Author's Note: TRIGGER WARNING! This chapter graphically depicts rape and the use of Rohypnol (a date/rape drug). No one under 18 should be reading this. This is incredibly mature and likely the most explicit chapter in this entire story.

This story is not to romanticize sexual assault or the aftermath. Beyond the intricate plot that will weave aspects of SM's narrative and mine together, this story will explicitly deal with healing from trauma and sexual assault. Be warned – it is not a linear process that can be romanticized. It is messy, it is hard, it is depressing.

National Sexual Assault Hotline: 800-656-4673

Chapter 1 – Watercolors

A shiver runs down the length of my spine as icy hands settle against my hips, pulling my body against a perfectly marble one. Cotton drags across the palms of my hands as I grip the material of his shirt.

"Three days." I sigh. Three days. Three nights.

"We'll be fine, Bella." Edward's lips touch mine, his cool breath fanning my face.

"There's only so much I can do." I mumble. I had neglected laundry and dishes, among many other chores in the past few weeks. I rarely did them until Charlie and I were struggling to find a clean shirt or plate. Sleep was also something that had evaded me as I made up for lost time with Edward. We spent most nights curled up on my bed talking. There was so much to discuss. So much to protect me from nightmares that occasionally plagued me.

"I'll be back before you know it."

His words make my heart twist. Did he know how terrified I sometimes was that he would leave and not come back? That I would wake up and realize this was a twisted, hellish nightmare my mind conjured up?

Usually, Alice hung out with me while Edward was gone – even for a few hours. But this time she was going with him. I was not desperate enough to beg a different Cullen to spend time with me while they were away – yet.

"I'm being selfish." My fingers clench his shirt tighter as I speak the words. I wish he didn't have to go. I wish his animalistic instinct to hunt blood didn't exist.

"It's my own fault." He sighs, his fingers running over my shoulders. "I should have been hunting more regularly."

Edward's dark eyes close as he takes a long breath, holding it in his lungs for as long as it takes me to exhale twice. He was committing my scent to memory for the millionth time. It was a habit he had picked up after our traumatic visit to Volterra. His memory could recall my scent with unnatural perfection without his revisions. But he always seemed to take an extra moment to remind himself before he left me.

"Three days." He whispers again, shaking his head. "I'll be back soon. The time will fly – for both of us."

I nod, swallowing thickly. Pretending I believed him. The time would drag – for both of us.

Edward chuckles, shaking his head. "I think I'm just afraid to leave you. Afraid you'll get into some sort of trouble while I'm gone."

My eyes automatically roll. "I'll be fine. I haven't done anything risky recently."

"Which means danger is prepping something for you soon." He touches his lips to my forehead. "Do me a favor?" He looks at me, his dark eyes meeting mine.

"Anything."

"Meet the mutt here, please."

My jaw clenches tightly as I immediately regret my promise. "I'm going to La Push whether you like it or not."

Since discovering Jake was a wolf, Edward hadn't been keen on my friendship with him. If anything, our initial bitterness upon my return from Volterra pleased him. More recently, much to Edward's dismay, Jacob and I had made up and were back on track with our regular hang outs at La Push. Jake had called yesterday to make plans, and it just happened to work out that I was quite free this weekend.

"Lay off of Jake, please." I say, though I regretted it almost immediately. I didn't want to fight when he was about to leave. Edward's grimace makes me continue. "He has never done anything that could have hurt me."

"Alice can't see you there."

"I'm just as safe with him as I am with you."

I didn't add how hypocritical it was that Edward disapproved of my friendship with Jake, as if he hadn't initially tried to kill me out of lust for my blood. My safety with Jake wasn't dependent on my ability to not bleed – and I was horrifyingly terrible at keeping my skin intact.

"Couples generally communicate through a phone. Not their sister's psychic abilities." I add quietly, trying to lighten the mood. What mainstream relationship tip even applied to us as a couple?

Edward sighs again, pulling me closer to him. "Just – please, for me – be careful." He enunciated each word. "Call me if anything happens or if you need me home sooner." His voice is firm, through his fingers brush my neck delicately as he utters his next words. "I love you."

"I love you, too." I mumble, feeling my cheeks grow hot.

"I'll be back soon."

Before I could respond, my hand dropped to my side, and he was gone. My room felt very empty. My body felt light as the presence of his hands disappeared. I felt almost weightless, as if gravity no longer applied to me without Edward rooting me in place.

