This Is Who I Am

Chapter Four

Edward's P.O.V

I look down at the text from Bella and smile.

Thank you for dinner last night. Had a great time.
B xxx.

I reply quickly to her text and get out of my car, leaving my phone on silent. No one knows where I am right now and I think that's the best. Only one person knows what's going through my head and that person is me. I haven't been able to sleep at all these past few weeks. I'm fine during the day and part of that it's because of Bella. We talk constantly, if it's not through text, I call her and if not, during our lunch breaks we sit together with Emmett and two other mates, but most of the time it's just her and I talking to each other. I'm fine - no, more than fine - I'm just great when I'm with her. It's when I'm not talking to her that I'm not.

When I arrive at my apartment, all I can think of is Ava and I can't help but to keep asking myself: who the hell is she? Why do I keep dreaming of her? I've read that it helps to write them down. It's bullshit. I read what I write and I still don't understand shit. I don't know why am I running through a filed laughing, or why am I in a white room calling Ava's name. It makes no sense. Why can't I see her clearly? It's like I'm following a shadow in my dreams, a shadow that changes every single night. That's why I'm here, sitting in Dr. Ramirez's lobby filling the paperwork his assistant gave me when I walked in.

"Edward Cullen?" I look at the assistant, who stands by the door to Dr. Ramirez's office. "Dr. Ramirez is ready to see you."

I hand her the paper work she gave me to fill out and walk in the office. His office could be a mini library of its own, I've never seen so many books in such a small room before. His desk is placed at the end of the room beside the wide glass wall, that's where he's seated. A tall, Hispanic man, dressed in causal but also professional clothing.

"You must be Edward." His voice had a thick Spanish accent, but it was smooth and almost confronting. So were his features, his dark eyes and even his posture. He stood up and walked up to me, offering me his hand. "I'm Dr. Ramirez."

"Nice you meat you," I manage to say.

"Please, have a seat." I take a seat on one of the brown couches he has as he takes my paperwork from the lady at the front desk. "Thank you, Sandy." He reads through my paper work, nodding to himself as he reads and taking notes on a notepad. Once he's done, he looks at me and says, "So, you suffer from a long term amnesia."

"Yes, Sir."

"And how long has it been since your accident?"

"Almost three years."

"Have you had any trouble retaining new information?"

"No, sir."

"Any permanent injuries caused by the head trauma?"

"Nothing beside the amnesia."

He puts his notebook aside and looks at me threw his half-moon glasses. "Do you remember the accident?"

"No, I just remember waking up in a hospital with no clue of where I was," I answer.

He nods. "And you're here because you want to recover those memories of your past?"

"No..." I hesitate on answering. Do I want to recover those memories? I play with the ripped off cloth of my jeans and swallow. "I've been having dreams. Dreams that really don't make sense to me."

"Do you want to talk about those dreams?" I notice he talked in a mellow tone, almost like a whisper. It was as if he was trying not to scare me. It was comforting.