i
JACOB HAD EXPECTED HIS DAY to go differently than it had. If anyone had asked him the moment he woke up, "What's going to happen today? What are you going to do?" his answer would have been bland. He would have answered that he'd probably go to school, although not definitely because he hated it, and he wanted to just be done. (There were days when he skipped to work on cars because at least that brought money home). He would not have said homework, because it was boring, and he didn't get a ton of it anyway. He might have said "I'll maybe see Bella," but that wouldn't have been the way he did.
Jacob was surprised to get to see Bella, but it wasn't in the usual happy way. He loved seeing Bella, it was one of his favorite things. Seeing Bella hurt, was not. He didn't like pain and Bella mixed.
When his father was on the porch as Jacob walked across their yard getting home, he didn't think of it much. When Jacob caught the look on his father's face, (it was the passive stare that showed he was trying to be emotionless, to be strong- the one he pulled in front of his kids when Sarah had passed), he immediately thought the worst.
"Dad! What's wrong?" Jacob dashed the rest of the way to the porch, which was less of a porch and really just ground covered by the overhang of their roof.
"It's okay, but we're going to go to Charlie's house. Bella had a bit of an accident this morning. Do you mind putting your stuff away and heading over to Old Quil's? We need his car." His father's voice melted as he talked, trying to placate Jacob, but his face remained blank. Jacob tried not to freak out, even as he ran over to Old Quil's home. Bella was probably okay, otherwise, they'd have headed to the hospital instead, right? (Bella, who was so accident-prone and had a huge range of possible injuries- his mind exploded with the worst possible ones). The reservation wasn't small, but it also was. It was easy enough for Jacob to get to where he needed to be. He had gotten back home in fifteen minutes. (He ignored how easy the sprint there had gotten. Only a few months prior he would wheeze for at least a few minutes after running that distance). Jacob diligently helped his father into the car, put the wheelchair in the back, and headed on his way to Forks.
ii
Bella did not have almost getting hit by a car on her bucket list. In fact, if you had asked her that morning, she didn't have a bucket list at all. Now, Bella could definitely be pessimistic and even a little depressed, (although sometimes a little was more like a lot), but she also knew that she likely had a lot of life ahead of her. Why make a bucket list if you were just trying to live your life? If you asked Bella when she got to the hospital, though, she would say she was working on it.
Mortality often is a slow creeper. It does not pounce without warning, instead, it creeps into your room while you're half dozing, letting the floorboards clearly creak. It builds up the suspension, and it grabs you softly, before choking the life out of you. Most of the time, it is slow. However, unluckily for Bella, it can also sprint at you at full speed, screaming as it does. Bella got the screaming and had a split second where she was sure she was dead or seriously hurt. That was, of course, until Edward Cullen, glaring eyes all the way, shoved her out of the way of a pinwheeling van.
Bella had gotten up late and had regretted it from the moment she noticed the time that morning. She had sped through getting dressed, completely skipped breakfast, and made it to school with only minutes to spare until the first bell. Normally she was early, giving herself fifteen minutes to talk with her friends outside. It wasn't cold yet, so she reveled in the fresh air and the humor of her group. With her being late though, her friends had already started making their way inside, and the Cullen clan had shown up.
The Cullens were often to class at the very last second, (noted by teachers and students alike, always blamed on the fact that they were foster kids- Bella blamed it on something else), and today was no different. They were standing around a small silver Volvo and talking amongst themselves. Edward had locked his eyes on her the moment she had gotten out of her truck, and she had frozen. His glare was always impressive, and it made the hair on her arms and neck stand on end. She was sure that at any moment, any time he saw her, he would hurt her. Blind rage and hatred seeped from him every time. Bella, frozen in primal fear, missed the sound of skidding tires and panicked yelling from a teenager. She did not, however, miss the hard shove and the following tumble to the pavement.
Edward was suddenly next to her, glaring at the van that poor Tyler was driving. Tyler had finally skidded to a stop, just inches from her beloved truck. His head peeked out of the window; his nearly shaved head was covered in sweat. His driver's side tire was popped to smithereens, and smoke was still rising from the others. Bella briefly wondered how any of it had just happened. She was several feet away, on the ground, from where she had been standing and Edward was still right up against her truck. Why was he there if she would have been fine there too? The van had stopped before it got to her spot at her door. Bella felt questions rising in her mind, giving her a headache.
"Holy shi- Bella! Are you okay?" His concern was evident, and Bella was sure it wasn't just because of her dad.
Bella didn't get the chance to answer, as Edward had gotten up in Tyler's face. "Yes, you oaf. Not that it concerns you and your terrible driving!" His voice was nearly shrill, almost yelling. Bella had seen his anger before, clearly written on his face and in his body language, but hearing it? Bella felt herself stiffen, and she wanted nothing more than to just leave, but her head felt fuzzy. Edward was stiff, but his hands were grasping at the opening of Tyler's window. Why was he so in his face over an accident? (Bella later realized that Tyler looked just as afraid of Edward as she felt). "What were you thinking, you cretin?"
She could hear Tyler reply in the background, but she couldn't focus on it. Her head continued to fill with cotton, and she decided to lay all the way back. Her whole body ached in an unfamiliar way. She was used to general bumps and bruises from her clumsiness, but this took it to a new level. Her ribs ached every time she breathed in, and the wrist she tried to catch herself with, her right one, ("Of fucking course," she'd say later), also hurt bad. She just wanted to close her eyes and go home.