Okay so this is my first twilight fanfic.. so be nice! I've got a couple of chapters written out so far but I haven't decided exactly where I want to go with this just yet. I would appreciate any feedback or ideas. Hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns these characters; I'm just taking their sorry asses to therapy.

Chapter 1

"You shouldn't eat that Isabella."

My mother's words played on repeat.

I'd become accustomed to this. My mother considered herself to be a person of wise advice. Unfortunately for her, and especially for me, this wisdom only branched out into two subjects; God, and dieting. Not exactly prime child-raising material, but alas, here I am, Isabella Swan, a product of my mother's creation. It's not something I'm proud of.

"Mom, not now," I answered her finally. I didn't want to, honestly. What I really wanted, and I mean really wanted, was to trudge myself up the stairs, lock my door, and bury myself under my covers until the darkness lulled me to sleep. Apparently it was not meant to be. Apparently, it was in fate's design to have me standing in my kitchen after a stressful and not so satisfying doctor's visit, trying to eat a godforsaken sandwich, despite my mother's warnings against it. Fate and I have never really got along.

"It's fattening Bells," She said, ignoring my words. "I don't care if you don't want to hear it. I'm telling you because I'm your mother and I love you."

I sighed, tossing the sandwich onto the plate in disgust. At some point during her speech it had lost its flavor, turning into an unsatisfying mixture of mush and goo. She always pulled the same routine, insults first, guilt trip later.

She had a gift.

I decided not to tell her about my trip to the doctor. If I told her why I'd gone she'd just blame it on my weight, and I didn't want to hear it, because it was partly true. My depression had started to veer out of control as of late, and I really didn't have the time to deal with it. Being a full time student, while still holding my managerial position at my job was no easy feat, and the signs were starting to show. Not in my weight of course, I'd been that way all of my life, you know the types I mean. I don't think I'd ever been thin. For some reason though, the stresses of life were starting to catch up with me, and I was beginning to buckle under all of the weight.

Pun intended, Ha ha.

Today's conversation was no different than any other, so instead of sticking around and watching it turn ugly as it usually did, I turned my back on her and headed for my room.

"Bella you didn't finish your food," she called after me.

I scoffed my way up the stairs, neglecting to reply to her words. The woman was an enigma I'd be forever trying to figure out. I pushed my door open slowly, not wanting to see the sight waiting for me inside. My room used to be beautiful, to me anyways, my mother fucking loathed it, but that was part of its charm. I was a sucker for all things old, furniture included, so every piece in my room was found and paid for at little antique stores across the state. My mother offered to pay for it herself, despite my offensive taste in decorating, but I'd declined, knowing it was just one more thing she could try to use against me.

It wasn't beautiful anymore, not even to my standards. It was a fucking mess; a biohazard of a room. Clothes that once hung on hangers were strewn about the room, to the point where I couldn't figure out what was clean or dirty, and whether or not I had rug or hard floors. I neglected dusting, made obvious by the thick layer now coating the bookcases Jake had made for me. More than anything, I felt guilty about that. He'd kill me if he saw them. They took me 500 dollars and him an entire summer to build. Luckily for me, I didn't talk to Jake much anymore. I'd been too depressed as of late to care about having friends, much less a relationship.

I somehow waded my way through the clothes to my bed, pushing off any offending articles that lay there. Burrowing under the covers, I tried to forget the embarrassment of telling the doctor I hated being alive. I remembered the look of pity that crossed his face as he said quietly "As your doctor, it's my job to tell you that losing weight would help greatly with this problem." I'd looked at him scornfully then, hating his perfected teeth and perfect hair, hating the beautiful wife he no doubt had waiting for him at home. I'd answered him angrily, not regretting my words until now, "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were also a psychologist. Really Dr. Cullen, I had no idea you were so accomplished." He looked almost ashamed at that moment and said simply, "I'm not." My heartbeat accelerated, and even though I knew I would sound like a complete bitch, I didn't seem to care, "Oh really? You're not? Then how about you stop giving me bullshit advice when you know nothing on the subject, and refer me to someone that does."

I really was a total bitch, and it was hard to hide when I was feeling attacked. I felt ashamed now for how I acted, knowing that Dr. Cullen was just trying to help. He really was a nice guy, had been for the past year as my family physician. He'd smiled at me sadly, and I hated myself for saying anything cruel. As I saw my way out, I heard someone calling me from behind. I turned in time to see him following me out with a tiny white card in his hand.

"Listen Dr. Cullen, I just want to apologize for-" he cut me off with a wave of his hand.

"Don't Bella, really. You were right. I'm not a psychologist, and I shouldn't be handing out uneducated advice. But he is," he said, handing me the card. I looked down to see the words Dr. Edward Cullen Clinical Psychologist. I tried not to roll my eyes and scoff. Figures. I decided not to say anything about the fact that he was pimping out a family member to me, and just smiled.

"He's my son," he added, answering the question I hadn't said out loud. "He's the best at what he does, and I'm not just saying that because I'm his father."

I couldn't help but smile at him. He really wasn't a bad guy, and I'd just snapped his head off like a dick.

"I appreciate it," I whispered. "I'll give him a try, despite the fact that there's a bit of nepotism going on here," I teased, giving him a pointed look. He laughed softly and backed up a step, turning to leave.

"Have a good day Bella," and then, "I hope you feel better." The look he gave me was so sincere I wanted to cry.

Like I said, I was a dick.

Which is why I was currently burrowed under my covers, alone, in the dark, and without a damn soul to call for comfort. I pulled the card out of my pocket and fumbled with it in the darkness. I brought out my phone and stared at it in the unnatural blue light. I was nervous to call, feeling that if I set up an appointment I'd be solidifying the fact that I was crazy. I thought about what my life had come to. Just a bunch of lonely nights hiding in my mess of a room, wallowing in self-pity, and wishing someone would care.

I was done with it. I punched in the number and listened to it ring.

The voice that answered surprised me.

"Edward Cullen." It was deep, smooth, and sounded nothing like a secretary.

"Um hi," I answered, hitting myself in the head the moment the words left my lips.

"Hello." I could sense his smile through the phone. I didn't like it.

"Um, my names Isabella Swan, Dr. Cullen referred me," I paused, feeling stupid. "Weird. You both have the same name. I meant-"

"My father," he finished with a chuckle. He was apparently enjoying my distress. Some psychologist he turned out to be. "Please tell me you're not another blind date. The last time he tried that I came home with a bruised ego and a pair of scorched pants."

I started laughing. I couldn't help it.

"No. Definitely not. He referred me as a patient," I was met with silence.

"Oh my God," he whispered, and now it was my turn to enjoy his embarrassment. "I'm sorry. Usually he patches them through to my office. I just assumed."

"Don't worry about it," I interrupted. I didn't want to make this anymore awkward than it was. "He must have given me the wrong card or something, I'm sorry."

"No, don't be. I'll just have to scold him later."

"For the wrong number or the blind date?" I asked. He let out a booming laugh, and it warmed me all over.

"Both I guess," he replied.

After that he gave me his office number, saying that I could make an appointment with his secretary Tanya, and that he was looking forward to meeting me face to face. I blushed at his words, thankful he couldn't see it, knowing he only meant it in a professional way. Despite that fact though, I still found myself replaying our conversation over in my head, hoping beyond hope that he wasn't nearly as attractive as he sounded.