Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight.
A/N: Massive thank you to PTB. Also Jessica0306, Pamela0201 and OhGeekyOne - Thank you for your help!
Sorry for re-posting again. I posted the wrong thing...
Chapter Three - Secrets should lay Silently.
'So left to wander blind, I find myself in cautious times,
And they say, Love's labour is never lost; labour on to this very day.' ~ Laura Marling
It was all oddly familiar. The creamy walls that had a happy shine to them were gleaming down on me, creating my good mood.
It was the color of our kitchen before she made him redecorate. Afterwards, the walls were a bloody red because she said it looked modern and classy.
I remembered my mom getting so annoyed with me in that room because I was such a fussy eater. She said I got it from my father. Although, I knew she wasn't really annoyed with me because she always used to shake her head and then laugh when I spat out the foods she made me try.
Just thinking about it made me giggle, and for me that was so out of character.
I stared longingly at the creamy walls until my eyes lingered over the recognizable beach colored counters. The kitchen was how it used to be and it was comforting, like somebody giving you a huge hug from behind. I wandered across the tiles, breathing in the wholesome scent of bread being made. It was home.
It was as if I was walking on foam; I felt light without any worries or anxieties killing me, although I knew this wasn't drug related. It was completely opposite, like when you meet a childhood friend again after so many years and you ponder on all the stupid yet funny things you did together.
It was as if the room was a living, breathing memory.
Before I knew it, I started opening cupboards, checking that it was all the same, like nothing had changed. There was my Coca-Cola cup sitting in the corner of the glass cupboard. Everybody knew it was my cup and nobody touched it. Our cupboards used to be filled with glasses that didn't have identical partners, and the reason behind that was because I was so clumsy - that's why my Coca-Cola cup was made out of plastic.
"Bella?" I heard a hearty voice ask, "Bella, is that you?"
My eyes widened by the sound. I gulped down a pile of nerves that made every bone I owned shake. This moment streamed into my thoughts time and time again, but I never thought it would have happened. I gazed down at my small, pale hands like they would tell me answers, and I could hear my own breathing getting louder as I felt more nervous. I knew who it was.
"Bella, please say it's you?" I heard the voice ask imploringly.
I closed my eyes. The The voice seemed pained and I couldn't resist the temptation.
"It's me," I quietly responded.
I heard thudding noises stampeding toward me.
"You're late, young lady." I turned my head around hesitantly and opened my eyes. He hadn't changed. He still looked his bright eyed self with his signature broad smile that always used to make me forgive and forget, and I hated him for it, but I couldn't defy that smile.
I thought I would have forgotten everything about him; I thought his face was deteriorating in my mind.
It was a relief to see him again.
It felt like I was star-struck and I wasn't sure what I should have said next. Should I have been angry? Or should I have been lapping on the apologies?
He smiled. "Pancakes still your fave, Bells? Or have you moved onto a different food craze?"
I bit my lip and smiled gently. I couldn't believe whose eyes were staring back into mine. I couldn't believe how perfect this was; it was like I was imagining everything.
"Pancakes will be just fine," I answered, watching his face crease into a warming smile. "And don't forget, l like them drenched in syrup," I told him. He mocked an eye roll which made me giggle. It felt so light escaping from my lungs.
"Not much has changed then, hey, Bells? I'm surprised your teeth haven't fallen out."
I gave him a playful slap on the arm as he walked over to the cupboard and started taking out each ingredient, one by one. As I watched his actions I could see the sun shining through the window and glinting on the curls of his hair. I'd missed him.
He didn't bother measuring anything because he was a pro at pancake making.
"I thought you would have changed, Bells, but you're exactly the same little girl I will always remember." He didn't look at me when he said it, but I could hear happiness in his voice which made my insides radiate bliss.
"I'll always be your little girl," I told him softly. He laughed lightly and continued to whisk the ingredients.
"So, how is everything?" I asked. I was hoping he would have told me something I had dreamed of for the last few years. I wanted him to turn around and tell me how he had been wrong.
"Everything's fine." His voice tightened. I pursed my lips for a second and then resumed my smile.
"C'mon, something must have happened. It's been a while and you can't tell me it's been hunky-dory for the past couple of years." I continued nervously. Was I treading onto unsteady ground?
