I don't own Twilight. But I do own the rest.
3.
I wake up groggy and delirious. My eyes wander over the cracks in the walls and up to the window - the sun shining in my eyes as I watch the splinters of the vivid dawn.
The door unlocks and John comes in, but he doesn't say anything. For a second I begin to hope he'll just leave. "Let's go."
I throw the covers back and practically skate out of the room, down the hallway. Of course I remember the revelation I had yesterday and it makes me numb. I make my way to the doctor's office and the door swings open before I can even knock. "Come in, Isabella."
I hesitate because something in my head is screaming for me to get away from him...that voice. I know that voice. "Is this a joke, I haven't heard that voice in nine months..." I say, the shock washing away.
"I don't hear any voices, Isabella." The voice in my head snarls and I jump.
From the corner, John steps forward and unzips his pants. Now I know why he's here.
Crying makes one weak, crying is a human weakness - no tears. No tears will stain this mask. I lay in the corner, away from my bed. Far and away from everything.
The weeping sobs bounce off the walls of my brain and I jump up. "Shut up, shut up, shut up! You don't fucking exist - you thought you could come into my life and just disappear into thin air? I'm here because of you! You don't even fucking care - you don't exist!"
I love you...
"Leave me, that's what you do best." A quote comes to me then, 'There are wrongs which even the grave does not bury.'
"Harriet Ann Jacobs," I whisper to myself.
Confetti managed to talk me into invading the kitchen in the middle of the night. "Flashlight!" He barks in a hush. Sighing, I retrieve it from the handbag we snatched from a Janitor's closet earlier. He mumbles something about pickles.
"You think I would come all this way for pickles?" I raise my eyebrow.
"No, because they're mine. Besides, are you telling me you wouldn't go to all this trouble for pickles?"
"I can think of something better, like chocolate."
Blood...
A shiver runs down my spine and I whip around, looking for the person who's talking. "Leave me alone," I sigh angrily.
"Something inside your head?"
"Yeah."
He looks to me, "You have been taking your pills, haven't you?"
"My doctor...he doesn't always give them to me," I answer.
The tone his voice takes is murderous. "He wouldn't give you your meds? I just can't believe there's someone out there filled with that kind of evil."
" 'I keep my ideals, because in spite of everything I still believe that people are really good at heart.'"
"Anne Frank." He whirls back to the lock and I steady my hold on the flashlight as something clicks and the door swings open, revealing the kitchen. God, I miss cooking.
"Really, I don't know what's better than pickles," I laugh as he races to the fridge and opens it.
"Know what you want," he tells me abruptly.
"What?"
"You seem so unsure of yourself, as though you don't know what you want. You should be sure of yourself, confident. You have to be able to take your ideas and put them to action instead of storing all that passion away for nothing. Don't doubt yourself over anything."
"You sound like a motivational speaker, did you come out of some movie or something?" Laughing, I shake my head and decide on toast and scrambled eggs. Heading to the stove I turn the burner on.
" 'Doubt is uncomfortable, certainty is ridiculous.' "
"Voltaire. 'Our distrust is very expensive."
"Emerson - although he hardly counts, all he talked about was how pretty the woods are," I argue.
"There is some truth in beauty," Confetti replies.
I'll believe that when I see it.
