voice rough and weak.

"You're in the hospital. You were in an accident. But you're okay now. You're
going to be okay," I say, trying to reassure both of us.

I call out for a nurse because I'm sure they're going to need to check him out. In
the meantime, I can't seem to let go of his hand. I give it an extra squeeze, giddy
as fuck when he squeezes back. His lips curl into smile as he looks me over.

"Th-thank you. But, who...who are you?"

oOoOoOoOoOo

The words swirl around in my head, and I'm unable to make sense of them all.

Traumatic brain injury.

Anterograde amnesia.

Retrograde amnesia.

Protective mechanisms.

"Do you understand, Mrs. Cullen?"

I look up to the kind face of the neurologist. The poor man just spent almost an
hour trying to explain to me what is going on. I've been listening and absorbing
the information, but I have no desire to understand any of it.

Understanding makes it real.

"I...I think so. You're saying that there was severe trauma to Edward's brain in
the car crash and...and he's lost his memory?"

"Yes. Well, not all of his memory. He has a rare form of amnesia that combines
both retrograde and anterograde memory loss. He cannot form new memories,
and it seems as if he has lost the memories he has formed over the last ten or so
years."

I gape at the doctor, my throat parched. Words feel dry and scratchy, lodged in
my throat. It's takes me a few minutes before I'm able to respond.

"Will he ever get better?"

The warm smile is gone and is replaced quickly with sad eyes and thin lips.

"At this point, we can't say."

Which is just another way of saying no.

"There is an excellent facility here in Seattle that specializes in patients with
memory issues. They have experience with people like Edward and have a whole
host of therapy options so that one day..."

He trails off, and I know it's because he doesn't want to give me false hope. I
thank him and take the brochures and paperwork he hands me.

oOoOoOoOoOo

"You'll be happy here, Edward," I say, fighting back tears. "I'll come visit as often
as I can."

He smiles up at me from his wheel chair, a questioning look marring his sweet
face.

"You're not my nurse?" he asks, and I run out of the room before he sees the
tears spill over.

oOoOoOoOoOo

A rhythm emerges. I learn by trial and error.

Mostly error.

But nobody has a handbook for this sort of thing. The doctors have given me
suggestions, and I work with them as best as I can, but they can't account for
everything.

They can't account for the times when I swear he's remembering again and I
push too far, scaring him. They can't account for the times when I feel too weak
to continue and break down in front of him.

There was the time that he came into the cafe and turned on the Edward Cullen
charm that made me fall in love with him all those years ago. I laughed and cried
all at once, leaving Edward confused and startled while I ran into the back to
compose myself.

There was the time that I came into work late, and had the awful surprise of
seeing him chat closely with another woman. Seeing his hand touch her shoulder
briefly and laugh in response to a shared joke sent me running to the bathroom,
losing my breakfast.

How am I supposed to know that one day he'll be fine with me explaining
everything to him, and another day he'll hold me at arm's length, demanding I
get out while getting so agitated that a nurse has to come in and give him a shot
of something to calm him down?

oOoOoOoOoOo

I roll over, bumping into a warm body and sigh. Even months later his scent is
able to soothe me. I look over at the clock and see that it's almost eight in the
morning.

Shit!

Not only am I going to be late for work, but I've never...

"Who the hell are you? What are you doing here?"

His yelling ensures that I'm awake, and the look of fear and panic in his eyes
ensures that I will never make this mistake again.

Edward

"Sorry," she replies. "I was just lost in a memory."

I think she realizes I was about to ask her something as she turns back to me,
giving me her undivided attention.

"I was wondering if you would like to come back to my room," I ask and then
realize how presumptuous that sounds.

Bella looks at me warily, as if she's weighing her options.

"No!" I hurry to clarify. "I don't mean it like that. I...uh...I just mean. I don't
know. Maybe you'd like to watch a movie or something?"

A smile appears on Bella's face, and the knots that have formed in my stomach
loosen up. She nods her head and wipes away some crumbs from dessert that
have fallen to the table.

"I would really like that."

The heat that builds up in my stomach is only eclipsed by the nerves snaking
through me at the thought of Bella in my room. In my haste to stand up, I knock
over my cup of coffee, the remnants splashing across the table onto Bella's shirt.

"Oh, shit. I am so sorry."

But Bella is already waving me off, pulling some napkins out of her purse and
blotting at her shirt.

"It's fine, Edward. Really, it is. I get worse spilled on me at work all day."

She really does seem okay with it, but I still can't help feeling awful as I watch
the light brown liquid refuse to come out. I'm still beating myself up over it when
we reach my room. I immediately walk over to my closet and pull out one of the
clean shirts hanging within.

"Here, please," I say as I hand her the shirt. "I insist."

