Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight, Stephenie Meyer does.
High school: the most exciting time in our lives right? Most would agree. These are times not to be taken for granted—times to enjoy because we will never get the opportunity to go back. Well, that may be true for most individuals, but not my brothers and sisters. They have been through the same routine of the four year curriculum many, many times before. Never aging has granted them ability to repeat the precious memories. This is my first go around and, according to them, my only. So I of all people should enjoy it. It's normal.
Normal. Ha. I roll my eyes at the term.
Normal teenage freshmen can't run at a speed that could break the sound barrier. Normal teenagers can't lift large vehicles above their heads without breaking a sweat. Normal teenagers can't start fires with their eyes. Truth be told, I am not a normal teenager. I've never been a normal anything. But sometimes I question where the limit of so-called 'abnormality' begins and the lines of normalcy end. And who gets to say what is and what isn't? I've come to accept in my life that nothing is a myth and the things we read in fairy tales and scary stories have the possibilities of existing. Ignorance is not a wise quality to keep.
Physically I look about as typical as any teenage girl would: slender, average height, pale complexion, and a head of long curly auburn hair. The only thing about my appearance that would seem a little above average are my eyes. Though green is a normal eye color to have, the heightened hue is somewhat standoffish. Most people assume I'm just wearing contact lenses that enhance the color. Only few have asked me straight about that, and that's the lie I give. I always make sure to look away in case they happen notice there are no contact rim lines surrounding my corneas. Rather people think I'm vain than the truth I suppose.
I would sleep much better at night if I had the answers to why I am the way I am, but that just doesn't seem possible. I've only been given so much to work with, all leading to dead ends and more unanswered questions. My father (my adopted father that is) doesn't think it wise to dwell on the unknown and that I should go on with my life as normally as possible.
Normal. Another eye roll.
My father is a very intelligent man. I would not doubt the over three hundred year life experience to back that fact up, but at least he knows what he is. He knows the reason behind his anomaly. So how could he possibly understand the unbearable frustration? How can I just forget about everything and pretend to act human every day, knowing that I am not and never will be? At least he was human once. They all were (Alice being the only exception, not having a single memory of her human life). Sometimes I get so mad, I want to punch walls. But of course, I can't do that without shattering the whole building and gathering full attention from spectators. Exposure is not an option.
I do play the normal role better than the rest, according to my family. Like normal humans, I have to eat and sleep and maintain hydration. And I bleed too, just about as easy as any of them despite my strength. The biggest, and most important reason, is because unlike them, I don't thirst for said blood, making close contact not a difficult or painful experience. People don't unknowingly shy away from my wake as they do my family. Their subconscious instincts don't shout danger when around me. But that doesn't necessarily mean I can't be dangerous.
"Are we boring you, Ms. Cullen?" Mr. Varner's disparaging monotone brought me back. Several people turned in their seats to stare, a few of them muffling laughs.
I felt my face begin to flush.
"No sir," I mumbled.
He narrowed his eyes slightly before turning back to the whiteboard full of problems on the Pythagorean Theorem. He knew better than to try and catch me off guard with a question. I'd never missed one. In fact, he should have known better the first time he saw my surname on the roll call, having already gone through the semesters with my siblings' perfect four-point-o averages. But a man can dream, can't he?
Truthfully, I could already be doing college level equations without frustration. I could be doing college level any subject and probably excelling. Learning has always came easy to me, and I've already been taught most the subjects offered at this small school curriculum. I'm happier here at least. It's nothing like that pretentious preparatory junior high full of nothing but trust-fund babies I was forced to attend during our elusive stay in St. Cloud. And at least here I'm actually beginning to make friends.
To the desk left of me, Janis Ritter, an eccentric blonde girl I had several classes with and who was quickly becoming like a friend to me, gave me an apologetic look. I flashed a half-smile in her direction. She quickly turned her attention back to Mr. Varner. Janis wouldn't want to be his next victim, knowing how openly she complains about her struggles with the subject. I usually try to help her out with homework when I can.
It was then that something completely unexpected happened.
My smile instantly fell.
Pain, strenuous pain pulsated straight through to my temples. This was too quick to come on as a migraine, too sudden and much more painful. My hand flew to my temple and massaged in circles as my eyes narrowed strenuously. They didn't seem to want to close, but I made them anyway. Closing my lids felt like trying to push two positive magnets together.
What was happening?
I wanted to scream, or make any noise to counteract the agony, but this was clearly not normal.
