I do not own Twilight.
Bella
"So, you're sure there is nothing to add to the list?" Diana asked me for the fourth time that morning as we sit down on the bus.
"Yes, I am sure. I even triple checked the kitchen." She is going to the store after her classes today. "You checked the cleaning supplies, then got me to check you got everything needed listed. We checked that website online for common items forgotten. Relax!"
It's now the middle of October, two weeks after the party incident and trip out with Emmett. It had taken a few days for Diana to start relaxing around me again, and lots of reassurances that the Cullen's wouldn't show up on the doorstep, but she had finally managed to. We had settled back into our comfortable routine, mostly.
"Well, you aren't always the best for memory," she says awkwardly. "We don't want to miss this opportunity!" Her parents were visiting for a few days and had offered to pay for a grocery shop and to provide transportation.
"It's all on there, just tick it along as you go." I try to reassure her. For some reason, she had been overly on edge since her parents arrived.
It was strange, they seemed like nice people from her description. She never brought them to the flat when I was there though. Either met them elsewhere or waited until I left. I was a bit put out, but then would I want her meeting Charlie and Jake? All the embarrassing stories would likely come out.
"Right, and you won't be back till gone 6?" She asked me again awkwardly.
"Well, my appointment is 4:30 and the letter said it lasts an hour. Add on hospital waiting time and travel, about then."
"Promise to phone me if anything changes?"
I nod and pat my pocket. "Relax, everything will be fine. Did you finish your art piece for today's submission?"
She had been struggling to focus on the needed abstract piece needed. She'd drawn lots of basic sketches, but any time it came to developing them she became stuck. I'd come in many times to her coursework on the floor and a new sketch pad in hand, working on something I wasn't allowed to see.
I'd come to respect her requirements about this book, however strange it was. She is perfectly happy for me to look through any of her college work, and it is incredible work too. Detailed, realistic works seemed to leap out of the page. Her use of pencils, both graphite and colored, is incredible. She is good with other mediums too, but there isn't quite the same life or energy. Her private sketch pad though is off limits.
"I have something to hand in." She mumbled, suddenly becoming very interested in something out of the window.
"That means you cobbled it together this morning without much attention right." I take the lack of response and confirmation and smile. "You are incredible, I'm sure it will be fine."
"I guess, I just don't like working in the abstract. I know the theory; you need to make the viewer think and take their own conclusions, but that just feels wrong. Art should convey a specific meaning and idea, just like the written word does. It should take them on a journey and inform them of something important. It needs to be relatable."
"I understand, you know I feel the same about books and poetry. I just don't click with it in the same way." The bus pulled to a stop and we both stood to leave. "So, what did you decide on in the end?"
Her face twisted up into a grimace, "I'd say a cabbage leaf."
"Come on," I say slapping her arm gently, "What did you do?"
"Well, it is meant to be a depiction of social media and how it could affect our lives in the future, but it's sort of complex to explain. It compares the actual fact someone sees, to the way the internet shares that fact and then how our brain depicts the second-hand information."
I smile, knowing that she must have put more effort and thought into it than she is letting on. Something I had learnt about Diana is that, just like me, she hates to be the centre of attention and hates praise even more. "Sounds great. You'll have to let me know how it goes."
Just as we are reaching the front doors, two huge hands cover my eyes.
"Guess who."
Really, who else would it be? "Hello Emmett," I say unamused.
"Leave her alone," a melodic voice scolds. "Hello Bella, how are you?"
It's Rosalie. Since meeting back up with them, she'd been nice to me, but I still didn't know where I stood. It was a bit awkward. "I'm good."
"I'm glad to hear that."
We lapse into an uncomfortable silence which Emmett, smirking, was oblivious to. "I have to go, we were just…" I turn to see that Diana has disappeared. "Where'd she go?"
"She's walking down there," Emmett helpfully comments pointing down a hallway. "Moving with some far speed too. I ain't that scary am I Rosie?"
"It's not you," I answer quickly, "She doesn't really like people, don't take it personally. I've got to go, bye."
I'm so busy hurrying away, that I miss the look they share.
Obviously, I'm unable to catch up with her, so I'm thankful when she stops just before the corner. Panting slightly from the effort of my brisk hobble, I put my hand on the wall to steady myself.
"You didn't need to run off like that, I had no idea where you'd gone."
