Story Title: Pending, but right now "Recovery"

Author Name: BluJeza

Summary: She thought she lost everything, with no hope of recovery. She was drowning, her color being washed away into a blank canvas. Her escape was her cousin, but will it take more than her cousin to help her? She thinks she is beyond healing. But then she meets him.

Pairing(s): Jake/OC, Bella/?, all other Canon pairings.

Time: New Moon - AUish, around the time Bella starts to get close to Jake.

Warnings: A lot of AU, most likely character OOC, swearing, harsh flashbacks, PTSD, depression... If this offends you, turn back.

Also, I am not following an official timeline. Like, seriously, if you want things to go in order just... forget this story. Period. It's so off base it's not even...

Probably won't have the Cullens in it. Pure Wolf Pack here.

Disclaimer: Don't own. Would never want to. Don't even get me started on how much I hate this series... (And why, you ask, are you writing fan fiction...? It's addicting, shuddup.)

A/N:

Sometimes, when everything was quiet and Dad had already gone to his room after checking on me, I would sit up in the bed and look out the window. I would find myself staring out my bedroom window into the sky lit street, my thoughts circling and criss-crossing until they all came back to the same question. Why did I survive?

Then, as soon as I thought that, the remembrance of Abby's body - bloodied and pale - her face forever etched into an expression of desperate defiance would flash across my eyes at lightning speed. I'd flinch violently and squeeze my eyes shut, trying so very hard to keep it together, to not simply scream. My hands would shake, my eyes dilating in fear, and sweat would break out across my entire body as I tried to fight off the phantom terror and desperation of that memory. The memory that haunted me in my waking hours and terrorized me in my nightmares. Sleep was something that had become a distant memory, something that I reached for but could not grasp. Instead, it was as if I was in a constant night terror. Everything was distinct, clear, and very very terrifying. She... kept me cowering.

It wasn't the memory of their cold, filthy and clammy hands tearing into my shoulders or my knees that would get to me, but always the memory of her face. Those beautiful blue eyes that she always complained about, saying how much she wished she had boring brown and how I would laughingly swat her upside the head and tell her blue was nothing to complain about.

Once my shakes subside, at least to a manageable level, I would always push the covers off of me. Not because I was warm, but because they were constricting and it reminded me of how he held me down while her screams bounced off the walls, and how he would make me watch so that the painful images were burned into my retinas. I couldn't sleep with covers anymore. Not even a sheet.

It was always the same at night, how I would feign sleep until Dad went to bed and then how I would sit up and try to think of the good times but how at every point the good times turned bad. I couldn't remember the good times without taint anymore, I couldn't remember how. What was good without her?

They told me, when I woke in that bed, that they had gotten a tip off about the old house. They said that we had been missing for weeks, and that everyone had all but given up hope. It was a miracle we were found. I remember thinking, later, that if it were such a miracle…then why is she not here with me?

On some days, I think that I have lost all sense of time. I know it was the end of September when they took us, that it was not but hours later that they stole all sense of innocence from her as she fought them off, and that it was days later they tried to do so to me. They failed. At every single try, she would grab their attention. I know, I know she was protecting me but at times, I hated her for it and I asked myself why?

I know why though. She and I, we are… were sisters and thicker than blood. We knew each others secrets. She knew my dream of going to Juliard. I knew her fear of any insect that she saw. She was unquestionably afraid of anything the crawled, hopped, or slithered. I knew her secret, the one that she had not gotten up the nerve to tell her parents. She didn't like boys, she never had. In turn, she knew that I had a fear of commitment but desperately yearned for someone to love me wholeheartedly and without reservation. We were the rock, the glue, and the twine that held each other together. Perhaps that meant that we had an unhealthy co-dependency, but it worked for us. It had never been a problem. Until now.

I am alone. There is this feeling of oppression that constantly clouds around me, fogging up my perception of every single thing I do. Every time I look in the mirror of the bathroom and see my gaunt appearance and darkened eyes, the memories attack me full force. I have to avoid mirrors, or any reflective surfaces. I haven't seen myself in weeks. Considering it's been close to a month since we were found, it's unsurprising that I looked like the walking dead. She has been gone for just as long. I've been adrift and restless, terrified and lonely, helpless and aching since she was taken from my life.

Between the two of us, I was the bright one, the one in awe of everything and always trying to find the good even with my cynical nature. Now, I don't know where there is awe to find or where the magic is, but I miss it. I miss it so much.

They found us both at the end of December, right after Christmas Day. I remember ironically thinking what a wonderful Christmas Present it was, to be taken from there. That was before I got the news. The news that I'd never see her again, that she was too weak, too broken, too gone to be brought back. They had taken everything.

It's February, and I know that Dad is at a loss as to what to do. Therapy has barely been keeping me afloat. Intellectually, I'm very aware that I need help and that I am slowly drowning under it all. Medication... medication doesn't help and I do everything I can to not take the pills. They numb me, but I need to feel the pain. If I am numb, how will I know she is gone? How will I be able to feel her? I need to feel this.

Dad thinks that I don't know, but he was talking to Aunt Leslie last night and I couldn't help but overhear. I had always adored Aunt Leslie so of course I tuned into his conversation when I heard him say her name. The conversation was enlightening, but something I wish had never happened especially since it means I am now in the position of leaving the last place I saw her happy and alive. I have to wonder, is he attempting to send me to Aunt Leslie's because he doesn't know how to deal with me or is it because he doesn't want to? Dad has always been distant since Mom passed but… ever since…

I know I need to go. However, knowing I need to go and wanting to go are two very different things. It may help, on the other hand it may not. What if I leave everything familiar and then forget her? I can't forget her. I have to remember every smile, every frown, every broken moment because if I don't then what kind of friend, sister, am I? I need to suffer. I need to feel pain, and loneliness, and horror because she had done that for me and it's only right that I pay her back in the only way I can.

