This is an idea that has been in my head for a while. It takes place sometime after Edward left Bella in New Moon. I can actually see this happening, although Meyers would never write it into her books.

The idea is slightly taken from a scene in the movie Haven. That was a good movie, you should see it. I may be a bit off in the geography of Forks in this story. I'm also not sure if Rene was permanently in Jacksonville at this time. But whatever, you get the idea.

Any ways...if you like this, check out my other stories for The Covenant (movie) and The Mediator (book).

"Can you tell me about your day?"

Her voice was bland, no emotion, and quietly subdued. The pen, that same silver pen, was poised above the clipboard, ready to strike. Her legs were crossed primly as she sat in her chair, the buttons on her blazer bulging as the jacket tried to contain her large frame.

I could feel her eyes on me, and I wondered if she actually wanted an answer. If I 'opened up' to her then maybe she could have an engaging conversation for once during her work time. But giving her 'information to work with' would only make her job more difficult.

Why anyone would want to be a psychologist is beyond me. There is nothing remotely appealing about a job that basically consists of sitting in a chair – a large, imposing chair – all day in too-tight suits talking to people who don't talk back. What's more, psychologists are expected to 'get inside' people's heads and examine them.

I'm barely functioning inside my own head, let alone trying to decipher someone else's.

Deciding it was better not to respond, I simply dropped my gaze back down to the floor. This was the fourth session of counseling so far and I was already beyond my limit. It's not that I'm purposely trying to be mute, but I don't know this woman. She knows nothing about me, who I am, or what my problems are. I can't have a personal conversation with someone that I don't know.

I certainly can't tell her anything about why I'm here. How I am supposed to explain that?

The paper-work version of why I'm here is simple; after my boyfriend left me I became 'distraught'. Charlie wrote that. Charlie made me come here. Charlie threatened to send me back to Jacksonville with my mom if I didn't agree to go to counseling.

My days consisted of doing nothing more than attending school and working. I say attending because I certainly wasn't participating. I have no I idea what the subject matter of my classes is anymore. My notebooks are empty and I've failed at least three tests.

After school I just come home and sit in my room, staring at the ceiling. Sometimes I go to work at the store, but that's usually once a week. Other days I just waste my time. Charlie is lucky that I manage to motivate myself enough to cook him dinner.

"Have you tried doing any of the things you did before you met Edward?"

At the sound of his name I flinched. I couldn't even say his name out loud, and I wanted to cry whenever someone else had the nerve to say it. I hated this woman for talking about him like she knew him. No one knew him. At least, no one knew what I knew.

When my nerves had settled – as much as they could in her office, because I was never relaxed here – I silently contemplated her question. The answer was no, of course. I didn't do anything. But I couldn't remember doing anything else even when he was here. I wasn't part of any clubs or sports or extracurricular activities to begin with.

I just spent my time with him.

"Do you think your parents' separation has something to do with how you are feeling?"

That was a new one. She rarely brought up my parents, only the fact that they were both severely concerned about me. Renee and Charlie had agreed to this arrangement and I found myself, ironically, suffering due to one of the few decisions they had managed to make as a couple.

But they weren't a couple, not anymore. The reason they both thought this was a good idea was because they didn't know what else to do with me. Mom had flown back to Jacksonville after I refused to go with her. Then they started fighting on the phone, Charlie always calling her after he thought I was asleep. The counseling, I'm pretty sure had been Charlie's idea originally.

I've always known that my mother and I have different outlooks on life, but I never realized how much, in contrast, I resemble Charlie. We were both deserted by the people we love. Charlie never got over it, never dated again, and lives alone.

Why is it so wrong, then, that all I want to do is stop existing?

"Have you thought any more about what I mentioned last week? That it would be a good idea for you to move in with your mother?"

My mother lived in Florida. Bright, sunny, warm, spectacular Florida. Florida was the last place I wanted to be right now. Here, my mood was reflected in the weather. Here was also the first place I had seen him. It was the last place I had seen him. For some reason I just couldn't imagine walking away from Forks.

When Charlie first wanted to send me to live with Renee I screamed at him, nothing coherent. I just screamed. I couldn't leave here. Without this town, the buildings, the roads, the forest, it might all be a dream. If I leave, then it will be like I never met him. It's bad enough that everyone else at school didn't really know him at all. I'm the only person who knows his secret. I'm the only person who knows the truth.

If I leave forks then the spell is broken, the book closes, and the magic is gone, and he disappears completely.

"Well Bella, I don't know what else to say anymore," She clicked her pen and set the clipboard down on her desk, "If you won't open up to me, I'm going to have to suggest some other form of treatment to your father. It's been four weeks since we first met, nearly eight since Edward left you." I wanted to slap her.

"Because I am a psychologist I can't prescribe medication," I looked up at her face, seeing that she was serious, "But I'm going to refer you to a psychiatrist in Seattle for an evaluation for anti-depressants. You need help and for some reason you are refusing to help yourself."

