A/N: I have a blissfully study-free day today, so I'm gonna try to bang out a couple of chapters. As I said before, I'm going to rearrange some things to try and make Bella a little less co-dependent. And I've come to the decision that I hate the werewolf angle to the point that I'm going to ditch it entirely. No werewolves, kids. Sorry. I'll throw Jacob in, but vampires AND werewolves is just taking it a bit far for me. Plus, the wolves are jerks.
I'm listening to Total Revenge by Say Anything. Awesome song.
I don't own anything I'm about to write which, let's face it, is kind of depressing.
Chapter Eleven
Safely in my room, door firmly closed against the outside world, I let the stress of the day overtake me, crying until my eyes hurt and my body ached. Tyler's van spinning, Edward staring at me in horror, my body thrown to the ground, my ankle pinned beneath the twisted metal, it was all there and vivid and terrible. It ended up being a good thing that I couldn't go to school. The last thing I wanted was to burst into tears in the middle of lunch which, according to the clock next to me, was where I'd be right now.
I took a handful of steadying breaths and ran the back of my hand across my eyes, rubbing the tears away. Enough crying. Enough. Reaching down with a groan, I carefully removed the ice pack from my ankle, propped up on pillows at the foot of my bed, and gingerly swung my legs onto the floor, reaching for my desk chair to help support my weight as I stood. There was only one thing on this earth that I wanted right now, and I would go through any amount of pain to get it. Damn did I want a shower.
"Charlie," I called, hopefully loudly enough that he could hear me through my closed door. He had taken the rest of the day off to take care of me, but I hadn't let him do much besides bring me ice and the occasional drink. Mostly he just stayed downstairs, watching ESPN and waiting for me to need something again. I heard footsteps on the stairs, and smiled to myself. Between putting the chains on my tires and staying home to take care of me, he'd done a lot for me to be grateful for today.
"Bella," Charlie said softly, knocking lightly on my door. "Did you call me, sweetheart?"
"I need some help," I called through the door, and he opened it slowly before stepping in and giving me a disapproving look.
"You shouldn't be standing, Bells."
"I know, I know… I just wanted to take a shower. I was wondering if you'd help me into the bathroom?" He looked a little scared, so I felt the need to clarify. "I can handle the shower part, dad. I just need some help down the hall."
His face cleared and he nodded, reaching forward to draw my arm over his shoulders as he held me up and walked me down the hall, taking me right through the bathroom door and seating me gently on the edge of the tub. I had the walking cast Dr. Cullen had given me, but I wasn't supposed to put any weight on my ankle for the first 48 hours. Knowing how difficult it was for me to get around, I once again felt like an idiot for trying to argue my way back into school today.
Charlie left, wishing me luck with an ironic look on his face and closing the door quietly behind him. I turned the faucet on the tub and waited for the water to heat up, cursing old pipes and older water heaters. When it was finally a little bit warmer than room temperature, I switched on the shower head and carefully peeled off my cotton shorts drawing my injured foot out of them so that they never touched each other. The shirt went with much less caution, though my head was still a bit sore, and I gripped the wall stepping into the tub like the floor was going to disappear at any moment. This would've been much easier with Renee. Safer, too.
With one hand clamped around the windowsill next to me, I let the water wash over me, sighing as the tension in my muscles melted away. I had had bad days before, but never quite like this. I thought about the hospital and poor Tyler Crowley, who I'd gotten a chance to speak with before I left with Charlie. He'd broken his arm in two places and had fractured a couple of ribs. His face had looked like a punching bag, and one of his eyes was swollen shut. And he had apologized to me. Apologized over and over and over again. And nothing I said would make him stop. Apology after apology. This kid looked like he'd gone twelve rounds with Mike Tyson, and he was apologizing to me, with my silly ace bandage around my ankle and my headache.
We were still talking, well, I was still being apologized to, when my dad had burst through the door, calling my name once before spotting me and crossing the room. He asked over and over again if I was ok, reaching out a shaking hand to grip my shoulder, drawing it back when I winced. Damn was I sore.