I was told to write my thoughts down. I'm not sure I can. No. God this is so stupid. What if... I can't... this.. this hurts... Where are you?

Light filtered through the pale lavender curtains, casting a dim glow upon the figure curled up on the bed. Dark, tangled hair and red rimmed eyes met the sun, blinking slowly at the dark yellow walls of the small bedroom. It was, like any day, ordinary. Unfortunately, for this tragic looking girl lying upon the bed, ordinary had no meaning any longer. She shivered from the cold air, curling up tighter to ward off the frigid morning air but making no move to pull up the covers tossed haphazardly to the bottom of her bed. Her eyes closed tightly for a brief moment, popping open again only when she heard a knock on the door. A tired, tremultous sigh passed through her pale, chapped lips though she did sit up nonetheless, drawing her knees up to her chest and even taking the effort of wrapping her arms around them. The door creaked open despite no words escaping her to acknowledge that someone was there, she simply rested her cheek against the top of her pajama clad knees and stared.

A head full of dark hair and beard face peered through the opening, and seeing her attention, pushed the door open further. It was a tall man, about 6'4 with tousled dark brown hair and equally dark eyes set upon a full bearded face. His visage was familiar and comforting, but wariness also cropped up in her chest. He stood there, with arms at his sides, making no move to come closer or to reach for the door. Instead, he stared at her for a few moments even as she stared back, his eyes full of grief and anger. He was so angry. She could all but taste it in the air. She supposed she couldn't blame him, but she didn't have the energy to be angry too, so it was good that he did. Finally, he leaned against the doorjamb and nd crossed his thick arms.

"Did you sleep?"

Of course that would be the first question he asked her. She couldn't fault him for it, even if it was a question with the same answer as always. Turning her head away so her other cheek rested against her knees, she stared at the curtains strung up in front of her window, watching how the light played with the gauzy material.

She managed to muster up a quiet and hoarse, "No." It had been a promise she had made when she woke up in that bed, in that hospital, when she had seen him sitting in that chair by her bed with red rimmed eyes, untrimmed face, and generally unkempt appearance. She wouldn't lie to him, at least, as best she could she wouldn't. He would be the only thing she would give herself, the comfort of her Dad. Licking her lips, she muttered out, "I had nightmares."

There was a sigh coming from the doorway, then a rustling of cloth before she heard the quiet footsteps of him nearing her. She couldn't help how she tensed, how her whole body got ready for flight, how her limbs shook and her breath caught, how the anxiety in her chest crawled its way up into her throat and clogging her eyes with tears. It was a response she had quickly learned in that place and something that, according to her therapist, would take time to go away. It would, one day, even if it took years it would go away. It was the only hope she had because despite her need to feel this pain and suffering, she desperately wanted the comfort of a hug without the fear and anxiety clawing away at her insides.

He didn't touch her or sit next to her on the bed, she knew he had learned from the first couple of times he'd tried that, so instead he took a seat next to her bed upon the floor. This... helped, at least a little. She wasn't really sure why, maybe because it made him look smaller or more vulnerable. An instinct long forgotten maybe. Whatever the reason, it gave her a bit of leeway to drudge up some courage to look at him when he next spoke, though she barely raised her head.

"I made some breakfast. It's waitin' for ya downstairs when you're ready, baby." He hesitated, seeing her blank stare directed at his shoulder. "Aunt Leslie called last night. I know you don't want to hear this, but we were talking and we both think it might be a good idea for you to visit. I know it's far away, and you may not want to leave, but a change a pace would probably be a good idea."

It was said in a rehearsed fashion. Clearly, he had been practicing the speech he was spewing out. She turned away again, tuning his voice out as he continued to talk at her. Something about therapist and weather and her cousin. Staring again at the curtains, she wondered at the pale color. Before everything, purple had been one of her favorite colors because of it's happy nature. Now it made her feel sick to her stomach, the pale coloring reminding her far too much of the pale blue eyes staring at her with no thought behind them from a dirty bed. She closed her eyes.

"...if you want."

Peering open her lids, she squinted slightly at the stronger light from the sun and turned towards her dad. He had stood and was looking at her with uncertainty by her open door. He was so desperate, she could tell and she was so very tired.

"Okay." She whispered out, ducking her head down and staring at the white sheet of her bed. Her feet were dirty. She would need to take a shower before breakfast. Glancing up through greasy brown locks, she pursed her lips and bravely met her Dad's eyes. His widened in surprise at the gesture, before a proud smile broke out over his features. It made her ache. She wanted that look so badly.

"Great. I'll let your Aunt know then and get the tickets. I'll fly out with you, but I can't stay for long." Still smiling proudly, he turned away and shut the door. She could hear him moving away then down the stairs. It pleased her, somewhat, that she could make him happy. She was not at all ready to go anywhere, especially if it meant leaving town but... he was right, everyone was right, maybe it could help. It's not like she didn't want to feel better but.. she didn't want to feel better.

She turned her face into her knees and cried.

So, first chapter of the rewrite! Tell me what you think, critical criticism is very welcome. If you are a Beta or know a Beta, I could use all the grammar help I can get. The original story had Jacob's P.O.V too, but I'm not sure I'll be going that route this time. I think I may just keep the P.O.V of Andrea.

Chapters will be longer than last time, or I'll attempt it anyways. Updates will probably be twice or three times a month, just saying.

Jeza xoxo