Hey Everyone! This is a new story I'm starting, obviously. It's going to be fairly short, I think unless something changes, so I'm planning for it to be about 15 chapters long. Enjoy!
Also a thanks to WittyPenNamesROverrated for Beta-ing. She's a life-saver
Disclaimer: These characters aren't my own, I just like to play with them.
Chapter 1
BPOV
I wake up, and the first thing I notice is my lack of pants. Never a good sign. I groan and roll over flinging my hand across the bed. It meets a firm warm figure. Fuck. Please, for the love of God, let it be someone I know. I cautiously open one eye…attempting to peek at the mystery guy. Nope, no one I know, and this definitely is not my apartment. He's still sleeping peacefully, despite the early morning rays seeping through the pale curtains. I take a deep breath and launch into Bella's One Night Stand Battle Plan. First Objective: Find pants.
I scan the room, quickly locating them, still entangled with my underwear, part of a trail of clothes starting outside the bedroom. The panties are a bonus; I almost never find them. As smoothly and gently as possible, I get out of bed. After silently sliding them on, I move on to the next step in Bella's On Night Stand Battle Plan. Objective Two: Find his wallet.
His jeans are fairly easy to find, and I immediately look in his back pocket, typical man-place for wallets. He was no exception. I have to resist the urge to do a victory dance when I look in his wallet, five hundred dollars and a low-security credit card. Hell yes! Next I look for his driver's license; curious as to whom I did naughty things to last night. Bingo. Christopher P. Hill, 6'3'', Brown Hair, Green Eyes, 173 pounds. He is pretty freaking gorgeous.
Uh-oh. There it is: the catch. The "Ask me about Jesus" business card sitting behind the license. He was probably a devout catholic boy…until I came along. Suddenly, I don't like the name Christopher anymore; I like Jesus Boy (I have a compulsive need to nickname everyone). I've corrupted Jesus Boy. I'm going to double Hell.
Jesus Boy begins to stir and panic shoots through me. I have a feeling he won't wake up for another hour or so, but I'm still uncomfortable. He won't remember a thing, not after all the stuff we did last night. Jesus Boy had settled back into deep sleep, so I decide to help myself to his refrigerator. Recreational drug use makes me fucking hungry. The contents of his fridge are pretty minimal, but I do find some Jell-o, and some steaks, which I put in my bag. Don't judge.
Objective Three: Get the fuck outta there. I put on my heavy jacket and slip out the door, and into the apartment corridor. I'm not going to lie; it's a really nice place. Bella scored big. But I flip my hood over my head, keeping my head down, and walk out into the Seattle rain.
Objective four: Find my goddamn car. Not a problem. My car was gangster. Except not really. I had to sell my old Chevy pickup a few years back. It was heartbreaking. Really. So I traded it for a silver 2004 Chevy Impala. Not as charming, but hey, I take what I can get. After stumbling around the parking lot looking for my boring car, I finally find the thing, nestled in between two of the biggest cars in the lot. Great day so far. The dashboard clock said 6:43. Okay, so I have seventeen minutes to my shift at The Bean… which just so happens to be across town. Glorious. I speed out of the lot and toward the coffee shop
Battle Plan complete.
I make it there with three minutes to spare. A personal record.
"Woah, woah, woah! Look who got here on time… wearing the clothes she wore last night." Angela greets, saying the last part disapprovingly.
"Shuddup, Angela. It was a rough night," I respond, pulling on my apron, the super attractive, tan one that says "GET YOUR BEAN ON!"
"Mmmm, I can tell. Okay, so the boss man is being a total douche, but it's just because his beloved latte machine went out this morning. I swear to God, the way he looks at the thing sometimes… " Angela begins rambling.
This is exactly why Angela is my best friend. She doesn't ask, even when I come in looking like hung over trailer trash. I give her a 'tell you later' look as she speaks. She nods, and we head to the counter. It's a usual shift, me dealing with snobby patrons who write second-class novels for a living. Then blog about it. These are not my people, and "service with a smile" is not my policy. I guess I was more tired than I thought, because by the end of my shift, I'm nauseous and sweaty.
