A/N: The 130th review shout out goes to ElectricLimeGreen. She says I wrote a creepy Carlisle. Do you agree? He's my fav in that last chap but he's def not your typical Carlisle. Thanks for catching that!
I got amazing reviews last time and I'm hoping for more. Please let me know with responses if this ff blows or if it's worth it. I'd like to know. Thanks so much. This was another tough chap (when are they not?). Never comes easy for me. Had to rewrite the end. My eyes drooped while writing asleep. So many decisions to be made. Questions will be answered in time.
I don't own Twilight. I just own a Mini and my FF reading device—iPhone.
|:::::[-]:::i):::| —Tighten yours...A lot.
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* Sound: The XX - Night Time
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Chap 7 – Adapt
"Masen!"
I start. The knife that was once in my possession deceives me in a sharp cut. I whimper. The knife is digging deeper against the heavy gravity from my weakening legs. They're slipping off his jeans, chafing my tender skin. I struggle to still around his narrow waist.
"Dammit, Masen!" calls a voice from afar.
He's shaking with fury. His bicep and forearm under dark sleeves are tense. The muscles contracting as it keeps the edge on my throat. My shoulder blades protest against the solid wall, crushing my lungs. I grasp the bit of air slipping through my chapped lips.
Heavy footsteps are far off, not nearly close enough to interrupt this. My eyes droop as I stare into his furrowed brows, shading dilated pupils. His nostrils flaring and lips in a grim white line. They hide behind my closed lids before appearing again.
My fingers slither off his fiery hair and limply lie on his shaking shoulders. "I should kill you," he breathes, "I should end you here."
My stomach tightens with every word. Before this second ends, he's growling against my face. The rage in him has taken over his steady previous state. "I dodged you out from under every fucking bullet and this…" his hisses against my cheek, "…this is how it ends."
My stomach drops. Shame creeps up my neck. Fear never falters as I hesitantly lift my hands to his grip. I feather my fingertips over his large nail beds and long fingers. His skin is scalding against my cold palms. I implore with a gentle squeeze.
Moments pass. Hours it seems. The footsteps never come near. Blood stopped circulating from my face. My lips turning blue as I stare with pleading eyes.
His fingers twitch. I squeeze tighter. Please.
Slowly, his brows straighten. His panting slows against my face. "Breathe." He lets go.
I gasp for air, filling my lungs, pushing against his chest. My hands still holding his as my fingers dig his skin with the effort.
An audible gasp behind him makes him blink and shift slightly off of me. "Edward!" The females emerged from an opening off the wall almost out of thin air. Her heels click against the floor hastily. Her short black hair swivels against her cheeks as she stops. "Get your hands off my patient! Now!" she demands wide eyed.
I'm coughing and heaving as I watch his shoulders tense. The footsteps arrive late and stop down the corridor. "Masen," the built man calls from afar, amused.
Everyone is waiting for him. He stares at me.
Without a word he snatches his hand away and angles the knife towards me.
My eyes widen. The female gasps again stepping closer.
I flinch. With a grunt, he ignores my hands moving to cover my face. A loud bang echoes around us. The knife pierces the wall beside my head. I turn to stare at it bobbing in the air. My reflection on the slick metal.
A snicker follows the echo from down the hall. I shift my eyes at the built man with blonde hair. His smile seems out of place in his strong features.
"That's enough!" the female cries grabbing his shoulder. I reach for my throat as I inhale in protest, still catching my breath. My fingers slick with my blood from the stinging fresh cut. My right leg slips off. I don't have the strength.
I'm jostled. His hands slip under me. My leg is righted and I'm being carried, bouncing over his shoulder. The material covering me rides up my thighs around him. The back of my hands against his chest gripping my throat still as my head weakly bobs from the motion.
"You hurt her. She won't run," the female says in annoyance.
"You haven't seen her run," he snaps back between his teeth. He continues towards the seamless door. My heart races. My cheek immobilized on his shoulder as my lungs ease its burning. My teeth mark prominent over his dark inked skin. His blood seeps out from punctured holes. I should've bitten harder. My heart sinks.
We're in complete darkness going through a passageway—the built blonde man in toe with a smile still plastered on his face. I straighten. Anxiety builds in me as we go deeper through the shadows. His forearms on my hips tighten painfully. "Don't you fucking move," he says, his breath on my face. His menacing voice sends chills down my spine. I gasp, keeping still. But my limbs betray me as they shake. I feel small, weak and foolish in this state, surrounded by a cold broad embrace I never intended to seek. I cower, stealing a peak at his stern shadowed profile. My eyes water.
