Throughout the delivery, I barely managed to hold myself together. Now, my professional façade was beginning to unravel, the weak strings of my self control began to snap one by one. My trepidation began to swell and I suddenly felt a sense of impending doom.

I paused at the door and took my cap off. The urgency I felt in the need for answers in this fucked up mess was overwhelming. I turned my head, looking back over my shoulder at Isabella and the baby, desperately seeking the truth yet so afraid of it at the same time. Forgetting for a second that we were not alone, I almost blurted out my question. I think I already knew the answer - it was pretty fucking obvious - but I had to hear the truth from her. She looked back at me with tears in her eyes, her gaze reflecting anger, accusation, and what appeared to be stern warning. Well aware that the last of my composure was dissipating, I let an exasperated sigh, knowing that now was not the time for questions and answers. I turned back to the door, opened it and closed it behind me as I stepped out into the hall.

My knees began to feel weak and shaky. I tried to take in a breath, but my throat tightened and my lungs felt constricted. I braced myself with my hands on the guard rail that lined the hallway, and once again tried to fill my lungs with air, but only managing a small gasp.

My heart began to pound in my chest and I could feel my carotid pulse thumping in my neck. Every cell in my body sparked with a buzzing energy, each one begging for its dose of oxygen. With smothering panic, I attempted another breath. I felt my burning lungs fill with air but it somehow was not satisfying enough.

I looked down the hall seeing bodies moving in slow motion in the distance. I looked down the other side of the corridor, desperate for a place to retreat before I called attention to myself.

With my limbs now tingling, I chose the most direct path to the locker room. Oddly, my body felt light as if I were in a dream, yet my legs were heavy with each step and required effort to move them.

My mind was trying to unleash its memories of Bella and of the scene that just took place in the delivery room. I tried to swallow them back one by one because I knew if I didn't I was going to end up on a stretcher in the emergency room. I tried to keep my focus by concentrating on moving my legs, as if they were the last thread keeping me grounded in reality.

I managed shallow breaths with each step, each one just as inadequate as the one before it. Lightheadedness began to cloud my focus.

I trudged past the nurses' station, avoiding eye contact, and prayed that nobody approached me for anything. There was no way I could even appropriately respond in the state I was in.

My stomach began to twist and saliva rushed into my mouth. Bile began to push its way up my esophagus and was not far from making its release.

There was a small corner of my mind that could vaguely rationalize that nobody was looking at me and none of them knew what just took place in the delivery room. But I felt as if the shame and guilt of what I had done was radiating from my body and beckoning to the eyes of those around me. It was so intense that I felt naked.

Like a wounded animal that retreats to a secret hiding spot to avoid predators, I slipped into the men's locker room just as the acid lashed the back of my throat. I rushed past two of my colleagues without a glance and dashed to the bathroom, and fell to my knees, just barely making it to the waste basket.

My abdominal muscles clenched fiercely and my body lurched forward, carrying the contents of my stomach with it. I watched the emesis splatter the plastic liner of the basket. I closed my eyes as another wave of nausea came over me.

Visions of her brown eyes danced before my eyelids, the same brown eyes that had haunted my dreams for the last nine months. The same beautiful brown eyes that I tried my hardest to forget with all my waking thoughts.

Hunched over, my body lurched again. I felt perspiration seep through my pores. Tears slipped from my eyes and trailed down to the tip of my nose, the acidic fumes from the vomit causing my eyes to sting and water. My heart continued to race as more vomit blasted its way from my gut.

I squeezed my eyes shut again, hoping that this was all a dream and praying that I would wake up in my bed. Taking in another shallow breath, I tried to suppress my thoughts. My mind was racing with flashes; it was too much to comprehend, and I was reeling.

Chocolate eyes. Baby. Strawberries. No self control. Silky brown hair. Daughter. No condom. Creamy pale skin. Soft. Tight. Nine months. Stupid . Fucking stupid.

The nausea gripped me again and I retched. I sat there for a few more minutes, hovering over the trash trying to catch my breath and making sure there was no more left.

When I was finally sure that my stomach was empty, I reached up and grabbed a hold of the sink basin and slowly pulled my shaky body up off of the floor. I saw my pallid reflection in the mirror and had the urge to smash the image with my fists. What have I fucking done?

I turned the faucet on and splashed cold water on my face with my hands, then scooped some into my mouth to wash out the acrid taste of vomit.

I grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser and dried my face off. I glanced into the mirror again, sick with myself.

With the twisted feeling still in my gut, I leaned back against the wooden bathroom door, and slowly slid my body down till it was resting on the cold floor tiles.

Pull it together Cullen.

Deep breath in.

You know nothing for sure.

Deep breath out.

No reason to freak out…yet.

Deep breath in.

Things are pretty fucking obvious.

Deep breath out.