She shrugs slightly, "I just don't want to be around people like that. See you tonight." She walks off before I have chance to question her meaning.
"Bye then," I say to no one.
Slowly, having fatigued myself in the chase, I make may way to my first class of the day; Composition.
I always enjoy these lessons. Today the session is three hours long, which is far longer than I am able to concentrate for, but the teacher is amazing. Gary is an older man with the energy of a toddler, the wisdom of a grandpa and the looks of a young man. It's incredible!
As usual, the session starts with each of us sharing some of our work we had been developing. The criticisms are always fair, constructive and useful. The focus at the moment was fiction. We are developing short stories or novelettes in our choice of genre. Between us we had a mixture. Some were predictable, like Adam doing horror and Alex doing a comedy, but most had chosen to push themselves and try something new. I am working on a suspense romance.
I wish I had chosen something that I knew before, Gary makes us work for every single word. We have to ensure that every word conveys the correct message, in the correct tone and the right sound. He questions everything! Why have you chosen for the character to react that way? What would happen if you change shocked to agitated? How many other ways could you say this, and have you chosen the right method?
It's hard work, especially with your mind elsewhere.
Finally, the interrogation is over and we set to work building our stories. Today we are focusing specifically on editing our drafts. A skill that I was becoming more proficient in thankfully. In Gary's mind, we had to cut at least ten percent from our first draft in order for it to be a success. Which means, I need to find at least 4,000 unnecessary words to cut.
I don't manage to complete the task, but by the end of the session I have managed to reduce a third of my work. I'd had a long discussion with Gary over the language in a specific sentence which had been illuminating.
Stopping by the coffee shop, I brought a hot chocolate to warm me up. I wonder briefly if I am starting to come down with something. I'd getting progressively cooler all morning, to the point I was now starting to shiver slightly.
I contemplated bunking off class for the rest of the day, but it didn't feel right. I wasn't actually ill, yet. Besides, it wasn't worth curling up in bed only to have to drag myself back out again later.
Cradling the cup carefully in my hand, I inhaled the sweet smell. It reminded me of bonfires at the beach with Jake. I missed them. The phone calls had tapered off more now, and I was looking forward to seeing them for Thanksgiving. They had been getting annoyed with my short, evasive answers. I knew they thought I was hiding something to do with how well I am coping here. I'd had to talk them out of visiting multiple times. Not only could they not afford it but if they came here, they would find out about the Cullen's. That was a definite no.
That got me thinking about the Cullen's. How do I feel? I'm loving having them back in my life, but it feels strange. Alice is avoiding me, though I'm not sure why. Maybe she's waiting for me to contact her? It just never feels like the right time. Now is definitely not the right time, not if I am getting sick, she's just far too energetic. Though, from what I had seen she has lost her previous spark.
Mentally I filed that fact for later.
Sighing, I realised that I would need to move soon in order to get to class on time. It's only business, so it shouldn't be too taxing, just listening to a teacher ramble on about something or other for an hour. I can catch it on my audio tape and focus on it properly later.
Having decided on a plan of action, I finally heave myself up and drag myself to class.
Rachael is talking about marketing. It's an interesting subject, but I only managed to focus for twenty minuets before my mind started to switch off. By the end of the hour I am surprised I don't have to scrape it off the floor with the amount it melted.
Walking out to the bus stop, I check my phone briefly. There aren't any messages, not that I had expected any.
The bus doesn't take long to arrive, but I am feeling so rough that it feels like it takes forever. I must remember to wrap up warm before I leave later.
When I get home, I load my laptop up. There is only an hour or so before I need to leave, but I'm hoping to get at least a small amount of work done. Sitting with another hot drink and some Tylenol, I get to work.
I shouldn't have bothered. All I managed to achieve was my name at the top of the page. Damn cold is getting worse too; I'd had to get the tissue box when my nose started running. With one final disheartened look at the computer I close it and start preparing to leave.
Packing my bag, ensuing I have spare meds and a snack, I set off. I haven't been to this hospital in person before, only spoken to the staff on the phone, so I am ensuring I have enough time to find my way around.
The bus journey was fairly quick, with only one change along the way, so I was incredibly grateful. The Tylenol hadn't worked like I hoped it would and my headache is started to get worse. Luckily the driver recognized me. I'd forgotten to tell him which stop I wanted so he had asked after I paid, so I was able to get off at the right place.