"I'll be waiting." I murmur to no one.

Three days and three nights without Edward. I knew just as well as anyone why Edward needed to hunt, especially now when we were testing boundaries with our intimacy. Even the slightest slip of control meant I could be seriously hurt. But every trip left me miserable and lonely, no matter the length. They brought back nightmares from the painful and initially permanent absence of him from my life. And it brought along a slight sense of self-loathing at my dependence on him.

I take a deep, shaky breath trying to force the depression out of my system. Jake would be here within a few hours, and I'd be spending the rest of the day with him at the Rez. That would take my mind off things. But with Charlie gone for the day, I was on my own until Jake arrived. I already knew dishes and laundry needed to be done. There was also an essay about Hamlet for English that was due soon. I usually loved any excuse to re-read the play, but today I wasn't in the mood.

Resigning myself to chores and homework, I grab my thick hair and toss it into a low ponytail at the base of my neck. I put my phone on the loudest ring setting, dropping it onto my desk well within reach in case anyone – particularly Edward – called. Then, nearly tripping over a stack of books, I collect the armload of dirty laundry in the corner of the room. I laugh out loud as I almost trip down the stairs, too, remembering Edward's comment about danger coming for me soon.

With the dirty clothes stowed and cycling in the washing machine, I get to work on the dishes. There weren't as many as I had hoped. Charlie must have done a few before leaving for his fishing trip with Billy. Washing, drying, and putting the dishes away took me less time than I had hoped. The laundry was still soppily twirling around in the machine when I had finished. I took the opportunity to sweep the kitchen floor and toss out the accumulating newspapers in the sitting room.

Life with Charlie was simple, which meant there was little to do around the house. With Renee, who was energetic as ever, there always seemed to be a newly cluttered corner of the house to tidy. Whether it was a new hobby she had left out to dry or her abandoned attempt to rearrange furniture and organize some possessions.

Despite my extra chores, the laundry was still going. I stood before the laundry machine, my arms crossed over my chest and my eyes glaring daggers as if that would speed up the machine's process.

Charlie had already informed me of his plans to get food with Billy after fishing and I was planning to eat with Jake so there was no need to get dinner started to help pass the time. There was nothing more to do downstairs except move the laundry into the dryer. But going upstairs now meant I would have to reread Hamlet or jump straight into the essay. Neither of which I was particularly eager to do at the moment.

I glared at the machine for a minute more before returning to the kitchen. It didn't take long for me to throw together a grilled cheese sandwich, but it was long enough for the machine to beep. Once the clothes had been deposited in the dryer, I grabbed my sandwich and made my way upstairs.

My copy of Hamlet – tattered and torn from years of reading – was sitting between stacks of books and papers on my desk. Just as I was settled on my bed, my sandwich besides me with the book propped open on my legs, I heard my door creak open.

Excitement coursed through me at the prospect of getting to spend several extra hours with Jake. Grinning, I glance up. Cold dread immediately replaces my excitement.

Instead of my towering, russet-skinned best friend, someone else stood in my doorway. He was tall – as tall as Jacob. His skin pale – nearly as pale as his blonde hair. He was leaning casually against the frame, his arms – thick with muscle – crossed over his chest.

Hamlet falls from my grasp, tumbling onto my mattress before hitting the floor. The man walks over, his steps light, and picks up the book. I flinch as he steps closer to me.

"Hamlet? One of my favorites." He muses, his voice surprisingly deep. He chuckles quietly. "I've been waiting to meet you for a long time and yet I never imagined we'd have so much in common, Bella."

I'm frozen, shocked and terrified, as I stare. He doesn't mind my silence as he flips through my book, smiling at different passages.

"Who are you?" my voice is a meek whisper. I swallow thickly, trying to will the fear out of me and calm the racing of my heart. It wasn't working. How long had this man been in my house?

My mind races. Was the front door unlocked? A window? Charlie never leaves the door unlocked. Had Edward ever checked the door to make sure it was locked before he left me alone in the house?

Edward. Edward couldn't be far. But he hadn't come yet, which meant he wasn't close enough to hear this encountered and Alice hadn't seen anything yet. Or maybe she had and Edward was on his way.

I glance around, looking for my phone. It hadn't rung. Would Edward have called to warn me? To tell me to run? To tell me to hide?