Deep breaths, deep breaths, I chanted. Don't draw attention to yourself. Before Mr. Varner could scold me again, I opened my willing eyes back towards the whiteboard. Only I wasn't seeing the board at all. I was seeing much, much more.
The board, the entire north wall for that matter, disappeared. I suddenly found myself staring face to face with the entire neighboring English class. I could clearly see the backside of the teacher prattling on before her students, but not hearing her, like she was muted on a TV screen. I could see the faces of every student, most of them looking as droopy and half asleep as our class.
And Mr. Varner continued to write out his next problem in midair as if nothing was happening.
What. The. Hell.
I tried to shut my eyes, but they wouldn't budge without fiery shock shooting down my spine in response. This time I really wanted to scream. I had no choice but to watch.
It wasn't but mere seconds later when the wall came back and I was allowed to shut my eyes again. I blinked several times. The pain also decapitated as if it never happened. I looked around apprehensively at the other students, who didn't seem to notice anything and continued to stare at Mr. Varner's lecture without enthusiasm.
Did they honestly not see that? Was that really only me?
So I was seeing through walls now…and I had no control over this.
No, no, NO. Not again…
I had to get out before it happened again. Something was not right and I was destined to find out what.
I quietly cleared my throat and prepared to put as much weakness into my tone as possible, and then slowly raise my hand.
"Yes, Ms. Cullen?" Mr. Varner asked impatiently, hating to be interrupted when he wasn't the one addressing, especially by me for the second time.
"Um, Mr. Varner, I'm not feeling very well…may I be excused?"
After a brief scrutinizing look, he nodded carefully and waved his hand toward the door before turning back to his lecture. The gesture was kind of rude, but that was the least of my concerns.
I gathered my things and quickly exited into the hallway, ignoring the attentive looks boring at my backside.
Edward! I shouted at the top of my mental lungs. Edward, please if you can hear me, meet me by the girls' bathroom—it's an emergency. Of course he'd hear me.
My brother had his Sophomore history class this hour in the next hallway over. It came as no surprise to find him already there before me as I rounded the corner. I ran to his side at a speed I would never use around humans. His eyes were narrow and wary, like he was expecting to see bloody gashes or anything physically obvious.
We didn't speak. I couldn't risk anyone overhearing this, though the halls were completely deserted. I gave him the whole story mentally with very detailed memories. His eyes widened when I showed him the 'disappearing' wall.
He nodded though I know there was no possibility of understanding. How could anyone understand this?
"Let's go," he ordered, grabbing the top of my arm and pulled me along.
Suddenly, I stopped as the familiar pain returned. I groaned; both my hands instantly flew to my temples and I ducked my head, doubled over. It was worse this time, much worse. I felt Edward's cold stone hands catch my shoulders before I could fall over.
"Charlie!" He hissed. It sounded like he was screaming right in my ears.
I groaned again.
Stop shouting!
The pain shot my eyes wide open and what I saw nearly stopped my heart dead.
I was staring down at my foot—or at least, I thought it was my foot. My eyes flew open wider as I stood there staring straight down at every single bone in my foot. I curiously flexed my toes and, sure enough, the bones moved too. Definitely my foot. The vision was so much more detailed than last time. It was exactly like an X-ray image. And just like last time, it disappeared as quickly as it came.
"What the hell," I said breathlessly as I gathered myself together.
Edward turned me around. His eyes were fierce. "Charlie, are you okay?"
Okay? Okay? "You saw that, didn't you? Does it look like I'm okay?" I spat, frustrated.
He rolled his eyes, and then turned me loose, only keeping the one grip still on my arm. "Come on—I'm taking you to Carlisle."
I wasn't sure exactly how much help that would do, but obviously I couldn't stay here.
We were out of the main building and into the drizzle in an instant. We had to make one stop in the administrative office to get an excuse to leave, though at this point I could have cared less about getting caught ditching.
I stayed seated by the door and sulked in a sickly manner as instructed while Edward took care of Ms. Cope. She signed over the dismissal slip without hesitation and wished me to feel better. I noted her flushed cheeks before I turned to leave with my brother. I had to suppress a smile.
I waited under the protective metal covering outside the office building while Edward pulled his newly purchased silver Volvo around. Warm air was already blowing full-force through the vents when I slipped inside though it wasn't too terribly cold outside today. I settled back into the seat and closed my eyes, very much determined to keep them that way. The only thing to be heard was the increased purring of the engine as Edward whirled us to the hospital.
