A/N Okay, you guys have been completely amazing. And I feel like such a jerk for not writing. I have been writing this chapter for the last four days. I am so sorry. I have been really busy that I couldn't take time for you guys. Sorry sorry sorry. Please please please tell me that you forgive me.
I do not own Twilight. But I do own Dr. Marshall. I love her, somehow.
"We would like to check a patient in, Debbie." The woman in back of the desk looked a little looked taken aback.
Though, she looked even more taken aback by my response. "No, we do not want to check a patient in."
Edward was made to stay in the waiting room, while Carlisle and the nurse, Debbie, escorted me into an examination room. This was the examination room that I have never been in. All the drawers were locked. The counters, which were usually filled with a lot of different examination utensils, were completely bare.
Once we got to the door, the nurse turned to Carlisle. She has a smile on her face that was a lot more than pleasant. "It's your day off. Do you want me to get Doctor Snow to come in here and take care of her?"
Carlisle shook his head, making his blonde hair shuffle around his head. "No, I'm going to be working today. I promised her that I would take care of her."
Without another word, the nurse swept her little behind of the room. She closed the door soundlessly behind her. I stood in front of the ugly orange bed that they made you lie on, but there is always a thin piece of paper in between the patient and the bed. I gave Carlisle a bored look. Like one of those types of looks when someone asks you the same question day after day.
Carlisle swept one hand toward the bed, indicating that I have to get up there. When I did not move, all he did was sigh and, thankfully, made no move to lift me up there himself. I do not know what he was waiting for me to do, but he stared at me for about ten seconds, with no particular expression on his face. He looked at me almost like he was bored.
When he figured out that I was not going to cooperate with him even if he acted like he had all day, he spoke. "This act you are putting up will not get you anywhere, Bella. I'm sorry, but if you want to get out of here you will have to listen to me."
A thought came into my head. It was a thought that could definitely get me out of here in a matter of minutes. "I'm eighteen! I am an adult. I can do whatever I want. You can not make me stay here."
Not wanting to put up with any of his crap, I turned towards the door and started to it. The only problem was, when I passed Carlisle, he grabbed me from around the waist and a second later I was lying down on that crinkly paper. His hands were clasping my wrists to the mat type bed that the crinkly paper did not cover.
"Technically Bella, we are allowed to keep you here for the next seventy two hours as long as a psychologist recommends it. Then, if you still do not agree to treatment within that time period we are allowed to keep you for another two weeks. Above that, you can still be kept for basically the rest of your life if you do not agree to treatment when it gets taken to court." Carlisle did not say his little textbook speech as a threat but more as an explanation. I knew that the last thing he wanted to do in this type of situation is to hurt my feelings. Carlisle is essentially a kind person, and I know that he did care for me a lot.
I shut my eyes as soon as I felt tears start to appear, the last thing I wanted was to show any sign of weakness. I needed to get of here. I needed a razor. I just really needed to have this feeling go away. The only thing I knew that could help me would have to be the razors. When no one was there for me, they were.
My breathing became more rapid as I thought about how much I needed to get out of there and find my little instruments that give me joy. Carlisle must have noticed because he removed his hands from wrists and placed them on my shoulders. He sat me up and pushed both of my legs over the edge.
"Breathe, Bella. Take deep calming breaths. In and out." He started to breathe like a woman in labor. In and out. I mimicked him, without the unnecessary noises he decided to add. What freaked me out the most was the concern in his eyes. He did not even look this concerned when Jasper tried to attack me on my birthday. Of course, back then he knew that he could fix it.
When my breathing became more even, though it was still shallow, he took his hands off of my shoulders. "Bella, before I check out your arms, I am going to get a psychologist in here. She needs to see you before I do anything."
I didn't look at him. I just had a panic attack right in front of him, and he thought it was because I was scared or nervous. And then, he had to see me like that. He had to see me loose control. "I don't need to see anyone. Please, Carlisle, just let me go home."
I felt a hand on the back of my head. Suddenly, for the first time, Carlisle kissed my forehead. "Bella, I swear to God I would not be doing this if I did not think that it is absolutely necessary."
He smoothed out my hair and turned away. There was a tan phone right near the door that he picked up. He dialed the couple of numbers, and put the receiver to his ear. "Hello … can I please have a psychologist down in room A227 … This is Dr. Cullen …" He sighed, "Yes, I aware that today is my day off … Yes, I am aware I am not going to get paid for this … Can you please just get a psychologist down here? … Five minutes is fine … Thanks."
Carlisle turned around to face me. "Bella, a psychologist is going to be down here in a few minutes, but right now I need you to get changed."
"What do I have to get changed into? I didn't bring anything with me. If you remember, we left in kind of a rush." My voice was back to its monotone sarcastic tone.