My mind wandered back to the delivery room. The look that girl gave me was the trademark one that women give to their husbands when they are crowning; the very look that says "You fucking did this to me." Not only did her fiery gaze relay those words to me, she fucking actually screamed them at me. I had already started to put two and two together before then, counting back the months to when I was with her, at but that moment when she lashed out, it took everything I had in me to maintain my composure. Fuck, never in my life had I ever felt like such a lowly piece of shit as I did right then.

My heart was still racing, but it had slowed down considerably. My breathing was still slightly labored, but at least a little more manageable.

I didn't want to think of her or that night…or even the events of the day that led me to the bar. It was all just too fucking much.

A knocking on the door startled me from my thoughts. It seemed like hours since the delivery room, but I really had no idea how long I had been on the bathroom floor.

"Just a minute," I shouted.

I lifted myself off of the floor, still feeling a bit shaky. I went back to the sink, turned the water on, splashing my face and rinsing out my mouth once more. I dried my face with a paper towel.

Not wanting to leave my vomit in the bathroom, I lifted the plastic trash bag from the bin, twisted it closed and looped it into a knot.

I took another deep, yet unsatisfying breath, and opened the door.

"Dr. Cullen, are you alright?" Mike Newton, one of the male nurses asked me. "You look rather pale."

"Just a touch of the flu I think." I responded while trying to avoid his gaze.

"Well, feel better then," he said.

"Thanks."

I exited the locker room and searched out the janitor's closet. Never having been in it before, I wasn't sure which way to turn.

Fuck.

Rose was at the other end of the hall and had unfortunately spotted me and began darting towards me. My sister in-law was a good nurse but in real life she was a nosy ball-busting bitch.

"Jesus Christ, Edward, you look like a ghost. What the fuck was that in there? That girl freaked out when I brought you in," she spat quietly with accusing concern.

"Not now, Rose." I ran my free hand through my hair, while looking down to avoid eye contact with her.

She glanced at the bag that was in my hand. "Is that vomit?" she asked while scrunching her nose in disgust.

"Here, dump this in the biohazard trash," I demanded as I shoved the bag at her.

She appeared startled and wide-eyed as she grabbed it. "I really fucking hope this puke isn't yours."

I ignored answering that. "Are you finished with Ms. Swan's chart?" I needed to make my notes in it but I was much more interested in gaining answers about her.

"It's at the desk," she replied as she huffed off to dispose of the bag.

I snuck over to the nurse's station and thumbed through the patient records. Swan. I pulled it from the file, tucked it under my arm and headed out of the birthing suite towards my office.

I still had that weightless feeling and a strong sense of panic in my chest. At least my legs didn't feel as if they were encased in cement anymore.

I flipped the light on in my office and dropped the record on my desk. I paced back and forth a few times in a futile attempt to shake my nerves. I plopped down into my chair, said a silent prayer and flipped open the file.

Name: Isabella Marie Swan

D.O.B. September 13, 1985.

Occupation: Student

Marital Status: Single

Last Menstrual Period: June, 3, 2008. Shit. Fuck.

A sense of heaviness and foreboding took a seat on my shoulders as a hot sweat prickled my forehead and the back of my neck.

I pushed the button to my computer monitor and waited for it to load. I pulled up the window with my pregnancy calculator and punched in the date of her LMP. I'd done this so many times and am competent at doing the math in my head but I need reassurance of what I already knew in my mind. I clicked the submit button.

Date of conception: Approximately the 18th of June, 2008.

FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!!!

There was no mistaking the date that we were together in the bar. June 17th, three days before my birthday.

I let out a ragged breath.

Jesus.

Breathe; she could have been with other men in that time frame. She screwed you after one hour of knowing you, which may say a lot about her character.

I felt like such a dick for thinking that way about her, but I knew that it was a real possibility that I wasn't the only man to have sex with her during that time frame. I didn't know anything about her. The only words we ever said to each other were when I asked her to dance and when we exchanged names. Nothing else was said. Everything we had to say to one another was said through our eyes and by touch…

I shut my eyes tightly and tried to push back the details of that night, of her… The whole experience was so unnerving that it was hard to think about. I lost all control that night. I became so wrapped up in the bubble that she and I had created for ourselves that all rational thought was gone.

I couldn't believe myself. I was a fucking doctor for Christ's sake. I counseled endless numbers of women everyday on the importance of using condoms for preventing sexually transmitted diseases and unwanted pregnancies. How could I be so stupidly irresponsible?

I had already beat myself up over this months ago. I'd always prided myself on doing the right thing, being ethical and moral, being an upstanding man and honoring my responsibilities. Respecting women - the foundation of my occupation as an OB/GYN, this commanded the utmost respect of women.

And I fucked that girl in the stall of a toilet like she was a whore and discarded her like a piece of shit.

I'd struggled with an internal battle for doing what I did with that girl and just leaving her the way I did. It haunted me every fucking night. I tried to push it out of my mind, to forget, but there had been no forgetting. Those chocolate brown eyes plagued my dreams every fucking time I closed my eyes to sleep.

