Idk what I'd do without lulabelle98 or My_R Cullen. Millions of thank yous to you both. xo

Enjoy :)

Chapter 6.

It's a quarter to eight on a Saturday morning and I'm already up, showered and dressed. Charlie got home half an hour ago after his night shift; the sight of him when he walked through the door had proven that it hadn't been a good night.

One thing I've learnt from Charlie is that he has a habit of tugging on his hair when he's agitated. He used to do it a lot when Riley and I messed around when we were younger, when he fought with Renée or when he had had a bad day at the station. I presume that's the cause of his disheveled brown hair sticking out in all directions today too. His usual smart and time-consuming hair style has been completely scrapped. It wasn't just his hair though. The skin under his eyes was also sagging from the lack of sleep, making him look ten years older than his real age. He looked like a mess, and probably felt like it too.

He admitted that he felt terrible as soon as he walked through the threshold, quickly excusing himself from the little 'welcome home, are you ill?' party I had set up for him, and headed upstairs for a shower instead.

"Morning, Bells," he says, making his way into the kitchen. "How was your night?"

His hair is no longer a tousled mess. Instead it's slicked back by water and completely flat. His eyes are still drooping.

"It was good. How about yours? You look exhausted." I stand up and pour us both some coffee.

"Yeah, it was long." He grabs a piece of toast off the side, the cup of coffee I've just poured and the newspaper from the counter. He sits down at the table and takes turns between eating and drinking, flipping through the thin pages of information at the same time.

"You had some voice messages left for you on the landline." I walk over to the machine and replay them for him without a second thought. I take a seat opposite him, sipping my own cup of the hot drink.

His eyes are down, still reading page after page of the newspaper. It seems as though he's not even listening to the recorded messages. That is until Dr Cullen's voice sounds out through the room. His whole body tenses, and I look up to see him staring blankly at the wall while the message continues to play.

He looks straight at me once the voicemail ends. His eyes soften and he gives me a small, sorrowful smile. He doesn't say anything. Instead he turns away from the table and walks heads toward the landline. He picks it up, dials a number and holds the phone by his right ear. I'm not usually one to pry or involve myself in other people's business, I myself hate it when people try to interfere with my own, but for some reason I don't leave or even pretend to be oblivious to his phone call.

"Dr Cullen... Yeah, I was wondering if you had a free appointment today..." He pauses, listening to Dr Cullen's response. He keeps fiddling with the collar of the brown polo he's wearing. He doesn't look at me or acknowledge the fact that I'm listening. I feel as though I'm intruding on something that I shouldn't. But he doesn't go out of his way to get rid of me.

"Okay, sure. I'll be there." He puts the receiver back down and drops his head a little. He whispers and nods to himself as though he's trying to convince himself of something. "I've... uhm," he mumbles before standing up straight and looking at me. "I've got an appointment at ten." He looks nervous, out of place.

He walks back to his chair and sits down, taking a sip of his coffee again. His enthusiasm for reading the newspaper has completely vanished.

"What test results?" I ask quietly.

"I've been having headaches for the past few weeks," he explains. "I had a CT scan and some tests run the week before you arrived. They say it's very unlikely it'll be anything significant or serious, but better to be safe than sorry. It was just a precaution," he insists.

"What could it be?"

"They don't know. I've rarely had them these past few days so I don't think there's anything to worry about. But like I said, it's just a precaution. I'm getting old." He gives a small laugh and chews his last piece of toast.

"I'll come with you."

"You don't have to, it's not that big of a deal," he replies. His gaze meets mine and I know he's lying. The flicker of hope in his brown pupils which wants me to come proves that it is a big deal.

~LLWD~

"Charlie Swan," Charlie tells the receptionist at the front desk.

She types something into the computer before looking back up at him. "Sure, take a seat. Dr. Cullen will be ready in a few minutes."

The lady points us to the two rows of blue cushioned chairs lined up against the walls. There's a stack of magazines on the small coffee table near the window. An old woman is the only other person waiting to be seen. Other than that, it's empty and quiet. The walls are painted bleach white and the illuminate lighting makes it almost seem as though it's a midsummer's day. The color brightens the room but not in the sense where it makes everything happier. There are no pictures of flowers, babies or cute little puppies hanging on the walls. Instead there's 'nutritional advice', 'the symptoms of meningitis' and other posters decorating the surrounding walls. The smell of antiseptics and sterile detergents linger in the air, and the background noise from the wards and offices along the corridors are just audible through the double-swing doors.

"Charlie Swan," Dr. Cullen says, walking through the doors which separate the waiting room from the rest of the hospital.

Charlie stands up beside me. "I shouldn't be long," he explains to me. "Don't go anywhere."

"Where do you expect me to go?" I laugh, trying to relax him.

"I'll see you soon."

"Good luck." I give him a small smile which he then returns.

He follows Dr. Cullen out of the waiting room and the room is quiet once again.