Our fingers brush as she takes the shirt from me, and I wonder if would be
strange to let them linger a bit longer. When I feel Bella's pinkie rub up against
mine, I decide she's okay with it, even if it is potentially awkward for her to wear
my clothes when we've only just met today.

I watch as Bella holds up the shirt to check it out, and I swear she lifts it up to
her face to sniff it. I can't help but smile at the sight.

"There's a bathroom right through..." I start to point out where, but Bella is two
steps ahead of me, and all I see is the door closing shut.

While she's in there changing, I pace around the room nervously. Bella seems
almost eerily calm, which should calm me down, yet I can't help but feel ramped
up around her. I do a double check to make sure there's no dirty clothes laying

about or something out of place, but the room looks like its usual neat and boring
space.

I pale at the thought.

What if Bella thinks I'm too boring? I didn't give her much information about
myself over coffee, yet that didn't seem to deter her. To be honest, even if she
hadn't spent most of the time talking about her work and interests, I would have
still been intrigued with her. Out of the corner of my eye, I spy my red notebook,
and a subconscious pull inside of me cries out for me to write something down,
out of fear that I'll forget. I grab a pen and jot it down haphazardly before
hearing a lock click. Without bothering to reread what I wrote, I toss the
notebook on the table before turning around.

That invisible thread that seems to tie me to her sparks back to light as soon as
the bathroom door opens. Bella's standing there wearing my button-down shirt.

Only my button-down shirt.

I gulp and take a step back. I bump into something hard, not realizing the couch
is right behind me. I lose my balance and stumble backwards onto it.

"My pants must have gotten coffee on them as well. They were all wet and stuff,"
she tries to explain before averting her eyes from me.

I gape at her, wide-eyed, not sure what to say. All of a sudden I feel like a fifteen
year old boy and I just can't seem to tear my eyes away from her.

"Shit! It was too soon. Fuck!" Bella mumbles to herself, but I can still hear her.

"No, it's...okay. I mean, are...um...are you okay?" I ask, unsure what she's
talking about.

I feel like I must have been a world class flirt in another life to get saddled with
this sort of verbal clumsiness now. Bella's cheeks are flushed with heat as she
chances a look at me.

"Are...are you okay?" she asks, and I can't help but chuckle at her words.

I sit down on the couch and pat the cushion next to me, hoping like hell that
she'll indulge me. Truth be told I have no clue what I am. My body is responding
to Bella fiercely while my mind is swirling with thoughts and emotion...some I
can't even pinpoint.

"I have no idea," I say with a laugh as I shake my head. "Maybe? I just..."

I trail off, not really able to put together a cohesive thought as Bella flops down
next to me. She folds her legs underneath her, but I can still see a creamy white
expanse of skin where the shirt doesn't cover.

"You're fucking gorgeous."

The words spill out of my mouth before I can stop them, and my eyes widen at
the unfamiliar cursing coming from me.

"I mean...I..."

Bella's blush deepens, but she doesn't look upset. I take that as my cue to keep
talking, spilling whatever is on my mind.

"Oh screw it, that's what I meant. You look beautiful, Bella. Actually, you look
perfect in my shirt, just like that."

I expect Bella to smile or blush some more, or hell, even bat her eyes at me.
What I don't expect is for her to grab me in an extremely tight hug and bury her
face in my chest. I can feel her mumble against me, but I have no idea what
she's saying, so I just hold her tight until she's ready to sit back up. When she
does, she's still sitting not just next to me but almost on top of me. The proximity
is making it hard to concentrate on anything she says, but I do my best.

"Thank you," she whispers, and I notice that her eyes are bright and shiny with
tears, yet she doesn't look upset at all.

My hand comes up as my thumb almost reflexively brushes against her cheek. I
lean forward just enough so that our heads are touching, and I brush my lips
lightly against hers. Pausing, I take in the moment of our first kiss. Only, it feels
like our thousandth kiss, her lips familiar and warm under mine. This feeling
spurs me on, making me crave her lips. I push back for another, deeper kiss.

Bella meets me for each one, her fists grabbing my shirt, pulling me closer. My
lips capture hers once more before moving to explore the rest of her skin - her
cheeks, her jaw, her nose, her throat. Each new bit is sweeter than the last, and
hearing her soft moan as I nip at her makes my heart clench until it hurts.
Gentlemanly thoughts rise up, making me wonder why Bella's not stopping...why
she seems more than okay with this progressing so far. Yet I fear that if I
question her apparent willingness she will stop.

This internal struggle eats away at me until I feel Bella's lips tease my ear lobe.
How does she know that it's one of my favorite spots? Her tongue flicks out and I
hold back a groan. At this point, any nerves, fear or questioning gets pushed
further from my mind as Bella's teeth tug at my ear, this time causing me to
shudder.

There's no way I can stop now.