We're engulfed in brightness entering the lab again. I scan the area in my peripheral and see the damage I've caused. Chaotic. I left here with strengths from hope and I come back defeated. My eyes down cast. I try and remember any bit of survival skill Charlie has instilled in me when I was little. Nothing comes remotely close to fixing this. My mind is blank. How do I escape?
"Off," he hisses from above me. I start. I stare in his eyes confused. The stretching of my neck when I look up stings from the deep cut. I freeze.
"Get…off." His lips in a tight line. His eyes turning a deep jade. He pushes me away roughly. I blink with a loud plop on the damned metal table. My thighs are red from the chaffing of his jeans and the force of his push. My cheeks redden the same hue.
Gentle hands wrap around my shoulders and pull me to lie down. My breathing picks up. My hands crimson red when they shoot out to find my balance. The pale rubber covering my torso fails to soak the moisture when my hands clench against me.
"Jesus…" murmurs the female in sympathy. Her cold fingers on my neck as she examines. She looks up. "Get out," she orders the men still hovering close by.
I turn and watch my newfound rival wiping his neck with a crisp white cloth. He murmurs a curse as he's walking away. His eyes find mine. I look away.
"Looks like you got thoroughly fucked, Masen." I can recognize the blonde man's voice and snicker. I tense.
"Emmett," he snaps back in warning. Two sets of footsteps and a chuckle fade behind a slamming door.
"Sorry." I look up at the female's apologetic eyes. She moves away to grab gauze. I don't respond.
"I'm Alice," she introduces herself after a moment. Silence hangs heavy between us. She works on my neck with graceful hands—the same hands that threw a dagger at me. The irony does not escape me.
"I know this is a lot to grasp, Isabella, but I assure you we won't hurt you…intentionally." Her nostrils flare as she dabs at the cut. "You're going to need stitches." The stylish frames, I didn't notice her slip on, brush under her bangs and reflect light off the lamp above me. Her makeup looks impeccable. Her hair is shiny in a short angled bob. She carries gentle features with an underlining of mysterious vigor. She puts me at ease despite her sharp white lab coat draped down to her thighs.
"That was Emmett with the inappropriate humor. And the gentleman who bid you the favor…" she says, gesturing at my cut "…is Edward. My apologies on behalf of them." She stops to look at me. A soft smile forms her lips.
"You have no idea how difficult it was to finally have you here." She sighs. My brows crease. "This is a whole other world, Isabella. Far different from the one you had. All you ever knew is not all there is. Remember that."
I can't respond. What does she mean?
"This isn't a consequence," she continues, "Everything is for a reason. You just have to have patience."
My heart patters at the same words I once heard. It seemed like years ago. At this thought, I wonder how long I was unconscious. Memories of those moments wash over me in a rush. The crash. Where's Mike? Where's Angela? I can't catch my breath fast enough.
"Are you ok?" she asks noticing. My breath hitches as I try to keep composed. I nod. She glares without a word, waiting.
I shake my head furiously, "No… where are my friends?" I ask lifting off the table slightly. "Are they gone? Dead? Where are they?" my voice desperate as I grab her coat, staining it with red. She struggles to keep straight.
She watches me bewilderedly, "I don't…know" she responds after a moment. She eases my hands off of her. "I don't know, Isabella." She backs away and continues her work.
Tears flow from my tired eyes to my temples. They must know. I have to find them.
"How long has it been?" I ask in a small voice. I look at the dark ceiling and she doesn't respond. "How long?" I look at her. Anger rising.
"Four weeks," she whispers. Her eyes elsewhere.
All the air escapes my lungs. I whimper into my hand.
Blood rushes to my head, filling my veins in protest. I can't hold back the sobs any longer. My body quivers. A month.
This long and I've been here...under their will. And no one knows. Charlie. He must be devastated.
She comes to my side and quickly pulls my hand away from face. Blood smears my lips and cheeks. My other fist clenches and connects with the metal by my side furiously. My legs follow. My eyes tightly shut. I scream.
"Please…" she pleads in a whisper. Her hands shake. Her plead to calm me is as weak as her whisper. I fold into myself trying to find release from the agony erupting in my chest. "Isabella, please. You'll hurt yourself further. You're still weak."
I'm not aware of what's happening around me. Two different sets of warm strong hands restrain my legs and torso.
"Hold her, please," Alice says above my screams.
I shove away at the hands and they only grip tighter. My eyes are blurred as I look up into blank green eyes again. Again.