My phone wasn't on the desk where I had left it before going downstairs. Panic rushes through me, twisting my stomach and making my chest hurt.

I felt alone. As alone as I was when Laurent found me in the woods.

"Looking for help?" He asks, and my eyes trace back to his face. He was smirking, his reddish lips pulled up in a smug look. "No one will help you today. I made sure of that."

Terror prickled at my heart. Terror for Edward, and then terror for me.

Distract him. Dissuade him. The voice of Edward – the one that got me through months of his absence – whispered to me.

"There's no money in this house." I whisper, my voice was stronger now – barely. Fear stilled coated and shook my words.

Threaten him.

"My father is the Chief of Police."

The man shrugs. "Trust me, Bella, I know." He turns around, placing my copy of Hamlet neatly on my desk exactly where I had picked it up earlier. "I'm here for you."

I cringe, moving away as the man approaches and sits on the bed.

"This was risky. I must say, Bella, you're quite well connected. Vampires and wolves at your beck and call. It was difficult to do this safely. Well, safely for me."

My eyes snap to his, my stomach twisted at his words. His eyes were a pale shade of blue. His skin, though pale, had an undercurrent of pink. He was clearly not a vampire. But he was most definitely not of Quileute descent. He looked human.

"What do you want?"

"To play with you." He smiles serenely, looking relaxed, as nausea spreads through me. His hand slides over the bed, and I pull my body away. "I've been waiting a very long time for this. I would like you to appreciate all that planning that has gone into this but it hardly makes sense for a cat to explain his claws before he plays with the mouse."

Panic surges through my veins as I try to find some way to escape this. He was closer to the door than I was. I'd have to get past him to get to the door. He was human. I could hurt him. If I managed that, I'd have to outrun him. I'd have to get outside at the very least and scream so someone could help me. He was tall. He would outrun me. I would trip, easily. I wasn't even sure my voice would work, or my legs.

I was trapped in my own mind as I urged my body to move, to fight, to scream for anyone. But it did nothing. I felt like my muscles were molasses and my mind, though processing everything, was frozen.

His hand darts out, faster than I anticipate, and wraps around my ankle. His grasp was tight, and my automatic kicking to free myself was futile. He crawls closer to me, his other hand coming down on my chest. The force of it sends stabs of pain through my chest, and my vision goes dark as my head hits my headboard behind me.

I moan as tendrils of pain wrap around my skull, vibrating down every bone of my body.

Threaten him.

"Edward will kill you." My voice was weak, my vision blurry as the weight of his body pressed over mine. James didn't stand a chance once my blood had been shed. This was the same thing.

Each breath hurt. And each stab of pain made me feel less inclined to breathe again. I tried to remember what tactics I'd used before. But nothing James or Laurent did was ever like this.

"I'm counting on it." His voice was confident. "I can't wait for Edward to come for me. I can't wait for your coven leader to find me."

Beg him.

"Please." Hands touched my hips, and as I moved to push them off, my arms were pinned down. "don't do this. Please."

"You smell . . . divine." He touches my face, and a shiver rolls down my body. It reminds me of the shiver I felt this morning before Edward left. When he kissed me. This was different. Very, very different. "I'm so excited to meet your coven, Bella."

His warm hand touches my jaw, tracing the line of it to my neck. "I've always been jealous of how Edward plays with your hair. He likes it a lot. He touches it. . . smells it . . . breathes on it." He leans down, and I cringe away, nauseated, as he exhales against my hair. "It's interesting. You don't seem to mind it – don't seem to comprehend it's a predator marking what's his. . ." He chuckles, patting a lock of my hair into place. "You're mine to mark now, Bella."

I whimper as his hands move over my chest, increasing the intensity of my pain. My legs and hips are pinned by his weight. My hands, free, fumble against him and he growls loudly.

"Enough." He hisses, barring his teeth. One of his hands wraps around my arm, shoving it under his knee while his over hand grasps my other wrist. I sob, twisting my body, trying to free myself.

Threaten him. Lie to him. Protect yourself, Bella.

"You don't know what they're capable of." I cry, tears pooling in my eyes as I realize I'm at the mercy of this man who wanted to hurt me.

He smiles, cruel and confident. "I know full well what they can do." He leans down, closer to me until his breaths come out against my neck. "I can do better."