He grabbed the pancake pan out from the lower cupboard and placed it on the cooker, warming it up. He then scooped a knob of butter onto the pan. I watched the butter dissolve into rapid bubbles, running around the pan in millions of individual droplets.
"Well, Bells, you know what it's like around here....hmm...let's think...news. Oh, well, we arrested Mrs. Moss from across the road a few months ago." I heard myself gasp. It wasn't the exact news I had wanted, but it was news all the same. "Yeah, we caught her selling illegal medicines. I should have known earlier, to be honest; she used to say she was a cleaning lady. I should have had doubts that something was going on, because, c'mon Bells, you remember how extravagant her lifestyle was. I should have known as soon as she bought that Jacuzzi tub..."
"You can't blame yourself." I stretched my hand out and gave him a gentle pinch on his arm. I displayed my best smile. "As long as she's got what she deserves now, you're still the number one cop."
A small smile crept up on his face. "Thanks, Bells. God it's such a relief to have you back, sweetie." He paused for a second. "Well, I don't want to bore you with what has happened around here. It's always been a dead town. I bet you have more exciting stories, so then Bells, what have you been up to?" He poured the batter into the pan.
That question just rung through the room and echoed off the walls. I swore my heart stopped beating. I swore that my head was going to explode, and I knew that he would be able to tell if I was lying. There was no other option.
"Well...uh, well y'see, I've just been, well, I-I got a job. Yeah, real nice job...well not 'real nice' 'cause jobs aren't supposed to be fun, right? I met a few people, stayed with them for a bit...well, more than a bit...quite a while. It was just fine, to be honest. Just fine." I always knew I sucked at lying, but I was sure I didn't suck that hard. I had painfully lied and failed, and I had to stop because I saw my face reflected in his eyes. He knew I was lying.
"Bella, what are you hiding?" I heard him place the spoon back down onto the counter and it was like the air around us immediately got thicker.
"Hiding?" I repeated. "You know I'm not hiding anything, you know that, right? I was awful at hide and seek when I was younger..." I babbled on, it was excruciating.
"Isabella Swan, what happened? I have a right to know," he demanded. I saw his thick eyebrows contort together. It hurt me hard that just a couple of minutes ago his eyes had been soft and loving. Just like I had imagined they would have been, exactly how I wanted everything to turn out.
"No, no you don't. . . " I retorted weakly.
I heard a creaking sound coming from behind me. My mind delved into a realm of confusion. Was she still...? No, no she couldn't, she shouldn't still be here.
"Hon, you really don't want to know what she's been up to," I heard a sickly sweet tone say. The mere sound of that bitch made my insides churn and my face turn sour.
I twisted around to face my enemy.
It was her. She stood there in all of her trashy glory. Her summer-shine hair that laid there lifeless next to her thin cheeks. Her turned up nose, which made her look snooty even if she wasn't trying to be, and that fake tan that she got topped up on a fortnightly basis. Of course, designer dolled up, she was practically swimming in couture, whilst I had my Wal-Mart slacks on. Her presence always made me feel small, a piece of nothing, because she had that hold on him. That hold that I once had.
"What?" he asked in confusion.
"Oh, sweetie, I heard the news about your angel. Turns out her halo got knocked off and she fell pretty far." She started to do that unforgettable walk. Where she exaggerated the sway of her hips and it made her body bob up and down. To be honest, I thought she walked more like a headless turkey than a runway model.
As she stopped in front of him, she brushed her index finger down his cheek.
I didn't say anything but I hoped she had it all wrong.
She then leaned in and nuzzled her face into his neck. I heard her whisper dance around the room, even though I couldn't have deciphered the sound. This was how she worked, and she could always work me. She knew what pissed me off, she knew how to grab all of his precious attention and wrap it around her dainty, manicured finger like it was a game.
I stared at the two doors in the room. The first one on the right led to the backyard where I could've ran down the lawn and jumped over the wooden fence. Or I could've ran through the door on the left, but I would take that option if I wanted to stay, as it led to other parts of the house.
I was glued to the spot, no muscles were working. It was as if I was paralyzed; I looked up to the couple with dismay.