My anger flares. "You…you did this!" My hands grip his shirt. I push. My fists slam against his chest. He doesn't move. I dig my nails into his neck, face, anywhere. My teeth clenched. His lips white in anger. He doesn't flinch. He allows this and I push harder. I connect my blood stained palm against his face. Again and again. Nothing.
He just stares. I scream.
He finally restrains my arms as I feel a prick on my neck. I gasp. The numbing flows through me instantly. My limbs lock.
"Take her down the hall." Alice speaks. She sounds far away. My ears grow mute. My eyes roll to the back of my head. I'm in a foggy cloud, floating.
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My eyes are heavy. I struggle to open them. Silence.
The moonlight is eerie in a dark room. I keep still as I look around with my eyes only. Where am I? The scent of the sheets is different. I dreamed of a time long ago where I was safe in my room. My bed. My vanity at the far end of the wall close to the bay windows decorated in white linen curtains. I watched them flow in the breeze. Calm.
But this is different. My stomach clenches when I realize I'm not home. Home. My whole being yearns for home.
Windows from floor to ceiling glisten with rain—the dark night in a fog. They stretch along as walls. Carpet covers the floor all around. The vast space swallows me up, making me feel small. My heart pounds. I don't move in inch.
I feel a presence behind me as I lie on my side. I fear turning. The wool sheets heavy and wrongly comforting over my shaking body. I'm buried in warmth but under a cold sweat. I clench my fists and notice my palms are clean. My face is clean. My blood is gone. The rubber that once covered me is replaced with cotton. White sleeves cover my arms. The fabric runs fitted below my throat to my thighs. My back partially exposed. My hair tucked in a hood. I furrow my brows but feel comfort in this odd attire. I force my legs to stay still. I want to reach for my neck but I'm too afraid.
Hours seem to pass and with every second my paranoia heightens. There's only silence and I argue with my inner fear to still. I chance a look around me. I lift my head and scan the area exposed to my peripheral. Nothing.
I move to my back slowly. The bed keeps silent to my relief. I barely stir under the wool. My heart in my throat. I feel the pulsing in my neck wound but ignore it.
No one is behind me.
I exhale. I whip my head all around me. I'm alone. I sit up, gripping the wool on my lap hard. I sit still and wait.
The door to the room is far. A slit of light glows from under it. I argue with my conscience to grant me courage.
With shaking hands, I pull the wool off of me and crawl to the bottom of the bed—stopping midway to hear for any sounds. I reach the end and look at the floor. Like a scared child, terrified of what lies beneath the bed, I hesitate. I can only hear my erratic breathing.
I stand. One foot at a time. My legs shake. I take a step. Nothing stirs around me.
I stroll closer. I pull at the hood from around my hair. It obstructs the view. I steal a peek behind me. It falls from around my nape to my bare back as I reach for the door.
My fingers search blindly for the knob. They grope frantically. I peal my eyes away from over my shoulder and squint to find it. A staggered gasp constricts my throat. There's no knob. My fingers run along the seams and back. Nothing.
I step back. I turn to see only the bed sitting in the middle of an oval room, surrounded by windows. Not a chair. Not a mirror or a second door to be found.
I walk back to the bed and plop on the edge. My hands fidgeting. There has to be a way.
I observe every angle and curve of the room and I stop. The ceiling.
I stand. My hand reaches up to follow a vent. It's too far up and I can't reach. I climb the bed to stand on it. I reach again. Not close enough.
I climb off and walk around the back of the bed as an idea turns in my mind. I brace my shoulders and arms at the back of the tall white plush headboard. I push.
It inches away. I sigh in relief with the movement. I shift and push again.
Content with my effort, I climb the bed again and push at the seams of the vent. The square is big enough for a human to climb through. I push but it doesn't budge.
I peak around me one last time before pushing with my shoulder and hands…hard.
I hear a crack. The weak ceiling panel gives way. To my immense relief there is no sound. I shove the piece away into a dark pit.
I wipe the sweat away from my forehead as I contemplate where it leads. My heart pleads for an escape. It has to lead somewhere.
I stretch my arms out and pull myself up struggling. A cold draft prickles my skin. I see nothing but a dark narrow tunnel. My knees are last as they finally touch the surface. I crawl in deeper.
Claustrophobia tenses my limbs. I clench my eyes and breathe pausing. I'm encased in dust filled narrow walls. It clings to my clammy palms. I try and shake it off as it weaves around my fingers. A faint blue light brightens the space from a source far away. It enables me to see the spider webs angled over corners, empty to my relief.
I will my knees to push farther. The panel under me cracks almost inaudibly. Shit. My weight pushes the surface. I chance a second stride and the crack grows louder. The air is thin. I can't catch a breath deeply.