The trip took only minutes. I took one look at the approaching hospital buildings and suddenly felt ridiculous. I wasn't really sick—at least, I thought I wasn't—and this was the last place I should be taken for my problem. Nobody should ever know about me, know about the truth. But my father did, and this was his place of expertise. His insight held a great deal of weight in the family.
We walked nonchalantly through the sliding glass doors of the E.R. and were greeted by Dana Staley, the receptionist at the front desk. She had a phone to her ear. We knew everyone who worked on our father's shift, and they knew us. Small town, small hospital. It was a curse and a blessing at the same time.
She held her hand over the receiver. "He's in his office," she whispered, nodding her head down the hall.
Good. That would make getting him alone much easier.
"Thank you," Edward said politely. I smiled and nodded.
We paced down the west hall, passing by several similar looking brown doors on the left leading to the offices of the other doctors on staff, stopping at the one on the end with the bronze pate reading: Dr. C. Cullen, M.D., Chief Resident.
Edward didn't bother to knock; Dad could have easily heard our footsteps coming all the way from the parking lot or even the school's parking lot if he were really listening, so he was expecting us no doubt.
He stood like a stone behind his mahogany desk, looking out the large window nostalgically with his hands gracefully folded behind his back. He wasn't wearing his white lab coat—it was hanging on the rack in the corner by the door. He was wearing a pale blue button up shirt and the dark blue tie I'd gotten him for his birthday tucked into khaki pants. He turned around when we approached his desk. His face held the look of nothing but serenity until he saw ours.
He raised his eyebrow. "Edward, Charlie. Is everything alright?" He asked calmly. He was emphasizing the question more in my direction.
We were both out of school in the middle of the day; of course this couldn't be good.
I searched my head for the right words. I probably should have planned this out on the way. "Um…yes and no." I glanced over towards Edward anxiously. He stood like a stone. Hardly helpful.
Dad nodded, and then stepped out from behind the desk. "Why don't you sit down?" He gestured his hand at the large leather seat.
Obediently, I walked over and took a seat. I felt so small in the humongous leather chair and having my father and brother looking down on me didn't help much either with that.
"Now, what happened?" He asked me.
"Well…" How was I going to explain this? "I think—no, actually, I'm quite positive there's something seriously wrong with my eyesight," I began.
He pulled his brows together in a hard line, professional concern flooding his eyes subtly. "What makes you think this?"
I sighed. If only explaining were as easy for the rest of them as it was for Edward.
My father patiently listened as I broke down all the details. He nodded occasionally, but his face never changed. He didn't look shocked or any expression that would make me feel inferior. Instead, he looked at me as if I were any other patient coming to him with an illness that needs to be treated. This made me feel grateful, but my curiosity couldn't help wondering what he was he really thinking. I'd rather know the truth than be protected by sugar coating.
"So, you get a headache, and then you're able to see through solid objects," he confirmed in his quiet tone. Nothing fazes my father. I could probably sprout wings and his eyes wouldn't even widen.
Edward snorted at the ridiculous picture in my head.
I shot him a glare. "Well, the first time I was staring straight through a wall, and the second time was more like and X-ray. I could see every bone in my foot." I grimaced again at the memory…and the pain.
Again, he nodded, and then turned around towards the coat rack to retrieve something from his lab coat pocket. It was a tiny, pen-sized flashlight. He strode back over to me and crouched down to my level. I slowly spun the chair in his direction awkwardly.
He held up one finger. "Look here," he prompted.
I did as commanded, feeling the brilliant light forced upon my irises that made me want to blink. I followed his motion as he swiftly moved his finger upwards, downwards, and then to the right. After a few seconds, he clicked off his light and then stood up. He did not look satisfied, nor did he look frustrated.
I certainly was.
He gave a quick glance to Edward before speaking. I did not miss that.
"I don't see any change," he admitted, turning back to me, "but we should go to the optometry lab to take a closer look."
I nodded and then followed them both out of the room after Dad put his authoritative coat back on. He led the way instinctively through the nearly empty corridors. The hospital rarely saw much action given the small location but with him on staff, they were well prepared for any serious situation that may happen. And he always volunteered to be on-call just in case. Except of course when he took off weekends to go hunting.
There were three women in scrubs behind the long desk counter when we passed by the nurse's station. Two were talking closely together and one was scribbling something on the bottom of a patient's chart. The two gossipers suddenly flushed and frantically tried to look busy when they saw us coming.
I don't think I could ever picture my father reprimanding anyone, especially young women, even if they did deserve it. He's just so calm, so reserved.