Angela and I are the only ones left, closing up, when I catch Angela giving me an appraising look.
"What?" I ask, not liking the way she's looking at me as I use great amounts of energy to wipe down the front counter.
"Bella, you don't look too hot," she says, concern coating her words as she dumps some coffee grains into the nearby trashcan.
"I told you, I had a rough night," I dismiss, though I do note that I do feel like shit.
"Bella, you should really be careful, you've lost a lot of weight, and given your… history… well, I'd just be more careful if I were you," she continues, ignoring my comment and looking me deep in the eyes.
Oh! She played the "history" card. I fucking hate when she does that. It's Renee's favorite card to play too, but she plays it differently. It's her favorite story, I'm her "miracle child", since I was born with a congenital heart defect. Renee loves to tell how I was born blue, struggling for life, and she was so distraught. But this doctor, her hero, majestically stepped up to do a risky surgery on a half-dead infant. And poor Renee, she just couldn't eat, knowing her baby was in danger. I felt dirty and used whenever she told that story, like I was just some way to get attention. But Angela was right, there were certain side affects to the surgery that could be showing up now…
"You're right, Ang. I'll get it checked out," I give in, willing to do anything to get her to stop watching my every move as if I'll die in a second.
"It's not just that, Bella. All this…activity is dangerous," Angela presses, eyes narrowing a little. Fuck my life.
I sigh. She thinks I had a drug problem. I beg to differ though. It's not a "problem" until I stop enjoying it. I didn't do anything too serious. Just ecstasy and the occasional joint. I use the word "occasional" loosely.
"Alright, alright. Can we just finish closing up and go home? Pretty please?" I half beg, pleading with my eyes for her to drop it.
"Yeah, whatever. Just…think about it, please." She sighs.
Subject: dropped.
We wipe tables down, drain machines, all that extremely exciting junk, and leave. Angela sheepishly slides into my car. Oh. Right. Ang's car broke down. I was supposed to give her a ride to work!
"Oh my God. I'm so sorry, Angela. I'm…just…..God, why do you hang out with me?" I groan, throwing my head back into the headrest. Most people would have left me by now. Why she stays will always be beyond me.
"I put up with you because I know the old Bella will come back," she says sincerely, gazing out her window.
Ouch. That hurt a little. Angela doesn't mean to hurt my feelings, she's just telling me the truth. Nevertheless, I feel like I'm on a raft drifting out to sea, sliding away from everything and everyone that I love. They stand at the shore, watching, helpless. They call to me, beckoning me back, but all I hear is muffled pleas. I'm just too far gone, and I'm afraid, that one day, they're going to move on, and give up shouting to the girl wandering hopelessly in the horizon. I'm waiting for the day that I just disappear forever.
There's a short silence before Angela pops it. "What's that smell?" she asks, wrinkling her nose.
I sniff the air and catch what she's talking about, "I don't know…" oh crap, yeah I do. Those damn steaks. I need to put those things in a refrigerator and fast.
"Oh," is all she replies with, sniffing one last time before letting it go.
We drive home in an awkward silence, Angela messes with the radio while I drown in my own depressing thoughts.
"So… Uh, what was up with last night? You looked kind of crummy this morning, no offense," Angela asks, finally breaking the heavy silence, turning the radio down to where the hyped-up eighties song that's playing can barely be heard.
"Bella's One Night Stand Battle Plan held up…yet again. Only this time, with Jesus Boy," I explain, rolling my eyes.
Angela snorts. "Jesus Boy?" she inquires, eye brows raised questioningly.
"It was tragic, I was going through his walle—" I stop, letting "wallet" fade, hoping she doesn't catch it.
Of course she does.