Fingers dig painfully into my hip where Edward's hand was only hours ago. A vicious pain, worse than the pain searing my torso or my head, explodes in my skin. I don't register the scream until it rings in my ears. His hand is at my mouth, forcing my jaw shut and me into silence.

The sound of fabric is pronounced in the air. I watch through tears as his eyes rake over me. The nausea hits me worse, and I gag against his hand wanting to claw his hands off my body. Most desperately wanting to claw his eyes out of his skull.

A sob escapes from my clamped lips, and, determined, I force my arms upward to push him off me. My cries were nothing but moans beneath his palm, and my attempts were pathetically thwarted by the pulsing pain of my body. I wished I would black out now, but I could feel every touch of his hands as they roamed my body. I wrestled beneath him, writhing against the muscled bands of his legs. It was utterly futile.

Without the ability to fight or move, I was hyperaware of his body on mine, of the arrows of pain in my wrists and ribs, of the pounding in my head. I was hyperaware of the way his hands pushed my legs apart and the way his fingers felt curling over my thighs.

I scream. My throat burning with every vibration. But he didn't seem to mind.

For a moment – less than a second – his weight shifted. I seize the opportunity, my left leg kicking hard. He was faster than I was and avoided my movement while immediately redistributing his weight to pin me down again.

He growls in anger. His eyes darkened as he forces me further into the mattress of my bed. The palm of his hand connects with my chest, sending black spots over my vision as I try to recover from the throbbing. The weight crushed my ribs, making it harder to breathe more than anything else.

Beg him, Bella.

"Please, please." I try to beg. The sounds are muffled. I fight against him, fight the aching emanating through my body and the panic in my blood and the weight of him. But it doesn't matter.

"Enough." He spits. His hand leaves my mouth as he sits back up, straddling my waist. I use the opportunity, twisting my body underneath as I miserably attempt to free myself. I'm sobbing, gasping, and screaming all at once. My palms burn as blood rushes back into my freed wrists and into my fingers.

"No, no, Bella." His fingers wrap painfully around my wrists again, yanking me toward the bed.

I'm not sure what hurts more - my wrists in his grasp, or the pain as my head cracks against my metal headboard for the second time. His hand comes down hard onto my torso, knocking every ounce of oxygen out of my lungs and freezing my body in shocking agony.

"Don't try that again." He chuckles.

"Please." I whisper feebly, gasping.

"This isn't how I wanted to do this." He yells, angrily.

He grasps my wrists in his hands, thinking for a moment. "There's beauty in a victim wanting to fight. I love it. It's poetic." He says, shaking his head. "I used to do this to my wife. She was beautiful, much more than you, Bella. She used to fight me too, but she was weak. Easy to tame."

He sighs again.

My head was pounding, and I was struggling to grasp his words as he spoke. My hearing felt hazy.

I remember the night in Port Angeles when I was surrounded. When Edward rescued me before it was too late. But now he wasn't here. It was getting to be too late.

The fog that seemed to cover my senses didn't dull my pain or my consciousness. It was excruciating. My vision blurred with spots with every strangled breath.

Persuade him.

"Please. I won't tell them. Please stop." I whimper, my voice shaking. My jaw hurting with each word.

"Tempting. But if they don't know what I did, how will I kill them?" He chuckles. "I love it when you beg. My wife used to beg. But it was easier with her. She begged but didn't fight. You're fighting and making this very difficult for me, and you."

He touches my cheek with of his hands, brushing my tears off my cheeks. "And I need you to tell them, Bella." He says, his voice soft. "I need them to come after me."

Fight him, Bella.

My cheek burned where his hand was. He was wiping my tears, acting as if he cared for me.

I take slow breaths, trying to calm myself. Trying to gain control of my sobs and the pain. If I could think, I could fight.

"I wanted you to feel it. . ." He hums sadly. "I'm prepared, as I said. You've survived far too much to be as weak as my wife, Bella. I didn't want to use it, but I have to now, don't I?"

He leans over me, a shiny syringe glistening in his palm. "Rohypnol. Have you heard of it?" He fingers the needle, grimacing with remorse.

All my effort to calm myself disappeared instantly. My breaths became uncontrollable as I cried, trying desperately to arch my back and push him off. Desperate to escape before he injected me with that drug.