It feels too damn good.

"I...I...wow."

Again, I congratulate myself on my slick handling of the English language. Bella
giggles and then pulls me in for another hug. I kick off my shoes and look over at
the bed. For any other couple this might seem way too fast, but something about
being here, like this, with Bella feels right. It seems natural to plunge ahead and
ask her what I'm thinking.

"Do you want to...?"

I don't need to ask twice, as Bella stands up and allows me to lead her to my
bed. I shuts the lights off before we crawl under the covers, holding each other
tight.

Bella

I close my eyes as Edward envelops me in his arms. I can tell he's nervous, the
way he holds me gingerly, but his kisses are full of confidence and reassurance,
even if he doesn't realize it. I wiggle around in his grasp and look towards the

clock. It's not quite ten, but I can tell he's already exhausted. His fingers trail up
and down my arms, and despite the fact that I'd like nothing more than for him
to take me in his bed, I know that won't be happening tonight.

I settle back down and rest my head on his chest, reveling in the feel of his hand
now stroking my back.

Over the months I've learned when to give him a little nudge and when to hold
off. Some nights I don't get any further than his door, while other nights end in a
sweaty, tangled mess in his bed. I'm just thankful when a night doesn't end in his
crying, begging me to explain things to him...again.

It was clear a while back that telling Edward what had happened with each new
day just caused us both heartaches. His doctors are adamant that I only explain
things to him when he demands it. Otherwise, they have no objections to me
seeing him. I've come up with my own ways of getting through to him, of sharing
moments that are special to each of us, without pushing him to just try and
remember.

Sleep doesn't come easy for Edward. I can feel his body tense and release a few
times until he eventually relaxes and his breathing evens out. His chest rises and
falls below me in a steady rhythm, and I know he's finally asleep. When I know
he won't wake up, I shift slowly so I can see him, his face illuminated from the
glow of the moon outside. I'll need to remember to close his shade before I leave.

For now, I look over his face and admire how peaceful and content he looks. I
want to trace his features, wondering, as always, if tonight is the last time we'll
be like this.

It's always a waiting game. Will I wake up tomorrow completely spent and
drained, unable to keep this up anymore? Will I find a different Edward the next
day, one who wants nothing to do with me?

These are the questions that plague my mind, not allowing me to sleep, until I
notice that the clock's glaring red numbers tell me it's already one in the
morning. I know it's fruitless to worry over this anyway, like I would ever choose
to stop doing this. I have a few more hours with him pressed up against me, and
I soak it all in, trying to allow my body to rest in the meantime. Finally, the clock
silently screams at me that it's two o'clock, and I know I need to leave to get
some real rest.

But it's so fucking hard.

It's hard to leave my husband each night I'm lucky enough to find myself back in
his bed.

It's so hard to wonder if he'll bother to seek me out the next day.

It so damn hard to wonder how long I'll actually allow myself to live like this.

I gently move Edward's arm off me and wiggle out of his grasp. He snorts and
stirs but then settles back down to sleep, clutching the pillow I slept on in my
stead. I crouch down so I'm at his level, even though he can't see or hear me at
the moment. Who knows? Maybe my words seep into his subconscious as he
sleeps.

"Edward...it's me, Bella," I start, and my nose stings as the tears start all on their
own. "I...I just wanted to thank you for today. When we had dessert together it
reminded me of one of our first dates together. Do you remember?"

I shake my head. Of course he doesn't. I use his shirt to swipe at my eyes before
continuing.

"You wouldn't tell me where you were taking me, and of course, I easily fell in
love with the mystery of it all. We ended up in some old abandoned green house.
You set up a small table with a little picnic in it. We sat and ate amongst half-
dead plants and broken windows. It was perfect. Today was perfect in it's own
way, too, I suppose. I only had one small melt down, so that's good, right?"

I pause and take a deep breath. Saying goodbye is always the hardest part.

"Hopefully I'll see you later today. I'm not sure how, but you always end up at my
cafe. The doctors aren't even sure either, but you keep coming back. I know deep
down, despite what they tell me, that maybe, one day you'll wake up from all of
this. It's been a year Edward. A year of this. I...I'm not sure how much more I
can take."

I sit there for a minute as the tears slide silently down my face. Wiping my face, I
lean over and press a kiss to his forehead before straightening myself up. I grab
my jeans and throw them on, but leave his shirt on. I'll take anything he gives
me.

"Goodbye, Edward. I love you."

As I'm walking out the door, I pause when I notice his red notebook sitting on the
table. I normally never look in it, but I notice that it's been left open to a page in
the back. I can't help but look, and my hands start shaking as I read. I place it
back, and as quietly as possible, I leave. Tears cloud my eyes as his written
words replay in my mind.

Her name is Bella. You love her. Please don't forget.