Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer is pretty awesome. And if the characters were mine, it wouldn't be called Fanfiction. This story has now been officially disclaimed.

A/N: I've been playing with this idea for a couple of weeks now, so let me know what you think. As far as I know, there isn't anything like this on Fanfiction.

CHAPTER ONE

State-Mandated Brain Shrinking

"My heart was pounding at like, three or four hundred beats per minute. Mind you, that's just like, a rough estimation." I smirked over at my official 'head-shrinker.' He was not impressed.

"Are we going to have a serious discussion today, or are you just going to sit there and be a smart ass?"

"Sorry babe; I expect it's just a part of my natural charm," I smirked. My nose itched; I used a blackened fingernail to scratch at it. Much better.

He was scribbling furiously on a stern-looking clipboard. Good. For the big bucks they probably forked over, he sure as hell better be doing something.Because god knows he hadn't "fixed" me yet. Like I was a computer or something; just find the 'reboot' button.

I snorted out loud- that elicited an eyebrow raise. Thankfully, no stupid rhetorical questions this time. If I heard 'And how does that make you feel?' again I was going to kill somebody.

I laughed out loud this time. That was ironic. But again, he barely reacted. I wondered briefly if he had seen it all, or if he was just really good at pretending to care when he actually didn't give a shit. I suspected the latter.

Taking the opportunity, I used the time to stare at the specimen before me. He was everything that a person should be: employed, responsible, an upstanding citizen… and sort of beautiful. For a prick, anyway. He might be mind-blowingly gorgeous if he would stop making that face at me.

"Miss-"

"Why can't you call me by my first name? I call you by yours." I cracked my knuckles.

There. That face. The one where his eyebrows pinch together and he flares his nose, like he smells something bad. His eyes remind me of home- spring and gloom all at once. I think that his face looks like a rainy day in Forks: misery layered on top of beauty like thick marmalade.

His smooth voice interrupted my dissection of him. "As I was saying, can we talk seriously for a minute. Just sixty seconds, give me that much."

I shrunk down in the big chair and pulled my legs up to my chest. God, I hated the color orange- this stupid uniform made me look like Charlie Brown's Great Pumpkin. "I suppose." I popped the 'p'- I just couldn't resist.

"We were talking about how you felt in the moments just before…" He allowed the sentence to trail off, like he might have happened to lose his train of thought. But I knew better; he didn't want to say it out loud. Not here, not in this white room. It would have clung to the walls, dripped venom on the graying carpet, and hung in the air.

"I told you. Everything was… fast. I was breathing fast, and sweating, and then all of a sudden, only one thing stuck out in my head. It was the only clear choice, and I had to do it. That's all I can tell you."

He used a long-fingered hand to jot something down in my ever-expanding file. I noted that he was left-handed. "Had you ever thought about this before the… incident?"

I chose my words carefully. "No. I never meant for any of this to happen. Not any of it."

"But it did," he said bluntly. "And I refuse to believe that there was no solid, concrete reason for it. People don't just… you're not insane. I've seen some messed up people, and you're not one of them."

"Oh, stop. You're making me blush."

That face again. "Did anything ever happen between the two of you… was he at all abusive?"

I considered my answer carefully. "No."

"Did he threaten you in anyway?"

"No."

"Did he ever threaten your mother in anyway?"

"No." Stop asking me questions.

"Did you think that you would get away with it?"

"Probably not."

"Look, you and I both know that-"

Drumming my fingernails on the edge of my chair, I glanced up at the doorway where the industrial black clock was keeping watch over our one-sided conversation. "I think it's been more than sixty seconds."

Deep sigh. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, like maybe he could make the crease between his eyebrows more mournful. I wonder if that's possible.

"Do you think you'll ever really let me in?" For a moment, the words pierce me to my core. He runs a hand through his reddish hair, but doesn't look away from my face. I feel like he's searching for the words I won't say, trying to siphon them straight from my thoughts.

For a minute I'm tongue-tied, and might have told him everything right there if I hadn't lacked the ability to speak English for a minute. Maybe I was wrong- he is completely, undeniably, mind-blowingly gorgeous.

"Probably not," I manage to stutter out. Hopefully he didn't see the brief flash of red in my cheeks.

He puts on that look again, and I feel relieved. Him knowing that his gaze made me stupid enough to blurt anything would not be a good thing. Besides, I actually thought we had a pretty good dynamic going. Not everyone in here appreciates sarcasm like my good old psychiatrist. And that's saying something because, obviously, he just lives for my witty remarks.

"Same time tomorrow, doc?"

He nods warily, clearly already looking forward to the next day's session. I'm glad to see that he has put his layer of fatigue back on- anything to lessen the likeness to an Armani model.

"Great," I nod, rolling the 'r'. "It's a date."

He looks up at that but doesn't comment, choosing instead to wave a finger in the direction of the glass-paneled door, like you might gesture at a waitress for your bill, or some more coffee. Almost immediately, an annoying buzzing sound fills the silence and the thick glass swings forward.

I move slowly towards the end of the room, not wanting to leave just yet. Anywhere was better than where I was going.

Cold metal snapped around my wrists, and I flinched at the sound involuntarily. I thought that he might have noticed my reaction.

"See you tomorrow, Bella." I started again- not because the guard had just yanked me forward a couple of steps toward the mouth of hell- but because of the way my name sounds falling through his lips. Usually it's "Miss Swan" or "Isabella". I hate that way that feels; too many harsh, staccato 's' sounds, firing through teeth like accusations. His voice wraps around me, providing some bit of protection until tomorrow.

"Bye, Edward."

I turn around completely now, being lead back through the labyrinth of gates and alarms and offices and hallways.

"SLCPD" was the last thing he saw of me as I left his office. "Salt Lake City Police Department" stamped on the back of my polyester uniform, branded there for all the world to see:

Danger.

Criminal.

Incarcerated.

A/N: So this is pretty much setting up the story. I personally really like the way the characters are, but let me know what you think. Should I continue?