"You did WHAT? After you expose him to your shady lifestyle, and have meaningless sex with him, you fucking STEAL from him? Bella, this is a new low, even for you. I've stood back, I really have; I was going to let you figure this out yourself, but I can't watch you sink lower and lower like this. I feel like you're getting farther and farther away, and there's nothing I can do to save you. You need to find someone who can. You are not the girl I met seven years ago. Not at all," she bursts, glaring at me from the passenger seat.
I feel like I got punched in the gut. I had only seen Angela this angry twice; once, senior year, when Jessica decided to try to drunkenly seduce Ben after prom, then the second time when we watched Inception. But this time, it was deep. I heard the underlying ultimatum; straighten up or be friendless. This is officially the shittiest day ever.
I keep my eyes on the road the rest of the time, and then practically sprint up to our shared apartment, like an angsty teenager. I can't face Angela right now. I'm not angry with her, how I could I be, when she was telling me the absolute honest truth?
I fall into bed like a rock, letting the stillness settle over me. Everything aches; my joints, my head, my fingers and toes. I can't even move. I'm out of breath, just from going up one flight of stairs. I'm falling apart, I realize, and I have no one to glue me back together. I'm exhausted, but I'm unable sleep.
After a while of wallowing in self pity, Angela shyly pokes her head in my door, letting a single stream of light into the pitch black room.
"Hey, um, Drake is on the phone… he wants to know if you wanna go out with the group," she asks, saying "wanna go out with the group" in her generic male voice. I giggle at her sad excuse of an impersonation and then groan because it hurts.
"No, no, no. Mama isn't up to it. I can tell him if you want," I grumble.
"Nope, I got it!" She says perkily. I think I just passed some type of test…
I smile lightly and relax, willing my body to sleep, and finally, it obeys.
OhshitOhshitOhshitOhshit. I jolt awake, with that feeling in the pit of my stomach that says You best be gettin' to some type of suitable toilet, fast. I rush into the bathroom, barely, making it in time, to cough up the blueberry muffin I stole from The Bean. When that's all out I just keep gagging, and then the shakiness starts. It starts in my finger tips and toes, and slowly builds and snakes its way up my arms and body to meet in the in my chest. I try to fight it and stay up right, gripping the counter with all my strength. It's too much though, and the world suddenly tilts, and I find myself curled into a ball on the cold tile. Every second is agonizing.
I'm going to die.
"Bella? What's going—Bella! Are you okay?" Angela cries, kneeling down beside me, taking my head in her lap.
I laugh in spite of myself. Angela comes in and sees her loser best friend convulsing on the bathroom floor, and she asks if I'm okay? Of course I'm not okay! I think I'm saying this all out loud to her, but all I hear is this dreadful wailing, then I realize it's coming from me. I want to stop, but I can't, I've been disconnected.
"Okay, Bella. It's going to be okay… We're going to put you in the car and drive you to Harborview, 'kay?" Angela whispers, talking more to herself than to me. It never occurred to me to tell her to just call an ambulance and save us both the struggle, but even if I did, I couldn't have said it. I was too busy wailing like a siren.
Somehow, through some miraculous feat, she gets us both up off the ground and down a flight of stairs to my car. She peals out of the parking garage and onto the main roads, going way over the speed limit. I feel myself slipping into a scary, uncharted unconsciousness, one I have a feeling I wouldn't wake up from. I try to lift my head up off the car seat, to keep myself awake. Angela senses my internal struggle because I see her big, panicked eyes flash to me in the rear-view mirror.
"You have to stay awake! Do you hear me?" She asks, panic coloring her voice.
I manage a moan in reply.
"Did you take anything? Oh Jesus, you didn't do this on purpose, did you? Jeez, Bella, what I was saying earlier, I didn't mean for you… I just wanted…" she stutters, grip tightening on the steering wheel.
This time I mange to slur a few words.
"No... Angela… Never… purpose… Didn't… take…" I mumble through a groan, but she understands, thankfully.
"We're almost there, Bella, you're doing great, just keep talking to me, you'll be fine. What's the capital of Delaware?" she asks, attempting to use her best calm voice, and failing miserably.
