Hell Hath No Fury Chapter 1: The Awakening, a twilight fanfic

A|N: If you've seen this story before, it's because I had it published under a former pen name-anamariewest. I'm putting it back up out of mild curiosity and because I can't seem to let this one go. It's my baby. This is an edited version. If you guys like it as much as you liked the other one, I'll keep it going. If not, I'll hang it up. I may put the original story back up so you guys can compare and contrast.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Twilight or anything dealing with the Twilight Saga. All credits go to Stephanie Meyer and her Little Brown publishers.
Note: this story deals with various forms of abuse and suicidal thoughts. It also contains adult language, nudity/sex, and mild violence. It is rated M for mature audiences.

"Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor hell a fury like a woman scorned"
— William Congreve, The Mourning Bride

PREFACE: Conflicted, pt. 1

I'm at war with myself—caught between bowing out and doing as I'm told and standing up for what I think—for what I know—is right. My mind is conflicted. Do I follow the path that was laid out for me so long ago, or do I make my own? I already know the outcomes of either choice.

If I follow my destiny, millions of my kind survive. They will be safe, free, and happy.

But if I stray from the path chosen for me, I survive. My family survives.

"Whatever you choose to do, I stand with you," he says. His tone is firm and filled with unrelenting determination. I don't doubt him. "Tell me what you want to do, and we'll do it."

He comes to stand behind me and places his hands on my shoulders, resting his chin on top of my head. I connect eyes with him through the mirror I'm standing in front of and frown.

I realized a long time ago what I had to do. Why am I questioning myself now? Why am I so uncertain now?

"It's okay to be afraid. It's okay to question whether what you're doing is the right thing. It's okay to be confused and unsure," he says, his dark eyes staring into mine with such intensity that I almost look away. "But when the time comes, a decision has to be made."

1
The Awakening

Day 1

Fire is coursing through my veins. It's cooking me from the inside out, and all I want to do is scream, but I can't. The morphine that was injected into my bloodstream has left me paralyzed. The only thing I can do is lay here and face my agony in silence.

I am in Hell.

Day 4

I don't know how many days have passed. The fire makes it difficult to concentrate on anything that isn't pain, so I eventually stop trying to count the passing minutes and try to convince myself that it will all be over soon.

That's when I remember Hell is eternal.

Day 7

I hear voices all around me now. They're muffled and speak a language I've never heard before, so I can't make out what they're saying.

I'm not even sure they're real.

Day 10

Over and over again I tell myself I should be thankful to them. I should be thankful for all the love and kindness they've shown me. I should be thankful because they saved me.

That's what they had done, right? They saved me. They saved me from his corruption, from my parents, and from myself. They took me in, protected me, kept me sheltered, loved me, and accepted me as their own even though we couldn't have been any more different if we had tried to be.

Even though they've sent me to Hell, I should be thankful because I will have an everlasting life.

They're my family, and what I'm doing to them is wrong.

Day 12

As the fire continues to spread, getting closer and closer to my heart until I'm sure it's going to explode, I come to the conclusion that they don't deserve any gratitude or forgiveness. They don't deserve the benefit of the doubt or unwavering loyalty or anything good. Not from me, at least.

Day 15

"How much longer is this going to take?" someone yells. He's one of the men that has been coming by to see me, but I don't know his name. He doesn't tell me that. His voice is usually as soft as I imagine clouds to be, and his words are as sweet as honey. Today, he is almost unrecognizable. His voice is sandpaper, his words as ruthless as a tornado mercilessly making its way through a family's home and destroying everything in its path. "You said four days! God, I knew you wouldn't be much help, but I didn't realize you'd be this fucking useless—worthless."

I don't know the voice that answers him.

"I told you that time frame wasn't set in stone," they say, much calmer than he is.

I realize immediately that the person speaking is a woman, and I'm overcome with jealousy. It crashes over me in thick, unforgiving waves that drag me out into a sea of anger.

Who is she? Why is she here? He's mine!

My thoughts leave me confused. How can he be mine when I don't even know who he is?

"She was supposed to be ready in three days, but something's changed," the woman says, and I can hear a frown in her tone. "I can't get inside her head to be sure, but I think she's protecting herself…"

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean? How in the hell is she 'protecting herself'? That makes no sense. You know what? I think you should get the fuck—"

"Newborns, specifically those who have faced a great deal of trauma in their lives prior to their turn, force themselves into a comatose state. They suffer all the consequences of going through the transition, but they never…they never wake up. They can't," she explains. "At least, they're not supposed to. They become lost inside their minds—stuck in a never ending cycle of consciousness and unconsciousness. They have their moments of clarity, but mostly they're lost to their confusion. These newborns were either burned to death or torn apart and sold in pieces. They were deemed useless, so we stopped treating them like they had ever been people. I like to call them Conscientiam Alienae. Get it? Because they're state of conscious is alien to me. Well, I thought it was funny."