She snickered, but he stared me down, like he was going to throw up.
He knew.
He knew who and what I was. I wasn't his little girl, and that tore me to shreds.
My breathing picked up at a quicker rate.
"I don't know why you came back, whore." He growled.
The words stung me like lemon to a wound. The look on his face, God...the look on his face...
I felt a tear prickle down my cheek and I wanted to wipe it off so badly, but my arms were immobile.
"C'mon sweet pea, she's not worth it," she told him, and then her eyes pierced into mine. She then looked me up and down with much disdain. "Oh dear," she said.
My blood boiled to a temperature that I never knew it could have reached, but there were no words that could've hit back at her with the same force.
"You're right, baby," he said back at her.
He was right. I was a nobody, a nothing, a whore.
Wasn't that how everybody perceived me anyway?
The couple sauntered out of the room, out of door B that led to other parts of the house. It was as if I was a bad memory that they could've tossed to the side like rubbish.
I was rubbish; I wasn't anything spectacular or anything to have been proud of. I was the little fuck up, and he knew it.
As the door slammed, the room changed.
I was left alone - it was just me and my thoughts.
The room had suddenly turned back into the bloody red with the fake marble counter-tops.
The room was how it was the day I left.
And the room stunk of burnt pancake.
***
I was in a state of confusion when my eyelids began to flutter open, which I didn't think would have ever happened.
My body felt awkward; it was wrapped tight within sheets like a cocoon, and I became aware of an itching sensation on the top of my head. Bright lights were beaming onto my face from the ceiling; the lights were surrounded by tiles which had 10x10 punched holes in them. As my eyes looked around, the panic crept onto me. Where the hell was I?
I heard beeping noises circling around my head. There was a large multicolored curtain pulled around the bed I was lying on. It had a dated diamond pattern and it made me feel ill.
How did I get here?
Did Sam know where I was?
The objects and the smell that surrounded me were foreign and felt wrong.
I hated when I felt vulnerable, but the feeling was inevitable. I tried to sit up in the unfamiliar bed. My limbs felt weak and it was a struggle.
What had happened to me?
Every second I was on that bed made me more terrified, like somebody would jump out.
I felt something small next to me. It gave me a fright at first and made my head automatically spin around; it was Joe-Joe.
A sense of relief followed as my eyes rested on my old teddy bear. He was also wrapped tightly beneath the bed clothes with his soothing smile beaming up at me.
Only Rosalie would have known where Joe-Joe would have been.
I gripped onto the sheets and tried to pull them out from under the mattress.
I'd never been so secured in a bed before and I had to use all of my strength just to budge the covers. After a few tries, I gave up, feeling hot frustrated tears welling up in my eyes.
I wanted Rosalie to have been there, even if she was slumped by my bedside.
I grabbed hold of the bed board behind me and tried to ease my way out of the sheets. I felt pearls of sweat formulating on the back of my neck and an exhausted sound escaped through my gritted teeth.
I suddenly heard the curtains rattle and my hands immediately retracted.
"You need to get some rest. I'd advise you to stop trying to move," a deep velvety voice said.
The voice had an authoritative sound to it as if it meant business. I suddenly realized I had my eyelids closed; I didn't want to open them in fear I would've been looking at somebody who would've done me harm.
"Miss, we're glad you've woken up, but could you please stop fidgeting in your bed? You're You're disturbing the other patients," the voice told me. Patients? I thought. I hesitantly opened my eyes, wondering exactly where I was.
When they were fully opened, they landed on a tall man standing at the end of my bed. He must have been in his mid-twenties as he didn't look like any of the men who'd visited the house. They were usually old-looking and not the most attractive.
This man looked different. He was wearing a long white coat that had a name tag pinned on his right side that said 'Dr. Cullen.'
When my eyes drifted upwards to his face, I had to admit, my breath hitched for a second. He was more than handsome, with intense emerald eyes and a fine chiseled jaw that made me think of the heroes in the love stories who swept the heroines off of their feet. He had bronze messy hair and a reassuring but distant look about him – the two didn't go together, that's why I said he was different. Not like any of the men I'd ever laid eyes on.
