A/N

So, this is my first ever attempt at creative writing and I could use any and all the feedback I can get. This idea was just bouncing around my head for a while and I decided to finally let it escape into the real world.

Disclaimer:
Don't own crap.

Chapter One

Welcome to Sandy Palm Mental Health Facility

This is fucking stupid. I am not bat-shit crazy. What's crazy is the idea that Isabella Swan belongs in the loony bin again. I beat the shit out of a guy...that wasn't crazy, that was justice. No one touches me, especially sleazy men who think their dick is the greatest thing since sliced bread. He touched the wrong woman and I gave him exactly what he deserved.

I have this thing about me, it's like I have a second, protective layer of skin. I only get a peek at it a few times a year, but I always feel it around me, keeping me safe. I first discovered this skin when I was about 6 years old, but I've learned over the years that I've had it since birth...and was probably the reason my mother left me outside a Group Home weeks after I was born. My extra layer has been a real asset in my shitty life, so far. It helps me hit harder and in turn be hit without feeling as much pain as a normal person would. And with the cards I have been dealt, it has been a life saver. Literally. The downside is that I cannot stand having another person touch me. It feels as if icy slime is being poured over me and my skin crawls with the cold, sticky sensation.

My peripatetic lifestyle combined with my second skin make getting laid a real struggle. It took a lot of trial and error but the easiest way is alcohol, yet I hate myself every time I touch a drink. I had always promised myself I wouldn't be like them. It's a gamble every time because either the alcohol reduces my sensitivity to touch and I can fuck someone or it makes me hyper sensitive and the lightest touch can even feel painful.

Last week I was unlucky and became extra sensitive which led to sitting my ass in this musky van, traveling to a place I wanted nothing to do with. The portly judge must have found out his wife was cheating on him with the pool boy or something, because he didn't listen to a single thing that my crappy appointed lawyer said. Mr. Grabby-Hands was a vengeful douchebag who had his lawyer unseal my medical record of being in the nut house when I was 9 and suggest that I needed to go back for attacking him unprovoked. The little prick actually said he was trying to be polite and offered the "poor, underage drunk girl" a ride home so that no one would take advantage of her when I just went off on him. Bull. Fucking. Shit. He was pissed as hell that a 5'3" girl broke his cheekbone and fractured three ribs. Fucker wanted me to suffer.

"Welcome to Sandy Palm Mental Health Facility, Miss. Swan." the driver voiced cheerily, as he peered at me in the rear view mirror.

I rolled my eyes and scoffed. "There ain't a single palm tree in the state of Washington. You guys should look into changing your name."

The caramel haired woman in the passenger seat smirked at me with a twinkle in her eye, like I was in on some private joke. The gravel crunched underneath the tires as the man pulled into the driveway. Just seeing the idiotic logo above the building doors of two people holding a heart in front of a palm tree made me throw up in my mouth a little. I was going to be miserable the entire time I was here. Cheery people irked me and the two grinning fools in the front of the van were going to be smacked if they got any happier.

The van creaked to a stop and my two babysitters got out. The woman quickly stretched and then proceeded to unlock my door while the man held out his hand impatiently, as if stepping out of the van was too difficult to do on my own. I turned in my seat a little and just stared at him. He had long dreadlocks that were pulled into a low ponytail. His smile was almost blinding next to his dark skin and all I could focus on was the way two of his bottom teeth overlapped each other a bit. My eyes drifted to the woman behind him when she shifted a little.

"Oh relax, Laurent, will you. This may be routine for you, but it's new to Isabella. Let her take her time," she sighed. I winced at hearing my full name while Laurent rolled his eyes, smirked at the nothing behind me and put both his hands palms-out as if to placate me and shuffled backwards.

"Sure thing, boss." He replied as they stepped a little further away together.