Instead of answering me, he walked to one of the cabinets that were under the weird mat type mattress. Getting down on one knee, he stuck a hand into his pocket and pulled out a ring of about fifteen keys. He grabbed a silver key with a 0 on it and put it into the lock above the cabinet. When he opened it, he pulled out a light blue shirt and light blue pants.
With a sad smile, Carlisle explained what he was holding. "These are what you are going to be wearing for the time you stay here. You will be supplied with plain white cotton slippers. Now, why don't you get changed? I'm not allowed to leave the room, but I will turn around."
With that said, he threw the clothes next to me, and turned around. I stared at his back for a few seconds, not really fully comfortable with even stripping down to my underwear in the same room with any guy.
Seeing as I really had no choice, I stripped my clothes and put on the clothes that were provided to me. The reminded me of the clothes that nurses wear, scrubs, but they were thinner and had no strings or pockets. The hospital itself was cold, and I guess they were going to take my shoes away from me, so my feet were going to be cold.
Carlisle turned around before I even told him it was alright. It was kind of disturbing to know that he was hearing me get changed. "Okay, you know that the psychologist is going to come here and question you on subjects that may be hard to talk about?"
"I never actually agreed to talk to the psychologist." I gave him a bored look, though in the inside I was truly steaming. What was I going to talk about? My feelings? I do not have any overbearing feelings that I can not handle. I handle them just fine.
"You really do not have a choice in the matter. I'm sorry, Bella." He started towards the door a second before there was knock on the door. A chubby black lady in her forties entered. She had on six rings that looked too small for her fingers, and was wearing a spring scarf with flowers on it. The suit she was wearing was being strained around the button. She was the type of woman that you would expect to be a teacher and for the student to make fun of endlessly.
"Hello, I am Doctor Marshall." She smiled and walked towards me with one of her hands, welcoming me to shake it.
Should I give her what she wants if she will probably make me stay here, because of the Cullen's influences? Will it make me look psychotic if I did not shake her hand? I shook her hand, but did not return her smile. There, nothing she can analyze from that.
She turned to Carlisle and smiled at him. "Why did you want me to see Isabella?"
Great, they were talking about me like I was not here. I know I should've said something, but I was not about to give anything for her to psychoanalyze.
"Bella, here, has been cutting her wrists for a few months. By the look of the scars, I would have to say from at least late November to early December. It is hard to tell with these kinds of things. She fails to see anything wrong and thinks she can handle it, when circumstances have arisen that proved her wrong."
What circumstances? I can handle it! I have been handling it for months. Should I say something to set Dr. Marshall right? Would it be worth it? Would it be worth it if I did not? I put on my best smile. "I am perfectly able to take care of myself, Dr. Marshall. Please do not think I can not handle these kinds of situations. I know what I am doing, and I am perfectly safe while doing it."
Marshall looked at me for a few seconds. It was strange how she looked at me. It was like she was trying to see the real me, similar to the way Edward looks at me when he tries to look into my silent mind. When she let up with her gazing, she gave me a small smile. "Are you of age, Isabella?"
"Yes, I have been eighteen for more than six months now." Maybe she did not know of the law that Carlisle told me about. The one where if a psychologist recommends you stay in the hospital, they can keep you.
"Isabella, I can tell right now that you will need my help. You are failing to see the danger from the situation. I would like to talk to you and then I'll make my final decision, if that's alright with you?" She had a phony smile pasted on her face. And I could tell that they would still keep me even if it was not alright with me.
She was waiting for my answer. I could tell that. Am I supposed to say that it was alright with me? Because it definitely was not alright with me. I just got Edward back and now they are locking me up here. Why don't they just lock me up in the loony bin? Best stay quiet and act like the question she asked me was rhetorical.
A few moments, until she decided that I was not going to give an answer, she turned to Carlisle. "You already knew she was going to have to stay here for a few days? I'm confused, how much do you know about Isabella?"
"Bella is my son's girlfriend and my daughter's best friend. She also has a great relationship with the rest of my family. I had a talk with Bella's father and he said that if I think it is absolutely necessary for her to get better, I would bring her in. I do not think I saw the extremity of the situation until she cut herself with a CD."
"Thank you, Dr. Cullen. Do you mind if I talk to Isabella now?" She patted his shoulder and escorted him to the door.
He looked back at me with desperate apparent in his eyes. What came out of his mouth next surprised me. I was expecting some sort of apology, but it wasn't even directed to me. At least it did give me a smile. "She does not like to be called Isabella. Please call her Bella."
The psychologist closed the door in his face. She turned her back towards the door and gave me a small smile. "I do not understand him. He has all the nurses falling at his feet, but he always chooses to ignore it. He doesn't even get a little soaked up in the attention."