There's a long pause.

He sounds skeptical when he speaks next. "Why haven't I heard of this until now? Does Carlisle know about this?"

"It isn't common knowledge. The majority of us outside of Europe have never heard of it, especially those under two hundred. There are a few journals about it in the Volturi library, but the brothers are very…selective when it comes to sharing information," she tells him. "And I would imagine that Carlisle does know about them, yes. From what I've heard, he and the brothers were close once upon a time. I don't think this is something they would keep from him."

"How did you become one of the few people to know about this?"

"I have my sources."

There's another long pause after she finishes speaking. I expect him to continue talking about this "Conscientiam Alienae" when the silence is broken, to demand more of an explanation, but he doesn't.

"So, what are you saying? Bella is one of those things? She's 'lost to her confusion'?" he asks. He's quiet now—worried, I think. "Are you…You don't think she's coming back?"

She says, "No. I believe that there's a way to bring them back. I believe that if you give them a reason to live, they'll come back. I believe that if you talk to them and remind them of all the good things that happened in their lives, they'll have no choice but to come back." She stops talking for a moment. When she begins again, her voice sounds further away but still rings clear. "The chances of her coming back to you are small, but they're there. I know they are."

Day 17

Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward. Edward.

The name sends a chill down my spine.

I don't know who Edward is, but he's the only thing that's been on my mind.

When I try hard enough, I can picture him: bronze hair and honey gold eyes protected by thick, long lashes. He's tall and wears a crooked grin that makes my insides churn.

He's familiar and a stranger all at once.

I don't want to think about him anymore, but I can't help it. He refuses to leave my head.

I think we're lovers.

I think I'm supposed to love him, but I don't know if I do. I don't know if I should. The thought of him makes my skin crawl.

He loves me.

I know he loves me because he tells me every time he comes to see me.

"Come back to me, love," he whispers in my ear. "I need you here."

He presses his lips to mine, and I want to scream because I don't think this is supposed to be happening.

His hand moves to rest on my thigh, his fingertips tracing large circles on my skin, and for a second I think I do manage to scream as the sound of ripping fabric reaches my ears.

Day 20

I keep screaming and screaming and screaming, but they don't listen.

I keep trying to wake up, but my eyes won't open.

He comes by to see me every day. He spends his time begging me to wake up—to live.

I scream so loud my throat begins to hurt, but he continues talking, anyway.

He can't hear me because I'm still lost in my mind.

I am Conscientiam Alienae.

I'm here! I'm here! I'm here!

"Bella, I need you to come back to me. I need you to be strong and come back to me, Bella," he says. When he speaks next, his lips are pressed firmly against my ear, and he's gripping my hand so tight, I'm momentarily afraid he's going to break it. "He needs you."

Who is "he"? Edward? Does Edward need me? Do I need Edward?

I wish I could remember. I wish I could wake up and tell him that I'm here.

I'm here! I'm here! I'm here!

"We all need you, Bella. We need you to remember how you got here," he tells me, his voice firm and leaving me to think I don't have a choice. "You heard what she said. You have to have a reason to fight—a will to live. So you have to remember. You have to remember, and you have to come back to set things right."

I'm here.

Day 23

When I was young, maybe five or six, my dad would take me to the movies every Friday night. My mom hated that because "who in their right mind would take a child to a movie at night on a Friday?" He continued to take me, anyway.

My favorite part about going was never the movie, but the people. They were a beautiful blend of sizes, cultures, personalities, and looks, and I loved watching them all interact.

To this day, I can vividly remember one woman in particular. She was tall with long, thick dark hair that fell in perfect curls down her back and glowing dark brown skin. She had hazel eyes and a blinding smile. I can remember thinking she was the most gorgeous woman I had ever seen in my young life.

I can also remember the look of pure terror that came over her expression when her boyfriend pushed her to the ground and began yelling at her with words that I will never dare to repeat. I can recall the other moviegoers gathering around and shouting out profanity-laced warnings as the boyfriend raised his giant fist while my dad dragged me away. He said, "You'll be smarter than that."

My response?

"Of course I will."

Day 25

There is only darkness.

Day 30

I remember.