She grinned at him, "This is the 30th time I've told you to call me Esme. Being married to the boss doesn't make me the boss...but it sure has some benefits," she looked over Laurent's shoulder and winked at me. They seemed like they were good friends and this Esme woman was already growing on me. She knew to give me my space while still being welcoming enough that if I had the desire to converse, I could. I was about to smile at her when I suddenly remembered where I was. She was the enemy. Someone helping to keep me where I did not belong.

Laurent and Esme continued to chat softly while I looked around more. The facility was on the small side with pale orange walls and droopy bushes lining the front of the building. A tall chain link fence stretched from each side of the building and encased a large back yard. I could see a few trees and picnic benches within the fence and a deep, dark forest just outside the fence line. My ass was starting to fall asleep from sitting atop the cheap cushions of the van. I also had to pee but I was in absolutely no rush to get inside and officially be locked up with a bunch of loons. One of those loons being me, apparently. I thought maybe I could make a break for it. Run as fast as I could and live on the run. I only entertained the idea for a few seconds before I sighed and remembered I had nowhere to go.

Sure, I'd be free from my sentencing in a mental health clinic but a part of me was kind of relieved to have a solid place to stay for a while even if it was forced housing. I would have preferred jail, but I had to admit, this was much better than my life before. I fled my Florida group home as soon as I turned 18 and had been roaming the United States ever since. I would take some shit job and rent out a shit motel room for a month or so. Just seeing the country one town at a time. I've met some really awesome people but I've also met some real asshats. Often times, I would seek out these men just so that I'd have someone to fight. These assholes would eventually ruin someone's life the way the Dwyer's ruined mine and I was determined to prevent it. Just thinking of my third foster family made my blood boil and walking into Sandy Palm ready to hit the first person to look at me wrong probably wouldn't do me any good.

I focused back on Esme's odd golden eyes and gave her a tiny nod. She got the hint and stopped chatting with Laurent and motioned for me to exit the van. I really wanted to be stubborn and show them how much I didn't approve of being here, but then they'd have to forcefully move me and that never goes well. I slid out of the van and stared down at my worn-out Chucks. The crooked, purple heart drawn on the toe of my left shoe was fading and suddenly I wanted to cry. When that heart went, so would the only reminder I ever had of her.

"Alright dear, time to get this show on the road," Esme softly spoke. "You'll like it here, I promise." I highly doubted that but followed Esme along the concrete path to the doors. There were a ton of flowers lining the path and I inhaled deeply, figuring it would be the last pleasant scent I ever got. No medical facility ever smelled good, or even tolerable. They all had a medicinal and chemical odor. I must have inhaled too loud because Esme turned around to face me while walking backwards . She looked like she was trying to hold back a smile and said,

"These flowers are all my doing. I felt that they complemented the building well. My hobby is designing and I wanted the clinic to looked like the sun and all the colorful flowers to show hope. If I can get flowers to-" I cut her off with a short, sarcastic laugh. "No fucking way you're being serious," I barked out. She looked a bit taken aback but then grinned so wide I was actually a bit scared. Something about that smile gave off the essence of danger.

"I like you Isabella, and yes, I'm very serious. Bright colors scream hope, especially in the dreary, palm tree-less state of Washington." She winked again and twisted around so that she was walking straight again.

"It's just Bella." I grumbled to myself and then glanced back at Laurent, who just nodded his head and gave me a soft smile. She was kind of sassy. This time I allowed myself to like her, even if she was a nurse at this hellhole. I studied her as I followed her up the walkway. She walked kind of fast yet it hardly seemed like she was walking at all. She flowed as if she used to be a dancer. Her scrubs were the same color as the building and fit as if they were custom tailored. No scrubs I had ever seen had ever looked flattering on a person but Esme sure wore them well. She was a few inches taller than me with shockingly pale skin, even paler than mine, which was a rarity.

