A/N for 2020-08-11: Still with me?

Chayasara is still amazing, still editing this story, and still teaching me new things.

- Erin

Bella had not left the bed, not because Demetri had told her not to, but because what parts of her didn't hurt or ache were simply too exhausted to do anything else. Even so, she couldn't sleep, drained as she was. Her body throbbed painfully against the need to rest.

She watched the moonlight creep across the grooves in the floor, trying to see when one windowpane of light would make that last leap into its neighbouring stone. The progression was so slow as to be almost imperceptible.

When she heard footsteps approaching, she bunched herself up against the headboard. If the footsteps were audible, whoever it was wanted her to know they were coming. If they didn't care if she knew—

Her scream was swallowed in frozen panic when the door thumped open.

"Tend to her," Demetri said, all but shoving Dr. De Luca inside. Demetri flicked on the light before closing the door. The doctor righted himself from the awkward stance Demetri's push had left him in.

"Good evening, signorina, or good morning," he said quietly. His shaky voice was reassuringly human.

Bella couldn't quite find her voice. She nodded.

"I understand you are hurt."

Her throat tightened and she nodded again.

Dr. De Luca gave a tiny sigh, shouldering his bag and moving farther into the room. He set the large case down exactly where he'd set it before.

Bella marvelled that she remembered that. After what had happened, she remembered where he'd put his bag.

"Where are you hurt?"

She recalled where he'd put his bag. Precisely.

"Signorina?"

The overhead light had made the moonlight invisible. This seemed very important.

"Signorina, please." Dr. De Luca's words were a whisper. "I do not wish to displease Signor Stefani."

Bella closed her eyes and found her voice. "I'm hurt inside."

"Where?"

"In-side." The word slid upwards, as if it had lost its footing on the way out. Her hand had slipped out of the covers gesturing to where she was hurt.

"I see." He spoke quietly. "I will need to examine you."

She'd opened her eyes again without really realizing it, staring at her one hand, still clutching the bedclothes, the other pointing. She put both of them back under the covers. She didn't want to be touched. But if she said no, Demetri would very likely take his displeasure out on the man in front of her, and then find another person who would have to touch her.

Dr. De Luca's forehead was creased. She couldn't tell if it was out of concern, fear, or pity, and she didn't care.

She tolerated his touch by breathing through it and pretending it wasn't happening. She did flinch when he reached the aggrieved regions of her body.

"I imagine that is quite painful," he murmured, moving away. "I will need to stitch the wound." The room was loud with the snap of his removing his gloves.

The wound. It was a smile that stretched across her face, and a disbelieving, snorting giggle that came out of her nose.

Still, Dr. De Luca looked at her with that mystifying face. Then he turned and fished through his bag. "Take this, please." He returned with a tiny pill in his hand.

Bella stared, and her laughter petered out.

"Please put this under your tongue." He seemed more sure of himself now. This was an order. She rapidly assessed his physique, his height, his weight. Yes, he could compel her if he wished.

She obeyed.

Then Dr. De Luca seemed to wait, sitting on the edge of the bed. Bella could not tell for what period of time, but eventually he asked, "How are you feeling?"

"Tired," Bella said. A little detached, too. She liked it. "Can I have more of those?"

Dr. De Luca looked down at his hands. He spoke quietly. "Yes, I will leave a prescription for you."

The needle stung. All needles stung. Apparently, all pricks stung, too. Or left holes. Dicks, Bella thought. Men were dicks. Edward had been a dick. Demetri was a total dick.

And she could barely believe she was thinking this. But it was true.

The doctor didn't seem to be much of a dick—"Ow!" She quickly revised her opinion. Another needle sting helped it along.

Already so dulled and exhausted by the trauma of the rape and then the drug, Bella barely noticed when he was done.

"Signorina, you must rest in bed for tomorrow, and then only walk short distances for the next three days. After that, you may begin walking again a little bit more. But you must abstain from intercourse for several weeks. Your body needs time to heal."

Yes, she decided, getting fucked by vampires was bad for your health. The laughter returned, more feeble this time.

"I will remove the stitches in a week. Buona notte, signorina," the doctor called, turning and walking to the door. He put out the light before he went, and to Bella, it felt like the end of the world. She turned back over in the bed and was sucked into a sleep that felt blissfully like death.

- 0 -

There were several vials of pills on her bedside when she awoke the next morning, as were a glass of water, a thermos of coffee, and a basket of pastries. The prescribed medications were in her fake name, instructions on the bottles, printed neatly by hand in English. She ignored the food and coffee and took the pills and then promptly went back to sleep. When the need to urinate forced her from her bed, she did so, wincing as she walked and used the toilet, and then returning to the bed. She was a mass of throbbing bruises in places no one should be bruised. She took the painkillers first and then the blue pills. She decided that they were her favourites, and while she very much desired more of their effect, she could only take so many of them and only sleep so much.

When the light had curved its way out of sight of her room, Demetri appeared by the bed.

His hand brushed over her hair, and though well-drugged, she became fearfully still.

"What makes your heart beat so?" he cooed, the heavy hand repeating its trail down her head.

Was he so obtuse?

"The dottore said you must rest, but you should eat, cara mia. Shall I bring you some different food?" he asked.

"No," she whispered. She didn't want to eat. She didn't want to exist. She closed her eyes, wanting him to go away, wanting to pretend what had happened would never happen again.

But it would happen again, she knew. Her hope of finding a way out was gone. So long as she was human, Demetri could do anything to or with her that he pleased. Even when or if she was turned, she doubted there would be much choice in the matter. A newborn's strength was no guarantee against what the guard's exceptional powers could do. Though she seemed immune now, immortality was no guarantee of immunity then. She'd seen enough of Volturi justice to know what would await her if she refused Aro's will. Aro's will seemed to be Demetri's at the moment.

She shuddered briefly.

And Edward didn't want her. He had actively aided Demetri in all of his efforts. This final betrayal stabbed not just at the habitual hurt in her torso, but at the very will she had to live.

There was no point anymore.

"I am tired," she said. "I'd like to rest."

I'd like to die.

He sighed in displeasure. "Very well. Tomorrow you will eat, though."

"Yes," she said, "tomorrow."

His steps were inaudible, but she knew he was gone by the springing up of the mattress. Her eyes opened, and she studied the ceiling and the window as her gaze drifted from one to the other.

In all her months here, she had hoped for an escape, desperate and unlikely as it was, learning what she could, making connections wherever she thought a hope might be, but now she saw with a brutal clarity that the only escape would be a permanent one, one that took her from her body. Her gaze rolled back towards the bedside table and the many pills. They were enough, she knew, from what she'd found in the Volturi's ugly storage rooms. More than enough.

She would see the sun tomorrow, and she would eat, and she would send what farewells she could to those she loved and to those who didn't love her back. And then she would escape. Permanently.

Tomorrow.

DISCLAIMER: S. Meyer owns Twilight. No copyright infringement intended.