Disclaimer: Twilight does not belong to me. Copyright infringement is not intended.

Summary: They say that she can't really smell blood. But she can.

Blood

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Bella was unpopular in her old school. To most she was simply a nonentity, a nameless face, but to a few she was lowly regarded, breathing their precious air. She tried not to judge no matter how badly they treated her – tried not to blame them –, so mostly she ended up blaming herself. The blame had to go somewhere. Hearing that Edward's mind reading didn't work on her wasn't the first time she'd thought something must be wrong in her brain.

The boys never hit her, but the girls weren't so kind.

Most days it was fine. She got by without drawing notice. But she'd been jumped and robbed more than a few times, though not to her mother's knowledge. She just thought that the bruises were Bella being clumsy, and Bella went with that. She knew the difference between the breaking and fracture of bone, a concussion and simple dizziness or a knock to the head.

And the smell of blood.

The falling hadn't scared her. There was a sick exhilaration in the freefall flying when she toppled backwards over the rails. There had been shock, and not just from her, but no one else had seen the push and she wasn't telling. Two flights of stairs to abruptly stop on a glass trophy case. She could list all the broken bones and other injuries with clinical precision.

It was the blood, the glass poking straight through her back up through her stomach, that scared her. Catherine Marsh was the first one to snap out of her shock and dial 911 on her cell phone. Cathy hadn't even noticed her until that day, and then after had watched religiously. No one dared try anything after that death scare, and certainly not under Cathy's watch. The two weren't friends, but the older girl looked out for her.

"You can't smell blood," Edward said with that crooked grin.

Yes, I can.

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