As we approached the doors, I looked hard at my reflection. My dark brown hair was curled nicely for my court appearance and landed at the tips of my breasts. The eyeliner I had on was slightly smudged but it emphasized my wide, brown eyes. As the sun peeked out from the constant cloud cover I smiled at my red undertones. I've always liked my hair. It never did what I wanted it to, but my natural coloring had every hair stylist telling me how women pay big money for what I got. I still had on my court clothing. My long sleeve, emerald swoop neck shirt was very wrinkled and a button was missing from the pair of accent buttons on each shoulder. The stupid grey knit skirt my defense attorney provided and forced me to wear was starting to itch like a bitch. I was starting to wonder how many chicks wore this skirt before I did and what infections I might catch just from wearing it. I hoped my underwear was enough of a barrier to ward of the skank-diseases this thing was sure to carry. At least long enough for me to change and hopefully burn the skirt.

As I reached Esme, Laurent picked up his speed and reached for the door, holding it open for Esme and then me. "After you, boss. And you, Miss. Swan." he said in a British accent while dramatically bowing and tipping an invisible hat. Esme gave him a light shove and giggled. I followed, wondering if maybe they were fucking. She was apparently married to his boss, this place might not be so bad after all. People watching was always good fun and even better when there was drama.

As I entered the heat washed over my face and I shivered, not realizing how cold it was outside. Esme waved at the blonde behind the desk and told me to follow her. As the door slammed behind me, I noticed Laurent scan his badge and open a door to the side. This place was pretty damn fancy, and I wondered how in the world the state was paying for me to stay here. This seemed more like a private institution where families would send their loco members to be taken care of quietly and far from the public eye. And there was no way in hell I had family or even knew anyone with enough money to send me here.

As we reached a solid metal door, I heard a buzzing noise and the door clunked open. In the back of my mind I noted that any hope of stealing a badge and escaping faded away. That door was controlled by the blonde behind the desk. I wasn't really planning on escaping, but I grew up in foster care. I always have an escape route planned, it was second nature to scout any place for exits.

Right past the door was a perpendicular hallway with scan doors along each side. The walls were a light shade of peach and the white tile squeaked every so often when my shoes shuffled against it. Esme twitched a bit each time I made a chirping noise. I grinned at her back and started dragging each foot so as to make a long shrill noise with each step. I could tell she was annoyed and about to turn around and scold me when a door on the left opened. I jumped but Esme appeared to expect it.

A tall blonde haired man in khakis and a blue button down walked out and his eyes lit up when he looked at Esme. She told me to stay right there and floated over to him. He gave her a huge hug and buried his face in the hair at her neck while she slipped her arms underneath his lab coat and around his waist. I guess this was the husband. They whispered for a little while and his eyes flashed over to me. They were the same eerie golden hue as Esme's. They parted and with a quick kiss on the cheek and light tap on the ass, Doctor Boss dismissed her. She continued walking down the hall and entered another metal door at the end. I could barely make out a couple of people, patients, before the door slammed shut. The blonde man was smiling at me, watching me watch Esme. They seemed pretty connected, and I found myself slightly disappointed that she probably wasn't having an affair with Laurent.

As he approached he started speaking to me, "Welcome to Sandy Palm, Isabella. We are more than happy to have you. You may not remember me, but I was at your trial and offered up my practice for you, I'm Doctor Carlisle Cullen, but everyone just calls me Carlisle." Now that he mentioned it, I did remember him. He was the prick who sided with Mr. Grabby-Hands that I should be institutionalized. I vaguely heard the door chug open and shut behind me, but I was too focused on those yellow eyes. Glaring at him. I wanted to hit him so bad. He was the reason I was here and now I understood. This surely was an expensive, private practice and this asshole worked the system so that I would be his patient. Like I was a damn science project for him to study. I could feel my face turning red as I forgot to breathe. I inhaled as much as my lungs could hold, slowly exhaling and tried to reign in my urge to rip his shiny hair from his scalp.