Charlie had hovered over me for a good three minutes before he changed directions and started screaming at Tyler, repeating things like "you could've killed someone," and "you're lucky I don't arrest you on the spot." Tyler's one good eye had gotten larger and larger, his swollen mouth hung open in shock, as he listened to Charlie's rant. I'd really wanted to talk to Tyler about what had happened, what he had seen, but I felt so bad for him with Charlie screaming and carrying on, so I grabbed my father's arm, tugged sharply, lied about just wanting to go home and lie down, and forced him out of the room.
Poor Tyler. According to the nurse at the desk, he'd be stuck in that hospital for at least a week.
Bringing my mind back to the present, I turned my body so that my face was directly in the spray of the showerhead, urging the grit and stress and tension of the day to wash away, cleansing myself of what had happened this morning. I moved my free hand, up to my hair and combed my fingers through it, making the warm water saturate it further. I drew my fingers down my neck, across my collarbone, down my torso, rubbing each bit of skin lightly as though ensuring it was still there. I splayed my fingers across my stomach, flattening my palm against my bellybutton and pushing gently, thanking the ever-present knot for its absence at this moment.
Ouch.
I pressed again, a little harder.
Ouch.
Why would that hurt?
I pressed one more time, harder still.
I looked down, moving my hand out of the way.
Bruises. Six of them. Fanning across the center of my stomach.
I had been thoroughly examined in the hospital. I had had every inch of me poked and prodded, both clothed and unclothed. There had been nothing wrong except my ankle and my head. But now there were these bruises.
Confused, I shut the water and stepped cautiously out of the shower, grabbing a towel to quickly dry myself before I turned and faced the tiny bathroom mirror. I had to flatten my back against the wall to be able to see my stomach, but I could see it… the top of it anyway. And there they were.
They were fully colored, and I guessed that the hospital had seen them forming and didn't find them important. I clearly had no internal injuries, so they probably just made a note and moved on. It was just… six? Why six? And why were they shaped like that? Almost like an oval, with a longish one to the side of my navel, and five notably smaller ones spreading out on the other side. And where had they come from? Edward had knocked me onto my back, not my stomach. Nothing had landed on top of me and I hadn't bumped into anything today. Weird.
Tired of standing, I managed to get my shorts back on without incident and pulled my shirt back over my head, watching the marks on my body disappear under the white fabric.
"Charlie," I called, ready to return to my room. He dutifully appeared and helped me all the way to my bed, propping my ankle back up and wrapping it in a fresh ice pack before walking out and closing the door behind him, as requested.
I stared at my ceiling for a while, trying to figure out how to make this day go away, when my cell phone buzzed on my nightstand. I stared at it for a few seconds like it would explode, worried that it was Renee calling though Charlie had assured me that he hadn't told her what happened. Renee worried. A lot. It got old.
By the time I reached over and grabbed it, it had stopped buzzing, and I flipped it open to see who it had been. It hadn't been a call, but a text. In some sort of foreign language.
hve hw 4 u, will brng l8r, hope u r ok
Jessica Stanley. Homework. Great. She was coming by my house. Fabulous. Perfect. I'd have to pretend to be asleep when she got here.
Thanks. I typed back, and hit send. Dropping the phone on the bed next to me, I resumed my staring contest with the ceiling, resting my hand on my stomach, gingerly poking my bruises again.
And then it hit me. It was so obvious. So obvious.
I lifted my head from the pillow and looked down my body to where my hand was resting. I lifted my shirt, pushing it up to expose the skin under my palm, stretching my fingers across my stomach as far as they could go.
I remembered being in elementary school and making a plaster case of my hand for Renee, pressing my little hand firmly into the white much before extracting it and letting it solidify in the window of the classroom. The teacher had helped us paint our names on them, and I ran home and gave it to her for mother's day. My hand in the plaster had made the same pattern as the bruises across my stomach. The same spacing, the same shape…
It was a handprint.
A handprint made by fingers much longer and more elegant than my own.
A handprint formed when someone pushed me out of the way.
Edward Cullen saved my life… and then he branded me.
I laughed quietly to myself for a moment, and then I wondered why I found it funny.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Someone poked me in the arm. Once, twice, then again. Poke. Poke. Poke.
"Bella, wake up," insisted a voice that definitely wasn't Charlie's. "Wake up."
I opened my eyes, wondering how anyone could have the audacity to wake me up from my nap on a day like today. As soon as I realized who it was, I wished I had kept my eyes shut.