He politely nodded at them and they flushed even deeper. I failed to see how he could stand that all day long. Perhaps his unnatural patience had something to do with it.
We rounded several more corners before we reached our desired corridor. It was very much deserted, probably due to the near lunch hour. Dad opened the first of the similar looking white doors labeled Exam 1, and gestured for me to enter first. The room was small and square and very bright. There was a brown rectangular table covered in crackly sterile paper in the center and a flat pillow on the back with similar coverings. A large metal contraption on wheels with several glass lenses lay still in the corner.
Without prompt, I leaped up onto the table, leaving my legs dangling off the front. Edward sat idly in a chair in the corner while Dad went to the counter to wash his hands and pull on a pair of latex gloves. He was nothing, if not thorough.
He dug around into one of the cabinets until he found what he was looking for. He pulled out a very small dark bottle and turned back towards the light switch and flipped it off, and then he strode back in my direction.
"I'm going to have to dilate your pupils in order to examine them properly," he explained quietly, professionally, again as if I were any other patient.
I'd never had my eyes forcibly dilated before, nor had they ever been examined by a machine, so I didn't know what to expect.
"Will this hurt?" I asked, sounding a little childish. I had a fairly high pain tolerance, but I preferred to be informed beforehand to mentally prepare myself.
"No, not unless you're staring at direct light. That's why I dimmed them." He gave me a quick smile. "Now, I need you to tilt your head back for me and look up at the ceiling."
As I did so, I felt his cold thumb through the latex pull back on my lower lid gingerly on the left eye, and then two cold, thick wet drops filled my eye. He swiftly did the same on the right. I had to blink several times to get the fluid settled. Some of it leaked down out of the corners and he handed me a tissue to wipe them off.
"It'll take a moment for the drops to take effect." I heard him snap off his gloves and dispose them in the red trash can beside the counter.
My eyes were beginning to feel strangely thicker, heavier too, like they were inflating like a balloon. I guess that was normal…
I sighed, blinking again. "Honestly, I don't know what you expect to f—"
I was cut off by something that should have been expected at this point.
It was happening again, but at an even higher degree—I didn't think that was even possible. The balls of my hands shot up to cover my brows. Agony seared my head suddenly like an electric shock that wouldn't stop pulsing. I bent over, my forehead almost touching my knees, biting back the screams. It hurt so much. I didn't think pain like this could even be real. Was my head going to explode?
I didn't see, but I felt my father and Edward rush to my side, their hands clutching my shoulders to pull me up.
"Charlie, Charlie?" Dad called. One of his hands flew to my forehead. Again, the sound was magnified like he was shouting though his tone was obviously low.
I opened my mouth, but couldn't speak. Only quivering choking noises came out.
My eye lids then flew wide open.
And then I screamed. I knew I shouldn't have, but I couldn't help myself. I hoped the sound didn't carry far.
I pulled my hands away from my face and examined them. Bones—pale, white, clean bones flexed before me. They were mine. My hands. My bones. My heart kicked up in overdrive as my breathing almost halted.
This was not happening. This couldn't be real!
Make it stop, make it stop!
But it wouldn't.
I vaguely felt cold hands force me to lay backward, or the slim pillow under my head.
"Mm-mm-make it stop!" I finally found the will to speak, but could barely breathe or make a coherent statement. "Please…it hurts so much." Tears were streaming down my face off the sides.
"Charlie, you need to breathe," My father commanded, his hand still on my head.
I sucked in a ragged breath through nose. My teeth gnashed together harshly, but the pain still drug onward. This made no sense, it should have stopped by now!
"It hurts!" I howled again. "Make it go AWAY!"
I was desperate. I would have welcomed a sledgehammer to the temple if it meant I would feel no more.
Try and close your eyes," Edward suggested sternly from the left through gritted teeth. I almost forgot he was in the room. He was suffering right along with me too…
I shook my head frantically and sucked in another stern breath. "It doesn't help…I can still see." My vision was like having a curtain I couldn't close—or a perfectly clear curtain. You could close it, but it wouldn't do any good. Or maybe Pandora's Box was the proper analogy. "Please…just make it stop," I begged, breathless. The pain was making me delirious. There went my high tolerance.
Why in the hell was this happening to me? What on earth did I do to deserve this agony? Was this part of my development? If so, then what kind of sick race am I?
The hand on my forehead suddenly lifted and I heard the door swiftly open and then shut much louder than seem necessary.
More hands clung to my arms, restraining me. I just then realized I'd been convulsing uncontrollably.