My hand moves to take the next step. My eyes widen. I gasp. An echoing thud cracks though the small space. The ceiling panel under my palm tears as a long shiny blade stabs between my fingers—missing me by a hair. I flinch snatching my hand away.
They found me. I only hear silence.
I jolt. I move to rush forward as fast as I can. Thud. Another blade by my arm. I flinch back. I almost scream, clamping a hand over my mouth.
I snap my head behind me. The hole is still vacant.
Silence.
I crawl back a step when I hear one of the blades in front of me being removed. It disappears. I freeze.
My heart thumps at my throat. It's coming back. I blink watching the second blade being pulled out of its firm wedge….slowly. It too disappears.
My chin quivers. I step back anticipating the next set of stabs. But where? I crawl back another stride. Deafening silence. Nothing moves for a long stretched moment. I try and calm my erratic heart and strain to keep still. Sweat running down my temples. Drops land on the back of my hand. Some dissolve on the panel under me. My hair falls over my shoulders, dangling in waves. I focus on the locks and hold my breath. I wait.
My arms begin to shake with fatigue. My knees ache against the hard surface. I curl my bare toes beneath me. The silence is excruciating.
I look back at the hole again and it's still clear. I'm waiting for a hand to creep in, a face—anything to startle my heart out of my chest. I look forward and attempt another step.
THUD.
I bang against the top of the tunnel in fright. The tip of the blade ended a millimeter from my chest. I scramble back. My breathing labored. My head grows light from holding my breath.
I scream.
Fingers wrap around my ankle. I'm falling.
My body tenses. My arms shoot out to hold on. My fingers scrap the edge. They slip. Everything slows.
I bounce on the bed on my back. I scramble over the wool sheet and grip the headboard. But I'm dragged again to the edge by my ankle. I scream again. My vocal cords burn and strain from my paranoia. I'm pinned.
I open my eyes to a dangling pendant in a chain swaying above my face. I focus beyond it. Edward. He's kneeling above me. His palms holding himself up beside my head.
He doesn't speak. I clench my fists together at my chest. His face trembles in anger. I feel the air escaping his flared nostrils flowing over my face. I watch every faint movement of his face in the grays of the shadows. His expression changing from furious to blank to… something I can't read. Torn?
I gaze. I really see him now. I've been fighting and fighting my way out of this nightmare and I never caught a glimpse of who these people are.
Though his eyes are intense, I can't look away. Though my panic clutches my chest and throat, I can't look away. Who is he? I immediately shake away the stupor—shake it away to a hazy place in my mind. I'll forget in a mere second. Because right now, as I watch his lips part slightly and his brows furrow, all I feel is danger, alarm, and terror. And it runs deep in my bones, deep and cold. Like his heart must be.
Slowly, he moves away. I inhale sharply. Electricity shoots up to the nape of my neck, prickling the fine hairs over my skin when I feel a single finger brushing past my bare thigh. A sharp edge of his nail scratching a faint line towards the end. He steps away.
Metal gleams with the little bit of light in the room. He flicks and flips the knife around his fingers and tucks it in his waistband. The other follows.
I drop my eyes to follow his movements, wide eyed. He pauses there for a moment not moving. Expectant.
I sit up slowly, my legs dangling off the edge. My ankle stiff with the lingering grasp of his rough hand. No doubt, it'll bruise.
His arms cross over his chest. His biceps jutting out, stretches the fabric of his black sleeves. Shadow covers half of his face making him look far more frightening. The moonlight hits just enough to make the ink lining his neck dark against his pale skin. I see my mark on him from where I sit. I quietly wonder how my lips touched that part of him. Any part of him. I beat him. Slapped his face again and again. To have had the courage…mind-boggling. I shake the stupor once again. He is waiting.
I don't know what he wants.
I move my palms to the bed and grip the wool. His eyes shift to my movement and back to me. I continue.
Pulling my legs on the bed, I drag myself up towards the middle. I turn and scramble to the pillow. I pull the wool over my lap, to my chest, feeling like a chastised child.
Like a statute, he stands there frozen. Watching.
I ease my way down to my back and stiffly pull the covers to my chin. My back tense on the mattress. He visibly relaxes. I can't stare in his eyes any longer. My eyes squeeze shut.I turn away, rolling to my side.
I hear my pulse through my pressed ear against the pillow. It's ragged. I pant warm breaths under the heavy quilt. My fingers twitch over my mouth. I'm certain they haven't stopped shaking since I've woken up. My nerves trigger a time when I took pills for this. I hold a whimper when I remember who it came from. The doctor had yet to show his face again. I wince at the fact, feeling sick.