"Whofuckingcares?" I slur from the back seat, and Angela manages a smile.
"Thattagirl. Now sing the alphabet," she urges, swerving in and out of cars.
"A-B-C, uh, A-B-C-E? ABCE… Fuck it," I retort, losing grasp on what's real. Spots start to dance in my vision, making dizzying circles.
"We're here! We made it, you're okay…" she reassures, but I don't hear much after that.
Strange and vivid colors seep into my vision, colors that I don't even have a name for. Something is dragging me deep into somewhere I don't want to go. I'm tired of fighting, fighting life, fighting people, fighting myself even. So I let go.
Warmth surges through me; it surrounds me and engulfs me. It's good and pure and forgiving. It's like the sun on your face on a spring day, and that feeling is all over, like I, myself, am shining, radiant with light. I bask in the feeling, nothing is wrong, nothing hurts. I am good. I am good. I am whole. I am here. I lie in bliss for what seems like countless, beautiful hours.
The glow that surrounds me begins to crack. First, the crack is just a minute sliver of darkness, invading my glittering reality. Then, sliver by sliver, to an unheard beat, the crack snakes and splits, and piece by piece the ethereal glow falls away, and I am thrust back into darkness. I feel like I hit the ground skidding, all the previous warmth is gone, and there is no way to return to it. There it is again, the beat, the quiver. I start walking, I don't know where; all I know is that I'm heading toward this deep and rhythmic jolt.
I get the strong and surging feeling of being lifted upwards, and I am back within myself. I don't know how I know that, but I just do. I don't know how I exactly left myself, but all I know is I'm back. I can feel my fingers again, and I wiggle them if I want to, which to me is a good sign. I feel my mind getting used to my body again, readjusted and reacquainted, like old friends. Where did I go?
My hearing comes back first, and there are beeps and hisses all around me. I'm disoriented. Little by little, I get feeling back into my body until I can finally open my eyes. I slowly open them, rearing back from the bright light above. I groan. Something shifts in the room. Something comes toward me. Pressure near my thigh. Hand on my head.
"Beeelllllaaaaa. Wake upppp, sleeping beauty," a woman's voice—Angela, maybe? — sings.
I grudgingly open my eyes fully, needing a few seconds to adjust to the light. I look around. A hospital, of course.
"There she is! Are you having any pain? Any discomfort?" a concerned female voice asks, definitely not Angela. It's a nurse, dressed in those ridiculous cat scrubs.
I choke back a laugh. Instead, I croak, "Water."
"Alright, I'll be back in a second, dear, don't you move now," she chides, walking out of my line of sight.
Pshht. Don't worry about that. I think, but am unable to articulate my thought. I'm still incredibly weak; it takes a spectacular amount of energy to move my head to look for Angela.
The nurse comes back quickly, handing me a paper cup of water with a bendy straw. I love bendy straws.
"Wow, Bella. Way to completely scare the shit out of me," Angela says, settling back into the chair. I detect just a hint of anger, but it's too clouded by the relief to be taken seriously. "You died, Bella. You fucking died. Do you know how that feels? To have some solemn-faced doctor telling me that you've been dead for three minutes and there's a good chance they won't be able to revive you? So help me, Bella, if they find out that you did this to yourself…" she pauses to sigh, "Ben was here, I was so lucky, I would have totally fallen apart. Actually, he just left to go home and change."
I don't have anything to say to this. I should be angry right now. She practically just accused me of attempted suicide. But if I was in her shoes, I would think the same thing. I can't blame her, especially if I've given her no reason to believe otherwise.
I look Angela squarely in the eye.
"I didn't do this on purpose, scout's honor," I say crossing my fingers over my heart.
She looks down. She doesn't believe me. Great.
"Hello, ladies. I'm Doctor Franklin," a smooth male voice announces from the door.
"Isabella, glad to see you've finally come around. You gave us quite a scare…" he says walking closer reading some papers on a clipboard or some shit.