"Please, Charlie you need to calm down. Carlisle's coming back, he's going to make the pain go away," Edward promised. His tone was frustrated and apologetic. He was in agony.
I'm sorry, I'm so sorry… Tears started coming out even faster.
Seconds later, I heard the door open again. My father flew back to my side, standing over me with a large syringe full of thick fluid, his eyes very uncertain and deliberate.
What was he waiting for? If I could, I would have grabbed it from his hands and stuck myself. But my brother still had my arms pinned tightly to my sides in such a stone grip I couldn't possibly free myself from.
Then I felt the pinch of the needle prick, welcomed it, on the crease of my right arm. The medicine quickly swam through my veins and in what seemed like seconds, my strange vision dissipated and went back to normal. I was able to close my eyes again. I wasn't sure what Dad just gave me, but suddenly it was the most wonderful thing I'd ever taken.
"Thank you," I mumbled quietly, relieved, just before I was swept completely under.
A cold, familiar hand brushing away the hair away from my forehead was the first thing I felt when I woke. I had a feeling I hadn't been asleep for very long.
I shivered and the movement felt odd. My body felt like a heavy bag of sand—reluctant to move and very much numb from head to toe. My eye lids were even more reluctant. I didn't bother to oblige them. I really wanted to fall back asleep. I could've easily slept for days by the way I felt.
"Charlie," an easily recognizable voice murmured, relief coloring his tone.
My lips twitched sluggishly. My mouth wasn't up for task either.
Edward? Even my mental voice sounded drugged.
"Yes, it's me," he confirmed quietly. I thought I heard a distinct smile in his voice. "How are you feeling?"
Very, very tired.
He chuckled lowly.
Where's Dad? I asked, realizing we were the only two in the room.
"He had to attend to a patient who needed stitches, but he's finishing up so he'll be back shortly."
So we were still at the hospital. At least my whereabouts were confirmed.
I managed to nod, finding it a little easier to move now.
I sighed, and then blinked fiercely; finally fluttering my protesting eyes open weakly. It took a moment for the blurriness to subside.
We were in a different room, a smaller room but with similar wall and ceiling off-white color. I was laid on a narrow bed—a normal bed—pushed up against the wall. There was dim light coming from a small lamp on the end table in the corner. I must have been placed in one of the rooms the doctors use to sleep when working the on-call hours.
Edward was sitting in a cushioned chair pulled up at my side. A half-smile curled one corner of his lips quickly before he let it fall, like it was a forced gesture just to appease me.
"I seem to be turning into something of a mess these days." I mumbled. My voice sounded like mush; I wondered if even he comprehended it.
He gave no reply other than a shrug of his shoulders.
"All this change is getting quite annoying," I continued. "But at least it's not nearly as bad as when I started setting things on fire." I laughed at the end, making myself cough.
His face scrunched up like he wanted to laugh too. "You're right about that one."
"I'm sorry you had to suffer with me earlier."
He placed his hand on my shoulder. "No need to apologize. You had no control over what happened."
I grimaced and closed my eyes. "Yeah, that's what scares me," I muttered.
It was silent for several minutes after that while Edward mulled over his own thoughts and the others around him. I suddenly felt the still-active sedative begin to pull me back under again. Like the eye of the storm; It wasn't through with me yet. I started to succumb when I heard the door creaked open.
My rolled-back eyes flew open groggily and I lifted my head slightly to see my father enter the room, looking relieved and still concerned at the same time.
"I'm glad to see that you're awake," he said gently, closing the door behind him.
I smiled and closed my eyes again. "More or less."
Edward stood up and went to stand by the door, letting our dad take his place in the chair by my side. He took out the familiar pen light from his coat pocket to check my eyes again, then my forehead for any sign of a fever.
I felt almost one hundred better. The excruciating pain I had experienced was now just a distant memory and hopefully it would stay that way. The only thing I felt I could use now was a good night's sleep…or two or three.
"How do you feel?" My father asked once he put the light back in his pocket.
"I'm not," I answered honestly, letting the numbness speak for itself. "I'm just exhausted."
It was silent for a long moment. I suspected they were having an internal conversation, but I didn't bother to open my eyes to check.
"So what's the verdict?"
Dad sighed. "We can't exactly be sure, but I believe that whatever happened with your vision, happened when your eyes randomly dilated. When I forcibly dilated them with the medication, they uncontrollably stayed in that state."
Remind me to look in a mirror the next time I start seeing though things. Next time… I flinched inwardly.