"Jessica, go away." I emphatically clamped my eyes closed and turned my head to the wall, away from her.
"Oh good, you're up," she chirped, dropping onto the bed next to me and dumping the papers in her hand onto the floor. "I brought your homework." She gestured down.
"Great, Jess. Go away."
"But you have to tell me what happened. Tell me everything. I was in the office arguing with Mrs. Cope so I missed the whole thing. Come on, Bella. I was so worried about you."
Bullshit. If she was worried, she would've let me sleep.
"Tyler spun out and hit my truck. I sprained my ankle. My truck survived. The end."
"Bella," she whined. "I heard that already. Tell me the details."
"Just tell me what you want me to say, Jessica, so I can go back to sleep."
"I heard Edward Cullen was with you. I heard they found you with him by your truck."
Shit. Of course she'd heard that.
"Yeah," I said, not giving anything away.
"I heard he saved you," she said, leaning in closer to me, her eyelashes fluttering excitedly.
Why couldn't Angela have brought my homework?
"He… pushed me out of the way, yes," I agreed, trying to keep my expression passive.
"He pushed you out of the way," she breathed, pretending to swoon. "Bella, that's amazing. Edward Cullen touched you. I would've died."
I looked at her sharply and she made a face, realizing the stupidity of what she'd just said. If there's one thing Jessica Stanley's good at, though, it's bouncing back.
"Who told you what happened, anyway?"
"Mike did," she said simply, shrugging her shoulders. "But everyone was talking about it. They even brought in a grief counselor. I think I might see him tomorrow. It was such an upsetting day."
"Jessica, you didn't even see the accident."
"But I was so worried."
"Sure, Jess."
"I was. You have no idea, Bella. I had the worst day."
"Yeah, mine wasn't so great either," I muttered, not bothering to conceal my annoyance anymore. This girl brought self-centered to a whole new level.
"Anyway, nobody could get Edward to talk, so of course I wanted to hear it from you," Jessica continued, ignoring my snarky remark.
"Edward?" I asked, curious now.
"He came back from the hospital around fourth period, but he wouldn't talk to anyone. Just his family. Not that that's different for him, but still. People wanted to know…"
"Well, what did you expect him to do, Jess? Cry on your shoulder during lunch?"
"It's just… we all wanted to know what happened. He should have talked about it with someone. I even asked him in the hallway between classes if he was alright, and he just walked away from me."
"Well, he was fine. Not a scratch on him," I sighed. I'd sort of been hoping he would've told people what had happened out there. I wanted to know his story so I could tailor mine to match.
"So everyone saw… still," Jessica was clearly frustrated at his silence. Gossip was so much more fun when you had two sides to the story. She looked out my window in consternation for a moment, before remembering something and perking up again. "Lauren wanted to know if you saw Tyler in the hospital."
"Yeah, I did," I responded, happier with this line of questioning.
I described every detail of his injuries to her, along with my brief conversation with him in the hospital, leaving out the bit at the end when Charlie blew up at him. She drank in every word, asked no questions, and texted Lauren at the end of my story. Twice.
She stayed a little while longer, updating me on what I'd missed in class, and telling me that I could probably get away with academic murder for the next couple of weeks, and if she was me, she'd milk this for all it was worth.
"I wouldn't even bother with those," she said, gesturing to the papers that she had dumped on my floor. "Just tell everyone you're too upset or in pain or something to do school work right now."
What a nice girl.
"I'll keep that in mind, Jess," I said, propping myself up on my elbows. "Anyway, I'm really, really tired. Thanks for bringing that stuff by for me."
She smiled warmly at me, rising off of my bed and smoothing her hair with her hand.
"Anytime, Bella. I'm just so glad you're ok."
"Thanks, Jess. I'm fine. I'll talk to you later."
She nodded to me and let herself out, closing the door behind her.
She hadn't inquired about my health once.
A/N: That felt awkward. Whatever. Hope nobody minds the bruises. I never thought it made sense that, if Edward was acting purely on impulse when he crossed the lot to save her, he treated her like an egg in the process. Besides, I plan on many more bruises in the future… the fun kind. ;)
Review, please. No lemons till I get 20 comments. You know the rules. Get cracking, kids.