Although, I needed to remember he was yet another man. That thought alone made me feel a sense of resentment towards this male specimen standing before me.
"I'd like to do a check-up now, Miss," he told me. His striking eyes were still staring at me lying in the bed.
But there wasn't a flicker of a smile.
I just nodded, hoping that was a suitable response. He charged out of the ward for a few seconds and when he arrived back, he had a clipboard resting between his arms. He moved toward me, not looking in my eyes but a something on my head.
His hand touched the top of my forehead. His touch sent a tingling sensation that plucked harmoniously within me. It didn't help my nerves but I didn't want him to remove his hand.
He then pulled something off - I think it was a bandage. I tried to gain his eye contact, but he was too focused on his work. He remained quiet whilst I stared at his unique features.
Who was this man?
Obviously a doctor.
But he seemed so much more.
It occurred to me that I'd never been so close to man before without him touching me inappropriately.
His eyebrows were furrowed together, which made his face look pretty intense whilst he was doing this 'check-up'. Judging by the look, I bet he could've been a real asshole.
He then touched a sensitive place on my forehead. I didn't know it felt so fragile.
I inhaled loudly, noticing my dry throat. He made a 'hmm' noise.
"We may need you over night," he stated. stated. I swallowed; what did he mean?
"You've suffered a head wound - it's nothing too major but it could take a couple of weeks to heal," he told me in a monotonous tone.
I gritted my teeth because of the sound of his droning voice; it made me feel stupid. It was as if he couldn't be bothered to give me the time of day.
His behavior reminded me of Sam. I could just picture some of the cold looks that he sent me. He made me feel like a piece of furniture. All men are the same: uncaring bastards.
As this Dr. Cullen went to put my bandage back on my head, I flinched at his touch, which was the complete opposite reaction to what I did when he first touched me.
His eyes widened for a second, surprised, and then he narrowed them like he was trying to read me. I couldn't hold his eye contact – I needed answers.
I cleared my throat and tried to keep my dignity intact, overlooking the fact that I was still wearing my slip and stockings from last night.
"Where am I?" I asked, trying to keep my voice level.
He stared at me for a second and sharpened his eyes. "You're in the hospital. You were admitted last night," he said without any amble, and then sighed, probably because of the look on my face.
I had a twisted feeling in my stomach because for some reason, I couldn't remember anything that had happened last night.
"What happened to me?" I asked. I was starting to lose my calm composure.
He tried not to show too much emotion - emphasis on tried. His eyes told all. He felt sorry for me. It's not a look I've seen a lot, but you can't mistake it.
"I was hoping you knew that, but obviously you wouldn't be able to remember." He closed his eyes for approximately two and a half seconds and when he reopened them, he had an even sterner look on his face. "I'm sorry to inform you, but your blood test indicated that last night you were drugged with a high dose of Rohypnol."
I stopped breathing for a second.
I'd been drugged? I wasn't even sure what Rohypnol was but it didn't sound good. I felt my insides collapse as my eyes disconnected with Dr. Cullen. They wandered to the gap between the curtains and I saw the ward behind him. An old, frail woman was lying in a bed talking loudly about how hungry she was, but she couldn't eat because of the tablets she was on.
I hated drugs; I hated them so much. I sometimes wondered why it was so easy to say yes. I sighed and felt my eyes sting with tears.
I breathed in. "And what does that mean?"
His eyes lowered to the ground for a couple of seconds and then they reached mine again. In that moment, I felt his striking features strum something sensitive inside of me, but I tried to dismiss it. Yeah, he was hot, but he was just another man bearing bad news.
"Taking Rohypnol gives a sedated effect, like being under the influence of alcohol. It makes you incredibly vulnerable, which leads me on to say that we strongly recommend you take a sexual assault exam."
"I've been raped?" I heard my voice waver and I tried my hardest to remember what had happened last night.
The last thing I remembered was being with James and grabbing the condoms. After that, everything was hazy, little snap-shots of his face occurred in my mind. It made me feel sick.
"We can't be certain." Then Dr. Cullen's voice deepened. "Although it's most probable, Miss, I'm sorry."
"I don't believe you," I snapped back.
