A/N: So I'm not exactly the most experienced fanfiction writer, as this is my first official public posted story, so it would really be appreciated if you guys gave this story a chance and let me know what you think. Any tips or advice would make me an extremely happy person and earn you automatic bff status in my book. Thanks to all :)

Summary:

"Welcome to The Corpus Christi Anatomy Program, we can't wait to have you…"

When Bella, a clever med student fresh out of Oxford, wins a place in a prestigious medical research program, she feels like it's a dream come true, especially when she captures the attention of a certain mysterious, green-eyed professor. But she soon discovers a terrifying secret-a knowledge she was never allowed to possess. The division between friend and foe become blurred, and she realizes she can trust no one. A summer of ambition quickly turns into a series of deadly studies and discoveries, forever changing and endangering the life she thought she knew.

Pain.

All I could feel was pain.

Fucking hell

It felt as if I had been mauled by a damned cobra, my body a sore and aching mess of appendages. There was not a limb on my body that escaped whatever battered abuse I had received. But it was the rhythmic, merciless throbbing inside my head that stood above the rest of the aches and tortures. This was by far and without a doubt the absolute worst headache I had ever experienced. I knew that this was not just another hangover from hell, something else had gone wrong. A fucked up fall? Well, it wouldn't have been the first time. Traitor limbs. It was becoming increasingly difficult to think. Fuck. It was hard work just to breathe. I opened my mouth to ask someone for help, the movement stretching my painfully cracked lips into a mangled contortion of sorts. A small, scratchy groan escaped my mouth, as I was currently unable to form full sentences under the strain of the pain, and the sound scraped its way past my parched throat, a thousand needles dragging and prodding along the reddened, irritated larynges. The sound chipped away at the uncomfortable strain of silence. Everything sounded so… so still. It was fucking eerie as hell.

What the hell happened to me?

In an attempt to figure out whatever the fuck was going on, I fretfully sorted through my past thoughts. I saw Angela, Angela and her gentle, trusting smile. I saw Alice, moments before I walked out of the lab, asking me if I wanted to take a break because I looked a little green. Green. I remembered his eyes. His mystery. His burning, concentrated gaze. And then the last thing I remembered was the voices. I heard voices, I was running, and then everything went black. But what had I heard? And why was I running? I opened my eyes in panic, seeking, desperate, frantic, and anxious to find some clue. Some fucking inkling as to the shit that was going down.

Darkness.

My search was in vain. I could see absolutely nothing, even after taking a few moments to adjust my fruitless sight. I took a rather large breath, a calming technique my mother implemented in my earlier years, as an attempt to keep the dread at bay, my tongue tasting the drops of dried blood fused onto my lips; rich, tangy and familiar. Slightly better than the stale, mildewed, putrid flavor loitering in the air. It smelled like fucking rotting corpses in this room. It was making me sick.

Where am I?

I knew I was lying down, able to feel the unpleasant pressure of icy metal against the back of my head and torso. This hard surface was not the most comfortable place for resting your head, that's for damn sure. Hard metal against a vulnerable, sore physique was never a good combination. Whoever placed me here was being a rather inhospitable jackass. A small voice in the back of my head warned me that this person deserved to be called adjectives a shade worse like "sadistic" and "twisted," and I couldn't seem to shake the thoughts aside. A deep shiver followed by a few after chills tickled their way across the fragile bones in my spine, and I could feel goose bumps dancing evenly from my legs to my arms and all across my skin. I felt paralyzed, afraid to move, unwilling to torment my injuries, and unsure exactly how extensive the damage was. But the rancid smell invading my senses was enough motivation to test the waters and attempt an escape.

I began with my feet, gently wiggling my toes, my lower limbs biting like little barracudas at my frail nerves in protest. Fucking ouch. There was an awful sharp pain in my right ankle, though I was still able to move it, which meant I probably had a sprain. It would hinder my movements a bit, but at least I was still mobile. My hands were in better shape than the rest of my limbs, able to move without any result of discomfort or ache. Minus the probable concussion, ankle sprain, and bruises I presumably held all over my body, I was in tolerable shape. Now it was time to get the fuck out of here.

I quickly tried to lift my hands, but something halted my actions. It was then that I noticed the rather severe strain on my wrists. Shit. A sudden surge of trepidation singed through my muscles, alarm and anxiety shocking my ligaments into action. I wrestled and clashed, flailed and thrashed, wildly battling the restrains on both my wrists and ankles, ignoring the pain it caused. I sought to buffet, can, and crush against the metal material that prevented my escape.