He pays me no attention, continuing to talk. "I never used this with my wife. But she was easier, as I told you."

My body tenses mid-arch as he pushes the needle into my stomach. The prick of the needle was strangely concentrated against the vibrating fragments of broken bones around my body.

My vision, blurred by my tears, morphs quickly. Sharp colors distorted by tears became soft and gentle. Hues scarcely separated until they blended. With the hugged colors, my agony diminished. I was cold – as if laying naked on ice. The ice masked the pain and drained my energy. I couldn't move, but I hardly wanted to. I was too tired, too confused by the colors.

Don't give up.

It was easy to relinquish control, to let go of the fight, to ignore Edward's voice in my head. I let the cold and darkness overcome me. I let my eyes fall closed, let my vision blacken with relief. I welcomed the dulled sights around me that numbed my pain and anguish.

Against my muted background, all I knew was that I wanted Edward.

"Bella?!"

The scream was loud. Too loud. My head pounded and seared with pain.

"Bella?!"

Too loud. Too loud. Pressure exploded within my skull, pressing onto my brain.

"Oh – Oh God! Bella!"

Too loud. Too close. It hurt.

"Bella, wake up!" Hands were on me. Hands were touching me. I wanted to scream. I wanted to fight. "Open your eyes! Please – open them! Open your eyes, Bella!"

I tried. I tried to open my eyes and my mouth so I could tell him to get off me. To stop screaming. To make it stop hurting.

"Hold on, Bella. Hold – hold on." His was anguished. His voice full of as much pain as I felt.

Agony explodes through my body, and I could feel the vibration of my pained cries in my pounding head. I try to force my eyes open, but everything was watercolors. Streaks of browns and blues and white. Colors swaying and blending, make my stomach churn and my eyes hurt.

"You'll be okay. . . Just – hold on. Okay? Please. You'll be fine." The voice was pleading. It was loud,

I was being jostled and moved and I felt so intensely nauseous. Why didn't they understand it hurt? Why did everything hurt so much?

I envied the dead. I envied the dead girls.

The watercolors are brighter when I open my eyes again. They're so bright my eyes sear with pain. Even behind my eyelids, I could feel the brightness.

"Oh dear!"

"Is that. . .?"

"Sir, what happened? Sir?"

"I need help! Please!"

More screaming. More pleading. More begging. He liked begging. More pain. More screaming. Too loud. Everything was too loud.

"Put her here."

"No! No!" So loud. The voice was so loud. "Don't touch her! Get away from me! No!"

"Put her down so I can take care of her."

I knew that voice. That voice never got angry, but it was angry now. It was loud, too. It hurt.

"No! Get someone else! No, no, no! It was him! He did this!"

"He is not here right now." The angry voice said.

Both voices needed to stop being so loud. I wanted to sleep. I wanted the pain to stop. I wanted the bright lights to be dimmed.

"Jacob, put her down, now."

My head was going to explode. I was going to be sick. I wanted to open my eyes, to tell Jacob to stop. To stop moving me, to stop shaking me.

"Bella, I'm going to take care of you, sweetheart." It was the other voice. The not Jacob voice. It was calm. It was soft. It was finally quiet. I wanted them to take me away from the pain. It hurt so much.

"I know it hurts." It was soft. "I'll give you some medicine to help."

The movement stopped. But my pain didn't.

"I need an IV. . ."

"Isabella, can you open your eyes?"

"Get me the ultrasound. . . Internal bleeding. . ."

"I need that IV faster!"

"Isabella, can you hear me?"

There were too many voices. Too many sounds. I wanted to scream at them to stop, but I was keenly aware of pain in my jaw pulsing.

"Here's the ultrasound, Dr. Cullen."

Dr. Cullen. My mind seemed sluggish. I knew that name. Carlisle?

"Head wound. We need a CT. . ." The voice said, louder, angrier.

It was Carlisle.

My eyes snap open to the blinding lights as panic suddenly surges through me. He was going to know. He was going to see.

"No." my own voice is too loud, and I cringe. The entire room was spinning – faces and colors blurring so fast I couldn't orient myself.

"Isabella, it's okay. You're at the hospital."

"No."

"Bella," Carlisle's voice is soft, quiet, close. "You're safe. You're with me." He tells me. My eyes sweep the room, trying to pinpoint where he is. The colors of his blonde hair are so familiar I cringe, until he speaks again. "I know it hurts. I'm going to make it stop."