"You don't have to; as I said, I can't be certain." Dr. Cullen knew nothing about me and I was glad, because he wouldn't have been giving me sympathetic eyes at that moment - he would have been thinking 'you brought it on yourself.'
That's what everybody thinks.
I silenced myself for a second. I didn't feel like I had had sex and most importantly, how did I get here? Sam never took us to hospital. He hid us from anything legal and sometimes it made me feel as if I didn't exist, like I was a ghost in a house.
"Where did you find me? Who took me in?" I felt like I had so many questions and so little time.
He stepped closer to my bedside. "We received an anonymous call last night and you were found lying, unconscious, on the sidewalk - with this," he gestured to Joe-Joe and briefly smiled, that was the first time I saw him smile.
He shouldn't have concealed it, although, it didn't stay for long as he went straight back to his professional side.
"I'm sorry to spring this on you, but we don't have your name, Miss, and we need it for paperwork," he he told me.
I felt even more sick and confused after he said that. My skin was set ablaze and I wasn't sure whether I should have told him or not. He was a doctor though, and I knew about patient-doctor confidentiality, but I never told a client my real name.
"It's Renee," I quietly told him.
"Renee…."
"Dwyer," I answered, deciding on telling him my mother's name - it felt so weird coming out of my mouth. I hadn't thought of her name in months, never mind saying it aloud.
I knew I had to lie and I was glad I didn't fumble on my words like usual. Maybe it was because I was exhausted.
My mind kept falling back on the same question.
What if I really had been raped?
Some people thought that there was no difference in being raped and being a prostitute.
That really pissed me off.
But who could've raped me? It couldn't have been James, could it? He seemed so nice.
"I think it's best, Miss Dwyer, you stay at the hospital for at least another night. You could coul have concussion and the best thing you can do is get plenty of rest," he told me.
That was a no-go.
I needed to be back at the house even though I didn't think I had the strength. It was funny, now that I was on my own, all I seemed to have been thinking about was getting back to the house.
I had a lump growing in my throat because I was sure I was nearing an emotional breakdown. My state of mind was in pure shock - so many thing were elevating around my head.
"I need to sit up," I abruptly told Dr. Cullen. He looked at me as if he knew it was a bad idea.
"I need to check something at the moment, Miss Dwyer, but I'll be back to help you. You really need to get some rest," he told me.
I sighed. I just wanted to get up and have the covers (which were acting like handcuffs) off of me. Of course, that wasn't going to happen.
I wasn't sure what my plan of action was, but I knew I had to do one thing: escape.
Then something hit my mind. I felt on edge about the idea but I knew it was the only thing I could do.
"How come your name is not in the hospital's database?" he asked me when he arrived back.
"I'm not from around here," I lied, well half lied.
He cocked his eyebrow. "Right..."
"Well, I only moved here a few months ago," I lied. One real lie this time.
"There are some forms you will need to fill out," he told me, although he sounded quiet.
He looked up. "We really think you ought to do that sexual examination, Miss Dwyer. It would help your case if you did," he told me softly.
I got lost in his bold, emerald eyes and I felt myself weaken; there would be no case. I wouldn't even be able to report the man to the police.
"If you need to speak to somebody, we have a counselor on this ward." He then shifted his hand and touched mine. His concerned expression eased and it did make me feel slightly better – but only slightly. The horrible lump in my throat had grown bigger and I'd never felt so sick in my life. I was still trying to battle the tears back and focus on my breathing.
I looked down at Dr. Cullen's hand for a few seconds. His hand felt warmer and softer than I'd expected. I then turned my head away and retrieved my arm back.
"Could you please help me up out of this bed?" I asked dryly.
"You really need to get some rest," he told me.
"Please."
He sighed. "Fine, but please promise me you will stop fidgeting. You'll thank me for it."
He then tugged at the sheets that were tucked in beneath the mattress and in one sharp action, they were pulled out. Everything felt a lot looser, which helped me a little bit.
"Could I have a glass of water?" I asked. He pursed his lips for a second.
"I'm very busy, Miss Dwyer. A nurse should be here in a second," he said.
"Well shouldn't you be looking after your patients?" I sharply retorted. I heard a low grumble escape from him as he turned his back on me and walked out of the ward.
Thank God.