Mother of fuck

Violent, guttural crackles of thunder shook me out of my temporary, panic-induced rage, and my mind cleared with the realization that my struggles were pointless. The restraints were solid and professionally made, it was just as if I was lying on a medical exam table. Wait a fucking minute. Now, in fact, I was fairly sure I knew these tables; weren't they were the same ones Aro held in the dissection lab? The same ones we used to place dead bodies on in order to observe and study their insides? This was an anatomy program, after all. A strange thought interrupted my musings, a reflection as to why Aro would need tables with restraints in the first place. It was not as if the laboratory facilities had a need for restraints. You don't exactly need to tie up the dead, only the…the living.

And then I remembered exactly what I had overheard.

"She knows too much. She's a liability."

They knew. They knew that I had found out their secret. And I obviously hadn't been fast enough to get away. There was no escape. I wouldn't make it past the day. I was done for, utterly and completely fucked.

Dread.

Despair.

The loud, boisterous thunder sounded yet again. I was trapped in the storm.

I heard a muffled snivel, a faint rattle of restraints within close proximity. I was not alone.

I gulped, the sticky matter slowly working its way down my esophagus, minutely soothing the tenderness of my throat muscles as I gathered my wits about me and forced myself to speak.

"H-Hello? Is anyone there?"

Silence.

"Tanya?" I shouted, desperate for a savior. "Jacob?"

"Help! Please…anyone. I-I need help!" I continued to waste my energy, crying out into the lightless room.

The moan sounded again, and I knew that it was coming from my right. That's it. I'd had enough of this sorority row bullshit. I was Isabella fucking Swan, vicious as a kitten but fierce as a damn lion, and I wanted some motherfucking answers.

"Who the fuck is there?"

A sudden flash of lightning struck out in the storm, lighting the room for a half of a second. A short time, but it was enough to see. Enough to be able to tell that this room was filled with dissection tables, stands of scalpels and medical tools, and at least a dozen or so more bodies filled the tables. Bodies that I fucking recognized, and one that was still alive. Holy shit. I choked back my scream, refusing to allow these psycho fuckers the pleasure of knowing how truly terrified I was.

"Well, well, well. Dearest Isabella has finally woken up. And how was your nap, my dear?"

His voice was not unexpected; I knew he would come for me sooner or later. That did not, however, prevent the intense horror from taking hold of my nerves and a large, involuntary shudder ripped across my body.

"I've had better, but would it really have been so hard to throw in a fucking pillow? My head hurts worse than fucking Susan Olsen with her 20 Brady Bunch kids, my feet stink, and I don't love Jesus much right now."

He laughed loudly, probably amused at my gall. It was pretty stupid for me to have an outburst in such a position as this. I was, after all, bound and tied down, completely at his mercy.

"Isabella, you truly are one of a kind. A woman after my own heart."

I scoffed, on the verge of telling him to go stick a screwdriver up his mother's ass. A man as sick and cruel as this aged man standing over me surely never had a heart to begin with. He was worse than the Grinch.

"Now let's see, where are the lights? Ah yes, here we are." My sight was abruptly wounded from the strength of the fluorescents, the brightness temporarily disabling my eyes. I blinked a few times, until my view adjusted, where I was finally able to see what was happening. However, I quickly wished for the darkness to come back again, because there in the light stood my head professor, gathering the jagged hospital tools at the foot of my table. My blood curdled at the sight, painful chills erupted and rattled my core. I muffled the desperate sob that racked my stricken soon-to-be corpse in pure, unadulterated fright.

"Now Isabella, I don't wish to do this." I did not believe in the sincerity of his words.

"But this was never up to me." He said, a note of warning held in his voice.

"You control your own fate, and you Ms. Swan have made your choices." He smiled wickedly, showing every single one of his perfect, pointy white teeth.

"I gave you a chance, I warned you to stop. But of course, you chose not to listen to your wise professor." He pointed his index finger, acting as if he was admonishing a small child.

"Curiosity kills the cat every time, and you were being such a naughty little kitten." He chuckled perversely, seemingly pleased with my disobedient behavior. The man was so completely mad, and I had absolutely no idea what to say, no hint of a way to survive the situation.

"And now, you simply know too much. You must face the consequences." He said the last part with such finality, and I knew there was simply no way out. Secured and helpless, an overwhelming sense of clarity filled my senses. I was going to die a slow, gruesome death at the hands of my own professor, the man whose works I had practically worshiped since I was a little girl, the man who was supposed to show me the ropes and mold my young, susceptible mind. How fucking ironic.

I heard a tortured scream from across the room, a woman's scream, the same person that was making noises earlier. I knew what they were doing to her, and I knew that they would likely do the same to me. I watched the movement near the side of my table, and watched as the smiling, sinister professor gracefully withdrew the bloody scalpel from his array of tools.

"So, Ms. Swan, what will fate decide?"

A/N: Let me know what you think!