So, here I am, trying to navigate the hospitals many hallways. The map the receptionist had provided is next to useless. Resigning myself to the fact that finding the neurology department alone would be impossible, I walked onto the nearest ward.
"Excuse me, I'm lost, do you think you could help me please?" I asked the first person I met, a lovely young nurse.
She was very helpful. She took me directly to the correct place, never once complaining about my pace, and showed me where to sign in.
"Isabella Swan," I said to the man behind the desk.
He types on a computer for a short while and then replied, "There have been some delays. You will need to wait." Could he be any shorter with me?
"Do you know how long please? So, I can let my friend know."
"No," he snapped gesturing for me to move out of the way for the next person. Frustrated, I do so. I'm not in the mood for dealing with people today or sitting for whoever knows how long waiting for an appointment on rock hard chairs.
Grumbling to myself as I do so, I sit down and pull out the snack I'd brought with me. I had no appetite, but I hadn't eaten anything solid since breakfast.
I'd barely opened the packet when a voice echoed through the room, "No eating, can't you read the sign." Part of me really wants to snap back at him that I can't in fact read the sign, but I know it won't do me any good so I simply put it in my bag and pull out my earphones.
Wuthering heights was the only book currently available on my phone, the others were on my phone due to the limited memory, but it was one I could happily listen to anywhere. Leaving one earphone out, so as not to miss them calling me, I relaxed and listened.
Half an hour after my appointment had been scheduled, I had gone to the desk to ask if they knew how long the delay was. The grumpy man was still there and unable to give any helpful information.
Appointment delayed, not sure how long. Be back when I can. B
I had sent off to Diana so she wouldn't worry.
Another half an hour later I was starting to worry. I slipped out of the waiting room briefly, having told the desk I was popping to the loo, and at the snack. My cold is getting worse and the lack of energy isn't helping.
Almost two hours after my appointment had been due, I was finally called in.
"Miss Swan," a female voice said.
I stand up and raise my hand slightly, hoping she will realize that amongst the small crowd of people I can't identify her. I'm glad that she has read my file and knows that I will need the extra help.
She walks to within a few feet of me and says, "Are you alright to follow me?"
I nod to her and we make our way down one of the winding hallways.
The room is smells sterile. There is a cold hard bed in the center which I am directed to sit on. I answer the general questions, giving them an approximate update on how everything is going and provide them with my seizure diary. I'd written down most of them, sometimes they are so short and insignificant that I don't bother even though I know I should. I just don't want everyone freaking out and trying to make me leave.
"Everything is in order, we are going to go ahead with the EEG now. I see from your notes you have had one before, is that right?" I nod. "Great, let's get started."
An EEG is not a pleasant experience at the best of times, let alone when sick. The painstaking precision application of electrodes being glued to my head is followed by a tight cap which is always itchy and uncomfortable. I try not to think about having them removed later on.
The test lasts around half an hour, during which time I try to relax and remain as still as possible. Not moving is hard, especially when my throat starts to tickle. The worst part is the flashing lights. Just like last time it makes me throw up.
Fighting back tears, I wipe my mouth as the technician starts to remove the electrodes. They remove most of the glue and I know that I will be able to get the rest out in the shower.
"Thank you. You've got an appointment arranged for the results?"
"Yes," I mutter weakly, trying not to jostle my stomach.
"Alright then, when you are ready, you're free to leave."
Mumbling my thanks, I make my way back to the waiting area. Sitting back on one of the hard chairs, I pull my phone out to let Diana know I will be leaving soon. To my despair, I realize that I had left the story playing and the battery is completely flat.
Approaching the desk hesitantly, I say, "Sorry, is there a phone I could use please?"
"No."
Why does he need to be so unhelpful, surely somewhere in this hospital there must be a phone I could use, but without help I am more likely to get lost than find one. Sighing, I start to walk out of the building.
I'm feeling incredibly rough, all I want right now is my bed and possibly some soup.
The exit is easier to find than the ward. The bright red exit signs help me find the way. I've left by a different door, so I am slightly disorientated when I get out, but somehow, I manage to make it to the bus stop.
It's dark now, without my phone I don't know what the time is so I had to hope that there would be another bus coming.
A long while later, someone sits next to me. "There isn't another bus tonight." It's Carlisle, he must have been working tonight. "Would you like a ride?"
Overwhelmed with the day's events, I nod and he offers me his arm.
"Let's get you home."
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