I knew I had to escape at that very moment, because when it came to writing my information onto the forms, I would have been left clueless. Emergency numbers? Occupation? Could I really lie about something like that?
Then the counselor would have to be there, and I would have to open up and tell him things about my life. That would have probably meant lying and usually, I was an awful liar.
Then I would have to speak to the police. I bet it was mandatory.
But if I got caught escaping, that would make matters even worse. It would be suspicious, especially because of the reason why I was in here - and then more questions. The police would definitely get involved.
The thought made my stomach turn, but I was going to do this.
I quickly manoeuvred my legs from the bed and felt the fresh air that welcomed them. I didn't have time to relish the feeling - I barely had time to think straight.
I saw my coat hung on the back of a hospital chair, which was next to my bed. My sneakers were stashed underneath. I was surprised to find them there - there were more unanswered questions. I shoved my sneakers on, not even bothering to tie my laces, so I pushed them in around my feet.
I must have only had three minutes to escape - tops. I quickly picked up my coat and strapped it around myself. I grabbed Joe-Joe from the bed and slipped him into my pocket.
I peered around the curtain; it was a small ward. There were three patients in the ward, lying on their beds. Apart from the old woman, I didn't have a good look at the others. Although, what I did see was an old man getting up to leave from the ward.
I knew this was my only chance to make an inconspicuous departure. The old man was slipping on his suit jacket over a crinkly shirt, and I waited for him to say his goodbyes.
I was in luck. He didn't seem too fond of the woman he was visiting, so he said a quick goodbye, and left in haste. I soon joined him.
I stepped out of my safe zone; it felt like I was treading on no-man's land. The old woman eyed me, but she didn't say anything. I walked near the old man – close enough to make it look like I was his daughter, but there was still a distance so he didn't get suspicious.
The adrenaline was rushing through me faster than the drugs I took. Saying I was nervous was an understatement.
When we exited the ward, it felt like all eyes were on me, but I must have been wrong. People blandly looked at me for a couple of seconds, but didn't say anything. When I walked past the nurses' desk, they were all busy on their computers or having a chat.
I was fighting back the nerves, stabbing my nails into my hands, making crescent shapes.
They didn't seem to notice I was a patient.
I kept on following the old man since I had no idea where I was going. He turned round a corner, so I decided I'd do the same. The hospital felt cold and airy and it made me shake. I squeezed Joe-Joe, wishing that I'd get away with my ill-prepared plan.
Every step I took was painful and I involuntary held my breath.
What if I got caught?
The thought made my limbs feel unsteady - like they could collapse at any time.
I was sure I only had two minutes left; this was so close to the blade that Dr. Cullen could've walked out at any moment and catch me escaping.
Then prison.
I inhaled a long breath, but I felt dizzy. Obviously, it was an after-effect of whatever happened to me last night. I hoped I could've made it out of the hospital okay.
God, I hoped I would be okay.
Then, the old man and I made a quick turn into a quieter corridor. I could see a small elevator at the end of it.
I didn't get caught by the on-call nurses – that's how good the healthcare was in this hospital.
I might have had sarcastic thoughts then, but I was thankful. I kept on walking down the corridor at a fast pace, and my mind was obsessed with Sam.
He would've been so annoyed that my presence wasn't at the house. I was sure he would've been obsessing over business and the fact he wouldn't have made as much money.
If I wasn't thinking about Sam, I was thinking about what had happened to me.
Was I really raped?
I thought I would've felt different. My body didn't believe it. Sure, I didn't feel as strong as I usually did, but I thought I would have felt torn and bruised, but in fact, I just felt ill.
I arrived at the elevator, which had clear signs on the side of it. My eyes rolled over them, 'Reception - G'. I guessed that was my escape.
The old man pressed the button, and we both waited for the lift to arrive. Waiting for the elevator to arrive was excruciating.
I saw the elevator commencing onto my level. If it didn't come sooner, I didn't know what I'd do.
The thought made the palms of my hands perspire more.
Finally, the elevator arrived onto the floor with a ding noise and I rushed into the small box, pressing the ground floor button - several times.
"You've got to be patient, Miss," the old man told me. I didn't say anything back because my throat felt dry, so I just nodded and gave him a small smile in return.