Just as I closed my eyes, almost calm enough, I felt it. Someone just put their hand on my lower back and I was gone. I balled my fists and took a quick step forward, out of reach. I turned so fast, fist already swinging that the bitch, now in front of me yelped in surprise. I screeched "You dirty, goddamn motherfucking cocksucker!" and just as my fist was about to hit her nose, an ice cold hand latched onto my wrist and managed to stop my momentum right away. My blind fury was at the bimbo in front of me; I didn't even care that I was being touched, I knew it was to stop me from messing a bitch up. The doctor must have known that I wasn't going to stop and I felt his other hand latch around my left bicep and rooted me to the place where I was standing.

The blonde's blue eyes were wide open and she was taking slow steps backwards with her damn hands in that placating gesture that Laurent did earlier. I was throwing my weight around, kicking and panting hoping to get loose but Carlisle Cullen was a lot stronger than he looked.

"It being your first day and all, Isabella, I'd really like to give you a second chance. I don't really want your first impression of Sandy Palm to be negative and I'd really rather you get a tour and feel for the place before you are put into solitary for bad behavior." he spoke very calmly and the Doc's voice sounded like he had a hint of amusement in it, but that couldn't be true. I almost ripped the face off of one of his resident nurses. I calmed down quick once the whore bolted back to wherever the hell she came from and as I calmed I felt the icy slime pushing into me beneath his hands.

"Fucking let go of me," I growled, wiggling my arms in discomfort.

He slowly exhaled into the back of my head, his sweet smelling breath dazing me a little as he soothingly asked if I was calm. "Yes, Boss," I snapped at him, stealing Laurent's words and deciding that it was a good title. Acknowledging his doctor status, when his "professional opinion" was what solidified my fate here, calling him Boss would ultimately make me want to rip out his throat just a little less.

He gave a hearty laugh, let go of me lighting fast and took a step back, out of my personal space. He grinned at me as I spun around. He must have thought I was joking about the name and replied "I see you've spoken with Laurent, but you may call me Carlisle or Doctor Cullen, whichever makes you more comfortable." He had perfect teeth, and his smile also made a shiver run up my spine. Boss and his wife needed to stop bleaching their teeth so damn much, they didn't look human with chompers like those.

My body was rigid and I felt like a snake, still coiled and ready to attack if needed. I gave him a salute and exclaimed, "Boss, yes, Boss!" He frowned slightly, and stared at me. I stared right back, examining him the same way his eyes were scanning me. Boss then turned and starting walking towards the door Esme disappeared into. He never said to follow him so I stayed right where I was. I've always been a difficult person that liked to push buttons, and I found one. He wanted to make me think of him on a personal level, like he was a friend. But he was no friend of mine and I planned on reminding him of that every chance I got.

I stood still as a statue just staring at him walk away. Boss was flexing and contracting his hands as if trying to relieve stress. I felt like I just won a prize. He was easy to read and even easier to mess with. Halfway to the door he must have realized I had no plan on following him. He rolled his shoulders, turned 90 degrees and waved his arm for me to come. I stayed planted where I was. I swear I heard him huff out a growl as he turned to look at me and waved his arm again. I tilted my head to the side, as if I didn't understand what he wanted. He pursed his lips and made to step towards me when I beamed at him and skipped towards him. He didn't have much of a reaction but to turn around and march for the door again. As I approached I heard the faintest "fuck me," and I beamed again. Maybe being forced into the whacky shack wouldn't be so bad after all.

He was stiff as he held open the door for me and I had to give him props, he was still being nice and professional when we both knew I was being a brat on purpose. As I stepped into the room I thanked him for being such a gentleman but whispered out "Boss." I heard him breath heavily out of his nose. I smiled again when I noticed a few of the people were looking at me.

The corners of my mouth dropped as I studied one of the guys staring at me. He had a hot mess of a hairstyle and piercing green eyes. He ran a hand through his coppery hair while peering at the Doc. He then shifted his eyes to me and stared. Hard. He squinted at me, then glared, then shook his head like shaking away an errant thought. He wouldn't stop looking at me so I figured he was one of the more crazy ones here. Next to him was a little slip of a woman bouncing up and down in her chair, smiling broadly at me. Her hair was very short and black with neon purple streaks. I wondered why they let her dye her hair. I always thought these kind of places denied bright colors and individualization. Sandy Palm must play by its own rules because every patient here had on normal clothes, not uniform sweats or smocks like on TV.