I wanted him to take me away from the pain and the lights. To make it all go away again. Everything hurt.

A small sob escapes my lips. His angelic figure was watery and blurred. I could just barely see the flashes of his bright hair in the lights as he moved.

"I'm going to do an ultrasound. It won't hurt." He promises gently.

"I'm cold." My tongue feels swollen and heavy in my mouth. I can't form the words properly.

"Isabella, you're okay. We're giving you some pain medicine."

Someone touches me, pressing on my hip with pressure that was discomfortingly recognizable.

My breath escapes me as if I had been punched, and I hear the echoes of my scream in my ears. My body listens to me this time, and I try to ignore the black spots that cloud my vision as I move. But my body gives out before I can do anything. My muscles too weak. My bones too broken. My vision too blurry. My stomach churns as the room spins.

"No, no." my jaw hurts with every word. I can't breathe.

Why did it hurt so much?

"Please, no, no, no. Please."

"That's enough." The word makes my heart clench, and it only makes my body fight more against the hands and against the pain.

"Bella." Carlisle's voice is right next to me. "You're safe. You're okay. You're at the hospital."

His voice is muffled. I'm suffocating. I can't breathe.

"I can't breathe." I gasp. I'm begging.

Pressure on my chest makes my vision go dark.

"Decreased breath sounds on the left, Dr. Cullen. Did she puncture her lung? Pneumothorax?"

"Bella," Carlisle breathes. "I'm going to take care of you. Take slow, deep breaths for me, Bella."

Icy hands were touching me. My eyes close, shutting out the watercolors. He said I was safe. I moan, trying to arch away from the cold.

"You're okay, Bella."

"This is going to pinch a little, darling." Another voice says. It was right. A sharp string in my side makes me squeeze my eyes shut with a startled cry.

"It hurts." I protest, my voice incoherent even to my own ears.

Little stabs of pain shot through my whole body as I tried to move away, but my body is too heavy. The pressure in my chest frustrates me. The icy hands keep moving. They are there, making me shiver. Then they are gone, making me grateful for the warmth until they come back again.

They were talking. My vision was bright and blurry, the pressure in my chest easing. The pain was gone, too. With bewildered relief, I lie still as the cold hands keep working.

". . . The police down here. . ."

". . . Bleeding into her abdomen. She needs surgery."

"No." I whimper. There was a pressure building in my chest, pressing down on my lungs and throat. I didn't like it. I didn't want surgery. I didn't want the police.

"Carlisle." I slur his name, not quite sure if he could even hear me.

"You're doing so well, Bella. Just a little longer." he tells me. He's close to me. His voice is close to my ear.

"I'll call the OR."

The pressure was building, sending a stab of pain deep through me. I groan, gasping for air as the pain recedes.

"She's conscious. Should we do a rape kit now?"

The words are muffled, and I'm almost sure they didn't exist until I heard them again. Cold dread floods through me.

I didn't want it again. I didn't want that again. He said I was safe.

"No. Carlisle, please. Don't." It hurt to cry, and the pain made me cry harder. The pressure made me cry harder. "Please, no." I am cringing away again, feeling his cold hands holding me down.

"I'm so sorry, Bella." Carlisle voice was quiet in my ear, remorseful. "Sedate her."

Another sharp pain in my side. The same side he injected me. I gasp, feeling as if I couldn't breathe.

"I'm so sorry, Bella." Carlisle whispers.

The edges of my vision were black, and I couldn't move as more hands touched me.

"No. . ." My voice is slurred, even to my own ears. The weight of my body crushes in on itself, and the pain – though fading – it is dragging me under with it. My eyes close against my will – muted colors turning to pure black.

"Sleep, Bella." Carlisle tells me. "Let me take care of you now. No one is going to hurt you anymore."

I want to tell him no. I want to tell him to take me away. I don't want to be here. I don't want it to hurt. I try to form words on my tongue, but I'm under a hundred pounds of sand.

I hear Carlisle's voice as I lose my grasp on reality.

A/N: Reviews are essential to me knowing my audience. I ask you to leave a review to help me better develop this story and understand what is needed for my readers. Thank you!

Common side effects of Rohypnol: blurred vision, disorientation, confusion, slurred speech, loss of coordination, headache, extreme fatigue (WebMD)