Somebody must've found my bed empty by now.
I had to stop thinking about that and concentrate on thinking about how to get the hell out of the hospital.
The elevator was incredibly slow; you could tell it was old. I hated riding in elevators, especially after watching the first ten minutes of Resident Evil. Sam put it on once. I couldn't keep watching it - I hated horrors.
Believe me - I wanted to take the stairs.
My muscles were jittering with nerves as I waited for the elevator to arrive on the ground floor.
Dr. Cullen must've been searching the wards for me. I bet they'd already called the police. He would've told all the nurses I was gone, so more people were looking for a 'Renee Dwyer'.
I could hear my heart pounding in my ears.
At last, the lift reached the ground floor and the old man gestured for me to leave first.
I was all too eager to leave and briskly stepped out into a sea of depressing grey chairs that had different types of people slumped over them.
This was the hospital's main reception.
There must've been an exit close.
My head scanned the large room, and I noticed the stairs. They mustn't have been far away from the elevator.
And then my fear conjured up.
Dr. Cullen.
I turned into a statue. I could smell prison already. prison already
He looked breathless and his face was rapidly searching through the reception.
Then our eyes collided.
We stood there for a couple of seconds. I could've crumbled onto the floor and begged him to let me go.
Instead, I launched into a run, darting for the exit.
"Miss Dwyer! Stop!" I heard his velvety voice shout.
I kept running without falter and felt trails of tears escaping the corners of my eyes.
I was too tired to run.
But I didn't have a choice.
My achy legs were at the brink of giving up the rest of my body.
Shit, shit, shit.
"Renee!" He had resorted to shouting my 'first' name.
People's eyes were staring at me, alarmed, although nobody did anything. People don't know what to do in these types of situations - they might've thought they would've stopped me, but the shock got to them first.
I saw the murky rain of Forks through the glass doors. I've never wanted to meet the rain so badly in my life.
I turned my head back round to see where Dr. Cullen was.
He was closer than I thought, and that made me softly cry.
When I arrived at the automatic doors, I nearly slammed into them. It killed me having to wait that extra one and a half seconds for them to open.
Dr. Cullen was so close.
"Fuck!" I shouted at the doors when they decided to open.
I rain into the air, but I didn't have the speed I had indoors. The cold wind blew through my hair, which created rough goosebumps along my arms.
I was close to the car park.
I saw cars turning in and out of spaces. Maybe I could've lost him there?
I stumbled onto the sidewalk as I approached the first row of cars.
And then it happened.
I felt a hand grasp onto my wrist and drag my whole body back.
A sharp pain stretched through my triceps. My heart flipped over.
My face was forced to stare at Dr. Cullen's. He looked like he was filled with a whirlwind of anger.
I automatically screamed - it hurt my throat but I was too scared to care.
"What...the...fuck...are...yo-" He tried to say whilst getting his breath back.
"Let me go, perv!" I screamed.
His eyes widened in disbelief - I knew it was a cheap shot, but at that moment, I didn't have any morals.
I would have said - or done - anything.
"Who are you?" he asked incredulously. His hands were still tight around my wrists, and his grip hurt.
"J-just let me go! Please!" I had resorted to begging so soon.
I tried pulling my hands back but he was stronger, much stronger than I thought he was.
"Miss Dwyer, why the hell are you escaping? What the fuck is wrong with you?!" His voice was so loud it shook through me.
I felt cascades of tears falling down my cheeks.
"Please, I'll do anything! Just let me go. I really can't go back in there, just please, help me!" I screamed back, still making fruitless attempts in retrieving my arms.
His eyes wandered over my face. He wasn't going to let me go.
I was going to throw up.
It was the end of the road for Isabella Swan.
"Are you in trouble?" he asked, in a lower tone this time.
"You have no idea." I breathed.
We stood there for a couple of seconds, and I could see his eyes contemplating on whether to let me go or not.
The cold rain was sprinkling over my face, and my hair was sticking to my neck. I felt the chill of the weather on my skin.
He stared intensely into my eyes.
"Take care of yourself."
And that was when he let me go.
Okay....so what do you think about that?
Review would be kinda nice......
Kitty.