I couldn't even remember the ambulance coming to the house. I couldn't remember them guide me into the ambulance in their bright colored suits. I couldn't remember anything. Not until I got to the hospital.

My face turned towards the tiled ceiling, I sighed quietly. Here I was again – my own personal hell. No matter how hard I tried, it was impossible to not end up in the hospital.

I heard Emmett distantly in the background talking to a nurse about how long the brain scan would be, but I was more focused on the ceiling. I never did like coming to the hospital.

"Emmett," I whispered quietly, and he was instantly back at my side, stroking my face with his huge but soft hands.

"Baby, I'm here." He whispered, leaning over me so I could stare into his gentle eyes.

I laughed at him softly. "You're purple." I accused softly, raising an eyebrow at him.

He looked down at me with a look of confusion and concern and shook his head to the side once and then back. "Um…no, I'm not purple."

"Yes you are." I resorted. "Polka dot purple!"

Carlisle appeared at my other side then, reaching over to feel my head. I winced as his cool fingers brushed over the wounds. "If that nurse doesn't hurry up, I'm going to diagnose her myself." He grumbled.

Emmett bobbed his head in agreement. "She's confused, hallucinating. Did she hit her head?"

Carlisle was silent for a few moments. "I didn't notice, but I believe she may have hit her head whilst you pulled her back from the window – the force of gravity pulling her the other direction."

"Makes sense." Emmett said. "I was quite rough." He looked down at me apologetically.

"This is why we need this scan. We need to determine whether she's had serious damage to her head, or if this is the effects of her illness." Carlisle nodded to himself, turning on his heel and leaving the small room.

Emmett reached down and brushed the lose hair out of my face with tender strokes.

"Emmett." I looked up at the boy before me, not recognizing much of him at all. His eyes seemed red to me, his skin purple, yellow marks scattered everywhere. "Why do you look funny?"

"Oh Rose." He murmured. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I just wanted to protect you and keep you safe. You were going to jump out of the window! I didn't want you to die."

His words all mashed together and I had no clue what he was on about. He looked so lost, so broken, and my entire world just looked funny. What was happening to me?

A nurse had entered the small room some time ago to stitch up a couple of the wounds in my head and I remember the chaos when I arrived at the hospital. A team of doctors and nurses swarmed me; hands were everywhere, machines beeping furiously, the voices in my head screaming for an end to it all. I was a mess.

Emmett's face started to blur in my vision and my fingers and toes started turning an ice cold. I grumbled inaudibly to try and alert Emmett that something was wrong but my efforts went unnoticed. My chest began to frantically rise and fall, my entire frame jolting with the erratic movements.

"Rosalie!" Emmett screamed. His voice sounded like I was under a huge wave of water and couldn't really hear a thing. I briefly shut my eyes, clenched my limbs deeply to try and get air into my lungs.

Emmett's fingers hooked around my chin and brought it up towards the ceiling. They fumbled for the pulse in my neck and I felt the other hand on my bare chest, needing to feel that it was rising and falling.

Another hand was there then and a flashlight was shone into my eyes. "Rosalie?" This was Carlisle's voice. I knew that voice. "Rosalie, I need you to find your breath."

Once again, I was extremely confused and didn't understand how or why I needed to find my breath. What did that even mean?

After a few long seconds, Emmett's fingers tightened around my chin and his other hand curved to cup the back of my neck. He held my head completely stationary as I felt something cover my nose and mouth. Air instantly filled my lungs and in complete exhaustion, I closed my eyes and turned myself off.

Emmett

Rosalie thinking I was purple was wholly alarming. There was no indication from the events in our room that any serious damage apart from the external cuts had happened to her head. The cuts were deep but minor and had no reason to leave any confusion or brain damage to Rosalie, yet she was barely recognizing anyone around her and was hallucinating the most awful things.

My concern was maximum for her as everything that came her way was unique. Unlike my other patients, Rosalie was schizophrenic. I had no proposal if this had anything to do with her current confused state but I knew she was urgently in need of the brain scan to rule out any serious damage.

Rosalie's focus on my face noticeably began to weaken and I leaned closer to her to get a better look. Her tearful eyes started to turn glassy and the smallest sound escaped her lips. As I reached for her ice cold hand, her exposed chest started to increasingly rise in movement and furiously drop back down. Her limbs curled into tight spasms as though she was trying to reject the symptoms happening to her body. "Rosalie?"

With no response, I was forced to react in the only way I could. Her lips were starting to turn blue so I lightly parted them with my thumb and brought my two fingers to the tip of her chin to allow the airway more access for air. Air was passing through her airway, that much was obviously, but it was coming in too fast and the body was reacting frantic. The pulse in her neck was weak but rapid, a clear sign that something was wrong, and the movements of her chest were jostling my entire lower arm. "Carlisle!" I screeched, praying he wasn't too far away from the scene to intervene.

He was there in an instance, his face going into doctor mode the minute he saw Rosalie's struggling form. "Okay," He murmured to himself, moving up to her head and shining his pen-light into both her eyes to check her pupils. He shook his head in an act of concern. "She needs a brain scan immediately after her breathing stabilizes. I don't like where this going. Rosalie? I need you to find your breath. Breathe for me, Rosalie."

Carlisle tried to guide her breathing for a couple of seconds but her heart rate continued to soar and we needed to intercede. Carlisle kept a hand on the top of Rosalie's head to keep it positioned as I attached oxygen whilst cupping the back of her neck. The air flowed into her lungs, causing her chest cavity to rise completely off the bed. Gasping noises released out of her blue, swollen lips and although this was still dangerous, I breathed a sigh of relief that the oxygen was working a little. "Do you want to put a tube in?" I asked Carlisle, looking away from the monitors for a few seconds to look at his expression.

He stood to the side, his hand back to Rosalie's chest as he counted her breaths. Her eyes had rolled into the back of her head and I wasn't sure if she was still aware. "No, I need to see her breathing on her own. Completely taking over the breathing may cause more damage at the moment. Increase the oxygen and we'll take her straight down to the scan." He informed the nurse of his decision and I silently begged that Rosalie's breathing would soon stabilize.

I increased the oxygen, watching my girl's sweet, innocent face as the air rapidly pushed itself through her body and forced her organs to work. The efforts seemed poor, but I knew that any amount of oxygen going in was a good sign, and the fact that her chest was rising kept me going.

After 15 minutes of intense silence, her chest movements slowed and the colour to her lips was less blue. I attached a low flow oxygen nasal cannula instead of the non-rebreather mask and prepared her for the scan.

I watched her in the scan through the window with Carlisle and the radiology team, afraid that any moment her breathing would stop and we would need to respond to a code blue, but she came out of there in the same state and taken back to the room.

I watched my sleeping angel with a bout of anxiety and extreme exhaustion. Her condition somehow seemed to be in danger although we'd only taken her to hospital in precaution for the minor cuts on her head. In no shape or form was she supposed to be on oxygen supply.

Why did things always have to be worse?