Chapter 3

I walked into the hospital, and noticeably the excitement I had felt the previous day was gone. Determination had taken its place, and I knew I had to do this well.

"Edward!" Carlisle said, standing next to the reception. A strong sense of déjà vu hit me.

"Dad."

He smiled at me; it was a proud smile. "I don't know what you said to Bella yesterday, but as soon as I walked into the hospital, Charlie – her father – rang me and told me that Bella agreed to accept treatments! I'm so proud of you, son. I knew you could do it."

Carlisle rarely expressed his feelings, so I grinned in response. But I didn't feel very proud. Guilt tripping anyone – especially a dying woman – into doing something, no matter how noble the cause, it didn't feel right. "Thanks Dad, I'll do my best to help her."

"I have no doubt in that, son. She's waiting for you. You know the room, I'll take that." He took my bag.

"Wait," I said quickly. "I need to get something first." I took out a pen and a notebook.

"I suppose I should tell you, good luck, but I don't think you'll need it now." He chuckled as he walked away, shaking his head. How wrong he was.

"Take a deep breath Edward, you can do this," I told myself. "Just remember your game plan."

Following my own advice, I walked quickly into the room and tried to smile calmly. Instead of lying on her bed, tubes attached, she sat on a chair near the huge window, staring out blankly. The window was open, and breeze gently caressed her hair. She didn't seem to hear my entrance. I cleared my throat, and waited by the door. I didn't want any rash movements to scare her; she seemed so fragile. "Hi."

It was a wasted effort. She jumped, looking frightened, but calmed once she realized it was me. "Oh, hi." She said awkwardly, her voice waspy.

Neither of us knew what to say. What do you say to someone whom you've just met yesterday, and yelled at them before you knew their name?

Name, I thought. That seemed like a good place to start. "I'm Edward, Edward Cullen. You're Bella?"

"Yes." She paused. "Take a seat," she gestured towards the chairs around her. I walked over and seated myself in the chair opposite her.

She didn't seem to know how to do, so I started talking, hoping I seem like I know what I'm doing. "Let me tell you a bit about myself. I'm turning twenty this year, and I like to play piano in my spare time. Carlisle," a look of recognition flashed in her eyes "is my adopted dad."

"And you love him." She stated.

"Yes." I smiled. "I couldn't imagine two better people." I paused, waiting for her response. She didn't seem happy with the topic. Immediately, I remembered what I learnt from reading her files; never talk about family until she was willing and although she had agreed to take treatments, she could change her mind. "Well, I also like reading and writing." I continued quickly. "And if I didn't choose to study medicine or music, I'm sure I would have become a writer. What about you? Do you have any hobbies?"

She hesitated. "I used to dance." She said slowly, as though she thought very hard about every word she spoke.

"That's nice. What an elegant hobby," I told her. I could picture her, wearing a tutu dancing elegantly.

She smiled a mischievous grin. "Yes, well, I wouldn't call it a hobby though. It's more like… fun. Though I suppose you do find fun in hobbies," she blushed, laughing – a weak laugh, but a laugh none the less. At that moment, it was hard to believe she was very sick. She looked healthy… she looked beautiful. "I'm not a very coordinated person. I trip too easily for my liking. But it was a lot of fun, watching the teachers trying to be patient with me-" she broke off, breaking into a coughing fit.

"Are you alright?" I was on my feet, walking towards the door; she needed a certified doctor to help her.

"No, please!" She broke into another fit. I stood at the door, not sure what to do. "Please don't, don't tell anyone."

Dilemma; one hand, as an intern, I should know better than to listen to the patient, especially one whose terminally ill. But in the other hand, I was her therapist, and I didn't want to undo the work I just did.

"Please, I'm fine." She wheezed, looking tired. Concerned, I wondered how I was going to bring up the topic of her dislike of doctors. Sighing, I sat next to her on the sofa, and patted her black gently. Suddenly, she broke into tears. Cautiously, I wrapped one arm around her and was relived when she buried her head into my shoulders. I was never comfortable with weepy women, but this girl had been through a lot and from the sound of things, she had been bottling it up. That can't be good for anyone.

She cried for a very long time.

AN:

(Meekly pokes head out) Hi all (dodges tomatoes). I am sorry, this doesn't mean I am back. However, I found this on my computer, and I thought, hmm, why not share? I haven't edited it at all, so please feel free point out my mistreatment of grammar.

Like I've said on my profile, people are welcome to take over my stories, provided you let me know. Well, till next time. 3