I stared at her in shock. Drugs? She thought I needed drugs? An evaluation? Someone was going to evaluate me to put me on medication?

"I think that may be the best thing for you now," she said solemnly, and stood to signal it was time for me to go.

I walked in a blind daze out of her office and into the parking lot. The psychology center at the hospital was small, but it was close to the center of town. I was supposed to meet Charlie at a small coffee shop on the corner when I was done. He would drive me home when he got off from work.

Instead of taking the left and heading down the sidewalk that would lead to the coffee shop I turned right. My mind was clouded with images of stoners, drug addicts, Zoloft commercials, and pills. Lots of pills.

The thought of being forced to take medication scared me. It was like they were trying to force me to become someone else. My personality had all but died when he left. If putting me on pills was supposed to be an answer, what kind of person would that make me?

I let out a frustrated sigh as the anger washed through me. Everything was so screwed up. The hole in my chest ached constantly, although now it was burning. I was cold all of the time, never smiled, and didn't do much besides sleep and eat. And the eating was minimal.

I was broken.

Even if he was here, there is no reason that he would even talk to me. I've turned into a completely horrible person. The kind of person who needs medication just to exist in society. Charlie is practically afraid of me. The kids at the school avoid me, always staring after I pass. My grades are crap, my homework is never done, and my physical appearance is less than pleasing.

Because there is no one to please anymore.


I started and turned. Mike Newton was sitting in the front seat of his truck, leaning out the window as he idled in the middle of Main Street.

"You need a ride?" he asked, all too enthusiastic. Mike's attention had started to wane recently, although it lasted longer than anyone else who had been trying to 'help me'. For some reason though, he still thought he had a shot at dating me.

As I stood there, stupidly staring at the shiny redness of his truck and the empty passenger seat I started to feel angry.

Angry that I was alone.

Angry that I needed therapy.

Angry that I needed pills.

Angry that I wasn't even remotely good enough for him. No wonder he left. He says it was to protect me but that was a lie. He knew what I'd always been too scared to say out loud: he could do so much better than me.

Next to him I was dirt. I was dull. I was gray and ordinary.

There was nothing special or virtuous or glamorous or unique about me. I was so foolish to think that he had any reason to stay.

A car horn loudly burst through my thoughts.

"Bella, come one," Mike said again, "I'll drive you home."

I felt myself walking towards the car and opening the passenger seat. I climbed in and shut the door behind me. The anger was slowly evaporating as I tried to calm myself in Mike's presence. But the mere fact that it was Mike sitting next to me and not him was painful. Mike didn't drive me home; he did. Mike didn't randomly show up when I needed help; he did.

"Bella, we're leaving,"

He left me.

"You're not good for me, Bella,"

I wasn't good for anyone.

"My world is not right for you"

But my world isn't right for me. Not after knowing. Knowing him. Knowing about him. I was so detached, so unfit to live in this reality without him that people thought I needed drugs to be right in my world.

"Bella, I don't want you…"

And that hurt the most. That's anybody ever really wants, right? I wanted to be wanted.

"So where to?" Mike asked, pulling me out of my reverie, "Home?" How could Mike sit there and act like everything was normal? How could the hole in my chest not be visible to him? How could Mike not feel the desperate need I felt for him?

"Bella, we're leaving,"

I'm leaving too.

"No," I told Mike.

"Okay," he chuckled, driving through the center of town with one hand on the top of the wheel, "Where do you want to go?"

I turned and spoke directly to him, meeting his eyes. It was the first time I had looked into someone's when talking in the past two months. "I want you to take me somewhere, alone," I narrowed my eyes, "and fuck my brains out."

I want to be wanted


The window let very little light shine through. The thick, plaid curtains obscured most of the silver rays reflected from the lake. The light that did make it through was moonlight. Although I have seen the moon before, tonight I am seeing it as a different person. Different from who I was before I met him. Different from who I was after meeting him. And different from the person he left.

It was nighttime, probably past midnight. We had driven for a few hours, up north to some lake house that Mike's family owns. I have no idea where we are. All I know is that when he finally got the door open and found enough flashlights to light our way through the three-room cottage, Mike wasted no time.

I wonder if it's like this for everyone. Was everyone the same? Did different boys do it differently? Would he have been different, if we had ever had the chance? Was there ever a chance for us to begin with?

Mike's arm, which is draped across my stomach, on top of the sheet, shifts and rolls on to the cool skin above my chest. I'm completely naked, lying next to another naked, sleeping body. Mike is breathing peacefully next to me, silently. You always said I should be with someone like me.

So here I am, stripped and sore in the light of this new moon.

And still wanting to be wanted.

To answer your question: YES, they did.

Also, for clarification, Bella never says or thinks Edward's name, so whenever she thinks 'he' or 'him', she's referring to Edward. Although its interesting, because in a couple places she could be reffering to Mike and it would make sense, albeit with a different connotation.

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