Minutes tick by without me realizing. The muffled sounds of voices from adjoining rooms and the annoying tapping of the receptionist's keyboard is all I can hear. I pick up one of the issues of Women's Health from the table, flipping through it but nothing catching my attention. It feels awkward, sitting here doing nothing of convenience. The clock tells me he's been gone for fifteen minutes. I sigh, hoping its good news rather than bad.

The automatic entrance doors slide open. A boy strolls in with his eyes down focusing on his phone. The hood of his black sweatshirt is pulled over his head, stopping me from seeing his face, and his jeans fall loosely around his hips, hanging low enough to see the top of his boxers.

He walks over to the receptionist and leans on the counter.

"Is my dad free?" he asks. My body automatically tenses. I know that voice. Oh God.

I pick the magazine up again and pretend to read it, but my ears are still listening to the conversation commencing ten meters away.

"No, he's with a patient at the moment," she replies without looking up at him. He doesn't move, just stands there with his elbows placed on the counter and his chin resting in his palms. "Take a seat, Edward. I'm working." She huffs.

He stands up unwillingly, lifting his hands in the air to show he wasn't doing anything troublesome. He turns around and my eyes drop to the magazine once again, hoping that Charlie finishes in a few minutes. He walks toward me and I fight every ounce of desire to look up at him.

"Can I sit here?" He's speaking. I don't know if he's asking me or not, so I ignore him.

Don't give him the attention he craves, Bella.

I flip the page, eyes boring into the first sentence over and over again but never absorbing the words. In the corner of my eye I see him move, and before I know it he's sitting right next to me. Out of all the chairs here, he has to pick this one.

"So, what you doing here?" he asks casually. I still don't look up, afraid of making eye contact with him. Why is he even talking to me? He slouches back in his chair and rests his hands behind his head.

"Just thought I'd chill at the hospital for the day." I shrug, my voice sounding sharper than intended.

"Is that a hint of sarcasm I sense in your voice?" he inquires with a laugh. "It's good to know you're not completely dull."

I close the magazine and place it on the table again, twisting my body to look at him. "What do you want?" I ask in a small voice.

His demeanor rapidly changes and it's noticeable in his eyes. The greenness in his pupils suddenly softens, the skin between his eyebrows creases, and his cocky smirk disappears. "I was just asking," he retorts defensively.

"Yeah, well thanks for your concern." Sarcasm fills my voice as I glare at him, wandering what he's doing here and why he's talking to me. I sigh in frustration and bite my tongue to stop myself from saying anything else.

"Why do you keep acting like-" he begins to ask, waving his hands around as though he can't find the right words, "-that?"

"Like what?"

"Like I'm an utter asshole, and you'd rather be sliced open than sitting here having a normalconversation with me," Edward says, watching me intently.

A small smile unconsciously appears on my face at his words. "You are an utter asshole." I smirk, meeting his gaze as I look up at him.

The corner of his mouth twitches upward at my words. "How so?" he asks, laughing. He leans forward, and for once I feel as though he's finally listening to me.

I shake my head in disbelief. The conversation has changed so quickly, his attitude shifting at the same pace too. I don't answer. All sorts of words rolling through my head, but none of them manage to convey what I actually feel. He's waiting for an answer, but I think he knows he's not going to get one, possibly because he actually already knows it.

"Why do you hate me?" The words slip out of my mouth before I can stop them. I can already guess the answer and I don't specifically want to hear it. His voice interrupts my thoughts.

"I don't hate you," he objects. The crease on his forehead reappears as he furrows his eyebrows in confusion.

"Then why do you act like… that?" I ask, using his words from earlier.

He doesn't need me to expand on the question. Instead, he hangs his head back and looks up at the tiled ceiling. He stays like that for a few seconds, then looks away and runs his left hand through his bronze hair. "I, uh… I think…" he mutters, stumbling over his words.

"You think what?"

He looks at me again, catching my gaze. His eyes are soft once more, a million words and thoughts floating inside of them. "You confound me." He frowns slightly, shaking his head as though that wasn't what he intended to say. "I just… I don't understand you. You're like an enigma."

Now I don't understand him. "I'm confused now." I let out a small laugh trying to hide the awkwardness I feel.

A sound from across the room jolts us from our conversation. Charlie walks through the door, a smile on his face and some papers in his hands. Dr. Cullen is beside him, they're chatting and they both look… happy. That's good, right?

Charlie notices me, giving me a small wave and they both walk toward the front desk, speaking to the receptionist.

I stand up from my seat, but am stopped short by a tug on my arm. Edward turns me around so we're face to face. He's a few inches taller than me, making me feel small and vulnerable. I preferred it sitting down.

He's looking between both my eyes; his gaze is intense, as though he's searching for something. "I don't hate you. You're actually kind of… cute," he says, cracking a small smile.

"Cute?" I ask, raising an eyebrow and laughing. That's not what I was expecting. He nods, completely serious. I stare at him for a second, not knowing what to do or say. He thinks I'm cute? He laughs at my expression. "You're cute, but utterly confusing."

I shake my head. He's the confusing one.

Reviews are better than Edward calling you cute. ;)