I'm quickly taken from this glitch of a thought. I can't escape the presence still lingering behind me. He hasn't moved.
I curl my legs under me further. The sound rustles over the sheets breaks the silence, easing the heavy tension I feel. I haven't heard his steps. At all. What does he want?
I open my eyes again and stare out the windows. They quickly turn to look to the corner of my sight. He's out of reach. It's like being a child again and waking up from a bad dream. You're too afraid to run to your parent's room because, surely, the monster is standing at the foot of your bed. You don't move a muscle.
I am not a child and this is not a dream. My breath hitches.
Shifting my gaze to the windows, I think of how fitting the rain falling is to my mood. It mirrors the fog and confusion in my mind. How did I end up here?
The environment shifts. The single knob-less door slams shut. I start, holding my mouth closed almost painfully.
I sit up. My shoulders drop at the relief of his exit. Tears stream down, escaping my heavy lids.
I yelp.
He's still standing there.
He's leaning against the door. His head down cast, watching the carpeted floor. His hands clenched at his sides—one lower than the other as his right shoulder dips. His dark jeans fade into the shadow, leaving only his upper body exposed to the moonlight. His long sleeve shirt fitted around his light muscular torso and chest. A slit of his unbuttoned shirt shows a bit of his pale skin. A speck of white pokes out from underneath it. The second shirt looking like a piece of saint on this fury of a demon.
I watch motionless.
He lifts his head, revealing the hollow of his exposed throat. I can't look in his eyes.
"You're wasting my time," he says simply. His voice is calm. But his nostrils are flared. He's angry. "I will not hold back next time. I will hurt you."
I sit up. I scan my eyes over his height. "You already have." My voice comes out clear—surprising me. Something about him makes my thoughts come out in words and slip out of my mouth. I can't stop them.
He looks slightly taken aback by my response—for responding at all. His brows furrow. "I've barely had the pleasure. Nothing comes close to what I'd like to do."
"Why did you drag me here?" I ask gripping the wool blanket. Anger bubbles in me.
"You wanted to die, is that it?" His jaw sets tightly. "I can do you the favor right now…if that's what you want." I don't respond. He tilts his head to the side glaring at me through narrow eyes. "Better yet, I'll find Jake and let him do as he pleases. How's that?"
I inhale deeply at the stab, looking in his eyes. The corner of his lip lifts.
He lifts off the door and walks closer. "Poor Isabella. Shameful." My lips part. I can't breathe. He saw…everything.
"You were in danger long before that night. And you? Oblivious." he continues, pausing a few feet from the bed. "Do you remember that night, Isabella?" he asks, his words frigid, "I remember it well. In fact, I remember many other nights."
"You followed me…" I whisper. He doesn't respond.
I blink tears that spill down my face. I shake my head, closing my eyes briefly. "Since you were there, you must know what happened to them…my friends." I look up at him. "Where are they?"
"They weren't my target," he answers stiffly.
I drop my head, my chin against my chest. Tears still spilling. No one will give me a straight answer. It's been a month and I don't know what happened after that night. They saved my life. This is how they're repaid.
I grow angry again. I gaze at him from under my lashes. "You saved me but I'll never be grateful. I'm imprisoned here. You could've saved them. They helped me when I needed it most. Where were you then?" I shake my head, watching his jaw tighten to a sharp line, "You unquestionably failed."
He chuckles darkly, shaking his head.
I gasp. Within a second, he's jolting me in his grip. My eyes widen. He pulls me by my chin, His fingers spread over my cheek—his thumb on the other. His other hand grips the nape of my neck, pulling my hair there. I'm suddenly on my knees on the bed. He's standing, hovering over me at the edge. He breathes hard. "I should've left you to die," he says in a calm whisper an inch from my face. The tone of his voice sounds piercing. I shiver.
He watches me intently. He lets go slowly. His fingers twitch on my skin. His other hand tangles in my hair. He grazes the strands free. I fall back on the bed wincing from the pain.
He marches out of the room leaving the door open. Before I can take a breath he's back…with a chair. He slams it on the ground. I jump. His legs straddle it, leaning his arms over the back. "Go to sleep. If I hear anything out of you, I'll slice a finger off," he says eyeing me down. I believe him.
I ease my way back to the pillow and hide my sore face under the blanket. I let the angry tears flow. There's no way I'll sleep. I lie there for hours feeling him watching me and feeling the places his hands touched pulsing in pain.
To my own dismay, I slip into a tense slumber.
I dream of blood, swaying chains and jade eyes. His scent is tantalizing.
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A/N: Review if you would've bitten him harder.