I could tell that she was trying to make small talk. Though, it was not going to well for her. That was just not something I needed to know about Carlisle. I just stared at her. Well, here we go. I'm going to have to talk to a psychologist who thinks she knows so much about me. She thinks she know what I went through we Edward left. She thinks she knows what it's like to be in love the way I am in love. Well, here we go to fond out what it is like to have someone dive into your life and thinks they understand it all.
"Why aren't you talking, Isabella?" She sat down in one of the chairs that were by the window. "Is there any way I can make you more comfortable? I understand how scared you must be."
"Yeah … umm …. Actually, I liked to be called Bella, not Isabella." I requested.
She gave me this small smile. Her red lipstick was not even spread evenly on her lips. "I'm sorry; I can not call you Bella."
I gave her a confused look. "Why not?" It is kind of simple to call someone their name.
"If you do not respect yourself, how can you think anyone else will respect you? Hurting yourself under any circumstance is disrespectful, unless it is a life or death situation." She picked up a file I didn't even notice she had. "You have had quite a few trips to the emergency room. Please tell me the truth, Isabella, are you being abused by your boyfriend or parents?"
I restrained from rolling my eyes. "No, I don't. I just fall a lot. If you don't believe me, you can ask Carlisle." Then a thought hit me. "And I do respect myself. Cutting myself is a way to tell myself that I do respect myself."
Dr. Marshall looked me in the eye; a mask seemed to take the place of the smile. "Then, why don't you, well I don't know, masturbate? That is welcomed in society in more than cutting. It is also a way to make yourself feel good, it is easier to hide, and people understand it more if you want to talk about it."
What am I supposed to do? Tell this woman that I masturbate? That would be plain stupid and unnecessary. I know that she is saying that there are other reasons I cut myself than just to make myself feel good. That is mainly the reason though.
"I cut myself because it helps me stay me. A few months ago I was really depressed. It helped me stay myself and not go deeper into the depression. I haven't made a mistake yet. And I am an expert at doing it right. I'm perfectly fine with how I am now, Dr. Marshall. I am perfectly happy."
"If you are perfectly happy, then why do you need to use – what do you use, Isabella?" She asked me. Why the hell did she need to know that? Well, at least she can not think I am weird from what I use. Razors are completely normal.
When I told her what I used, she reached into the file and pulled out a piece of paper. She went into her alligator styled purse and pulled out a pen. Eh! She's going to start to take notes. "Why did you use a CD, like Dr. Cullen said you did, Isabella?"
Geez! Not even my mom calls me Isabella. She has to stop that before it drives me mad. I need to calm down. I really need a razor. If I can just get my hand one of those, I will be alright. "They took away my razors. They thought it would be a good idea if I can not make myself feel good. They thought that they were doing the right thing."
"So you agree that you need razors to make yourself feel good?" She looked me in the eye. "Do you need razors to make you feel like everything is okay, Isabella?"
I thought about what she said for a moment. "I need them to make me feel like myself. They distract me from the rest of the world. They make me feel better that way."
"So, Isabella, what you are basically saying is that when things get to tough for you, you cut yourself for an escape. Is that correct?" She put her pen down and looked up at me, her crooked eyebrows raised.
"I – I don't know. Maybe? No. Do you know how some people vent to people to make them feel better? Well, I did not have anyone I could truly vent to, so sort of vented to myself. Does that make any sense?" I asked her more as a rhetorical question than anything else.
"Not really." She jotted down a note on her paper. "Dr. Cullen and his family left, and came back. That is what caused your depression, correct?" I was about to respond, but she never gave me the chance. "And then you cut yourself as a way to get out suppressed emotions. But they are back now, why do you keep doing it? Shouldn't you be fine now, Isabella?"
"I told you, it is the perfect way to get me to be myself again." I thought about it for another moment. "There are also things that I need to keep to myself and can not tell my boyfriend. That's what I go to. I do not see what is wrong with that."
Dr. Marshall was quiet for a few moments. "I'm going to phone Carlisle down here."
Dr. Marshall got up off of the chair and picked up the phone. One of her chubby fingers that held the too small rings pressed one of the buttons off to the side. Dr. Marshall's voice came out of her mouth, into the phone, and out of the intercom. "Can I please have Dr. Cullen to room A227. Dr. Cullen to room A227."
A second later, Carlisle walked through the door. "I was just waiting outside. It is my day off after all."
Dr. Marshall looked at Carlisle. "I have decided that Isabella is going to be staying here. If she does not agree to treatment in the next seventy two hours, than we will keep her for another two weeks, and see what to do from there."
A/N Okay. That's all until next time.