The other person who was staring was tall and lean with shaggy blonde hair. He was leaning against the wall with his ankles crossed and smirking. Hot damn, he was fine. His cowboy boots just screamed "I want you to fuck me." Chocolate brown eyes met stormy grey ones and I knew right then that I'd stay at Sandy Palm Mental Health Facility as long as this man was there. I just hoped he wasn't a total lunatic. Slowly his smirk faded and he straightened up, he tilted his head and I immediately reminded me of a puppy dog, trying to figure out the big bad world around it.

Off to the side, the bouncing pixie halted all movement and gave a slight gasp but I hardly noticed because the cowboy was striding up to me with purpose. Our eyes stayed locked until he was inches in front of me and I could smell his hickory and cinnamon scent. He grabbed me around both biceps. As a knee jerk reaction I tried to jerk away and was planning to break his nose when I froze. He was touching me and I didn't feel anything other than the warmth of his skin pressing into my shirt. Even when I was drunk and getting laid a hint of the slimy feeling remained. I heard Boss hum behind me but all I could do was stare at him. As soon as he touched me he smiled a bit and murmured out "Yellow." I blinked a few times, still in shock that he touched me, was still touching me and I was fine. Well, I wasn't fine. Years of little to no physical contacts leads to an altered psyche. Cowboy's touch puzzled me greatly. So I jerked both arms out of his grip and planted both hands firmly on his chest and shoved. I couldn't help but notice how firm and defined that chest was, but I was still irked that he could touch me.

He stumbled back a bit while I hissed out "Do that again and it's your funeral." I was pissed at myself that I already missed his touch. It was such a new sensation, being touched with nothing inbetween and it was so nice, my skin was still buzzing with excitement. Muscle memory made my muscles flex with anticipation, ready for anything. I tried to calm down by breathing deeply in and out of my nose, while staring him down. As soon as he recovered from the shock of my push, he furrowed his thick, blonde eyebrows, scratched the back of his neck and whispered "Why is there no color?" He lunged forward and put his hand on my cheek. He exhaled loudly and murmured "Scarlet? Why are you-"

Arm touching was one thing and he got off easy with just a warning since his touch stumped me but sudden face groping was in no way going to work for me. I clocked him right across the side of his outrageously handsome face before he could finish his question. I immediately tried for a solid kick to the dick when the Good Doctor grabbed me by my biceps again and straight up lifted me and carried me from the room. I watched Esme and another woman rush over to see if he was okay. He was just staring at me, dumbfounded, not even reacting to the giant bruise that was already starting to form on his face. I grinned back at him and gave him the one finger salute, shouting, "I fucking warned you, Cowboy." I'd probably feel bad for hitting him so hard later, but right now my adrenaline was pumping and I was too hyped on fighting again to really think about why he spouted off colors or how odd Boss and the nurses were reacting to my brawling. Wasn't I supposed to be drugged, wrapped in a straight jacket and put in a fluffy room for disobeying? This madhouse and the people in it are turning out to be a little more strange than they were crazy.

A/N

So, what's really going on in the clinic? What will become of Bella's second "skin"? Why is Cowboy rambling about colors and why can he touch her?

As I said, this is my first ever attempt at writing and I could use any and all the feedback I can get. Even if it's just a "you suck at life," I'd like you to tell me. The first time I've attempted creative writing since...probably the 3rd grade. Please review even if it's just to correct my horrible grammar and whatnot. I'm rusty at all things writing and could use any and all the help I can get. After reading so many stories, this idea wouldn't leave me alone so I'm giving it a shot. I have only a very vague idea of where the story is heading, so feel free to leave suggestions of what you hope to happen and I might make it come to fruition!

-PR