I could've sworn I've seen this exact doctor speech on a TV show somewhere…
"Well, Bella, I really hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you're going to have to stay here for a while. You see, flat-lining at twenty-four isn't such a good sign," he says with a light chuckle. His joke falls flat; he clears his throat and snags a chair by the end of my bed. I silently assume that it was Ben's chair.
"So over the next few days, while you're with us, we'll run a series of comprehensive tests to figure out what caused your cardiac arrest. Sound good?" the doctor bargains. "And the fact that you've only been unconscious for twenty-four hours shows a nice recovery," he says, trying to be reassuring, "but for tonight, we'll move you to a semi-private recovery room. I'll send a nurse in with your medication shortly," he finishes, standing from his chair at the foot of my bed.
Sure enough, shortly after Dr. Can-do leaves a plump blonde nurse bearing gifts.
"Now, this stuff will make you a little sleepy, dear," She cautions in that sickly-sweet voice almost all nurses use as she is injecting the liquid into my IV.
Score!
I fall asleep shortly after the orderlies come in and prep me to move. I wake up in a new room. Angela isn't there. It's cloudy, so I have no inkling of what time it is. I hear the beeping of another heart monitor, out of sync with mine. The pastel, printed curtain is drawn around their bed. I feel the lull of sleep coming back. I surrender to it, drifting off peacefully.
I'm awake. My chest aches. I have to pee, and, thankfully, I feel okay enough to get up. I tentatively put my foot on the ground shivering at the touch of cold tile. I grip my IV pole and begin the trek to the other side of the room. I'm out of breath by the time I get to the end of the bed. The bathroom door is open. I look down at my bare feet. Eww. I'm not going in there barefooted. I peek over to the other side of the curtain. A woman sleeps on her side, facing away from me.
Some slippers lie on the floor at the end of her bed. They're kind of ridiculous-looking, pink and fuzzy, with long bunny ears protruding from the top that flop onto the ground. That seems dangerous… But I don't care. She won't mind…will she?
Nahhh. She'll probably still be asleep by the time I get out. They'll be back before she even notices they're gone. I slide the slippers onto my feet, relishing in the plushy bliss. I make quick of work of maneuvering my clunky IV pole through the door, peeing and getting out again. But I just can't help but glance at the mirror. Bad move. I look like Lindsay Lohan, post eating disorder and minus the red hair. My face was gaunt and pale, with deep shadows under my eyes. You could see my hip bones sticking out from under my flattering hospital gown. I could be on one of those Feed the Children commercials and I bet no one would notice that I wasn't African. On the way out, almost home free, I, of course, being myself, trip over the pole, making an unnecessarily huge noise.
The woman stirs and sits up groggily as I clamber to stand upright again. I'm sort of shocked when I look up. She's bald. Well, at least as far as I can tell. She wears translucent pink a scarf-thing, wrapped artfully around her head. She squints at the light. It takes her a minute to notice me, she glances at me, and I glance at my feet.
"Oh… uh… sorry… I, um, had to go to the bathroom and the floor was kinda… eww. Sorry. I should've asked. I understand if you don't wanna talk to me. I'll, uh buy you a new pair, just like this…. I promise. I'm just sorry. Sorry," I stammer, feeling the blood creep up my face, turning me bright crimson.
She stares at me for a minute, looks down at her slippers on my feet and smiles.
"Calm down, it's no big deal. You can use those anytime. I wouldn't dare let you buy me another pair; my nephew bought them for me," she says.
I breathe a sigh of relief. She's not mad.
"I'm …uh, Bella, by the way." I say, scratching my arm around the IV. This damn thing was gonna bug the hell outta me.
She smiles kindly at me, "Hi, Bella. I'm Esme. I have a feeling we'll get along just fine."
Listen, please, for the love of all that is holy, review. I don't care if you flame me, feedback is feedback and it's always incredibly inspiring. If you want just leave an emoticon… :D :) :/ :(. Okay now that I'm done begging… happy fanfictioning!