"For that, I'm very sorry for…putting you in so much pain," he apologized deeply.
I wanted to reach out to touch his hand, but both my arms felt like watered down noodles.
"'S okay, Dad. You didn't know. I don't expect you to know the mysteries of my physiology as I don't myself."
Edward placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, the gesture I couldn't do.
It was silent for another annoying moment.
I opened my weak eyes before they started rolling again.
"Can we go home now?" I didn't clearly think that though, seeing as I can't even fathom walking on my own let alone sitting up. But the thought of sleeping in my own warm bed sounded more welcoming each passing second. This narrow spring mattress was hardly considered comfortable. You'd think they would have better quality accommodations for the poor doctors who work over time to save lives.
Dad looked up to stare at Edward thoughtfully. Normally that would've bugged me. They deliberated for a moment.
"No, I hear one of the orderlies smoking out there. But I don't hear anyone near the west fire exit. We can get her out that way," Edward confirmed the question our father asked.
Ugh. They were going to have to sneak me out of here like a prisoner.
Dad nodded, and Edward swiftly left the room.
"What's going on?"
"Edward is going to pull his car around the back," He said, easily gathering my limp body up into his arms. "I think you're current condition might make the staff a little anxious."
I laughed sleepily. That's true. They don't usually drag half unconscious patients out through the entrance to be picked up by the curb.
I'm not certain how my father managed to get all the doors open without shifting me, but the next thing I knew, I was sitting in the passenger seat of the Volvo and he was buckling my seat belt. I must have nodded off on the way out.
"I'll be home in about an hour," Dad said towards Edward outside my open door, checking his wristwatch. "Call me if she starts to run a fever, or gets nauseous." He said that as if I weren't even there. That's exactly how I felt at the moment.
Edward nodded, and Dad closed my door gently, letting him cut out of the parking lot at a not so careful speed.
I'm not sure that I completely drifted, but I don't remember becoming aware again until we were home and surrounded by a forest of trees.
Edward pulled the car in front of the house instead of in the garage and cut the engine. Again, I felt the familiar motion of being lifted, but this time I kept my eyes closed. I was even more tired than before and I just didn't care.
There was a feeling of light drizzle pattering my face for a split second before we were under the protective coverings of the porch.
Then I heard the door swiftly slide open by someone else.
"What happened?" Alice's tiny voice demanded. "I saw—"
"Shh!" Edward hushed harshly.
I closed my eyes tighter and prayed desperately for the voices to stop so I could finally sleep peacefully.
In less than I second, I felt us ascending the stairs at a fluid speed, and then heard another door being opened. We were in my dimly lit room. Edward carefully laid me down in the middle of my comfortable bed. I turned over on my side and curled into a comfortable fetal position. I grabbed a stray pillow and clutched it towards my body.
We were followed. I heard other low familiar voices buzzing frantically.
"Is she okay? Is she sick?" My mother's worried voice pleaded at a speed I could hear. I felt her delicate hand brush my forehead smoothly. It was freezing of course. I tightened my clutch on the pillow.
Please stop talking… I wanted to say, but couldn't find the strength to speak anymore. My lips twitched a little in fruitless effort.
"No, she's fine now. Just…drugged," Edward murmured near the foot of my bed. I felt him gently pull my shoes off. My legs folded closer to my body in response.
Someone then draped a heavy quilt over me.
I'm through explaining myself for the day. I'll leave it up to you to tell them, I mumbled mentally to my brother.
"Drugged? Edward, what happened?" A stern, male voice suddenly asked. Jasper, I assumed. I was too tired to tell. He and Emmett sounded too alike sometimes when they were angry.
"I'll explain in a minute," Edward snapped in a low tone. "For now, let her rest."
My mother's gentle lips brushed my head before getting up and leaving.
Thank you. I wasn't sure if they'd left the room by then, but he would've heard just the same.
Finally, with nothing but complete silence in the room, I fell into a much easier, peaceful sleep.
Okay, so this is my first story to pubish. *Does mini victory dance*
My character, Charlie, is one I've had dancing and playing around in my head for years that I've just been itching to let out. Long before I've ever read the Twilight series, even before the series was created (I think :/). But once I read the series, I started entertaining 'what-if' ideas and scenarios about Charlie being thrown into that particular world. And it just seemed to fit. And now I cant give Stephenie enough props and thanks for creating this little world that so many of us have played with.
If you would, a review would be nice and well appreciated. But please, I would ask you not to criticize the fact that I used an original character. That may not be your cup of tea, but I didn't force you to read.