I had been with plenty of women, and while I was in college I had a few one night stands. I always felt a little bit guilty the morning after. But this girl - I couldn't shake her memory. Maybe it was the conscience I had grown since becoming a doctor. Maybe it was the connection I had with her, but I knew better than that.

I was in a bad way that night. I had to deal with two fetal demises that day at work. My profession was very gratifying, but when something goes wrong, it is hard not to take it personally or let it affect your life outside of the hospital. I was feeling so defeated when I got off my shift, I went to the bar to try to relieve some stress. So, whatever I felt with her was not real, it was me reaching out and just needing somebody, and whatever it was, was just fucking weird.

Fuck.

My already tense posture stiffened even more and my respirations sped up, becoming shallow again. I tried to calm myself by taking slow, deep breaths but was once again feeling suffocated.

I had spent my whole life walking the straight and narrow path, minus the few times I screwed up in college. I always used protection, even with the two long term relationships I had been in. I had always taken pride in my self-discipline; every major decision in my life has been thoroughly thought out. I was calculated and deliberate in my all my choices of action. I did not take things lightly. And fuck, the one night, the one fucking night I lose control….

The anxiety that had been plaguing me began to take a different form and I felt a surge of anger build in my chest.

More of the memories I had tried to push back for the last nine months came began to surface. Every thought of her left me so fucking conflicted. How a one-time meeting with that woman affected me on so many levels left me stunned, confused, and fucking furious. Furious at myself for losing control, furious at her for whatever kind of fucking spell she put on me. Furious that the truest testament to my fuck up was in a bassinet down the hall…

God damned, fuck!

I ran a shaky hand through my hair while taking in a slow, deep breath, an attempt to calm my nerves and fury enough to collect a rational thought.

Resting my elbows on my knees, I hunched over in my chair and reached my fists up to pull my hair in frustration.

A buzzing vibration abruptly pulled me from my thoughts. I sighed and reached down to my waist to check my pager. Thankfully my shift was over so hopefully I wasn't being paged to work. Frankly, I wasn't in a good frame of mind and would not trust myself with a patient at this point.

I reached for the phone and dialed the number.

"Labor and Delivery, this is Rose speaking, how may I help you?"

"It's Edward, what do you need?" I replied.

"Do you plan on keeping Ms. Swan's chart? I can't go home until you bring it back so I can finish documenting in it," she huffed in an irritated voice.

"I'm on my way," I said dryly. I hung up the phone and gathered the file. I steeled myself as best as I could before I opened the door, trying to put on a normal face. The last thing I needed right now was for Rose to stick her nose in my business.

I made my way back to the delivery suite and found Rose sitting at the nurse's station. I handed her the chart and she snatched it from my hand while eyeing me with that "all knowing" look she tends to have all the fucking time. I once again avoided eye contact with her and promptly left to go and change out of my scrubs.

I passed by the nursery on my way to the locker room. I felt my pulse quicken as I saw a row of bassinets in my peripheral vision. I slowed to a stop, and glanced through the glass window…

It wasn't hard to spot her. Even with a hat on, she had so much hair that it was peeking out from under it. And that color…

I knew what my mother would call that color. Bronze.

My heart caught in my throat. Fuck. Guilt. Looking at that tiny, innocent baby, knowing that she was most likely my daughter, the guilt set in with vengeance.

I had always wanted children, but not like this. I never imagined bringing a child into the world out of wedlock, let alone without even knowing my child's mother.

Shit.

An empty and helpless feeling began to descend upon me as I watched her little face scrunch up and then heard a muffled cry through the glass.

I felt a pulling in my heart, knowing that no matter what the situation was between her mother and I, this baby didn't deserve to be caught up in the aftermath.

Another bout of anxiety began to weasel its way in and I had to forcefully tear my eyes away from her. I began to move toward the locker room, knowing that if I stayed there looking at her I was going to lose it again. I had to swallow back my emotions; otherwise, I was not going to make it out of this hospital in one piece.

I went to my locker, changed out of my scrubs and into a pair of jeans and a sweater. I made a trip to the restroom, trying to pass time so Rose could finish her work. I didn't want to have to face her again before she left for home. I also couldn't leave until I did my charting in Isabella's record.

I waited for about ten minutes before going back to the main desk. I prayed that Rose was gone and thankfully she was. I did what I needed to do, and double checked my documentation to be sure everything was accurate.

When I finally exited the doors of the hospital, I let out a huge sigh. I was so physically and mentally exhausted that my mind was numb.

I made it home, thankful that I lived close to work and didn't have far to drive in this state of mind. I didn't even take my shoes off. I didn't turn the lights on. I didn't get anything to eat. I never made it to bed. I sat on my couch and stared off into the darkness of my apartment and let the memories of her take me.