Wow. Thank you so much for the amazing feedback - your reviews were unreal. Yeah, I know, the disabled thing sucks, but I figured it would make a more original story - no one wants to hear the same plotlines over and over again. Unfortunately, I have no plans for her suddenly springing to her feet, either. Sorry. :( If anyone is reading this, and they haven't read Breaking Dawn yet (Are. You. Insane?), then do NOT read the rest of this author's note. Seriously, I'm not wrecking the book for anyone, so just skip down and start the chapter, where Leona is waiting patiently for your sympathies. Go on. Now, if you have read it, you'll know that Paul imprinted on Jacob's sister, but I've decided not to change this story at all, and keep it the way it is. I hope no one minds. :) Enjoy. Lurrrve. Thanks again for the amazin' reviews!!

Chapter Two

"What?" he said sharply. The anger and fierceness hadn't yet left his tone. It hadn't sunk in.

"You heard me," I said, as calmly as I could. And then I waited, for the information to sink into his brain. It still hadn't fully sunk into my brain yet. I would never walk again. I would never stand up again. There was so much that I had taken for granted, and they were all lost to me now; running, swimming, dancing, driving… all lost.

There was so much I hadn't experienced, and never would be able to experience. I was going to be stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of my life.

And that's why I was waiting for Paul to leave. He deserved a girlfriend with legs that worked. I was useless. I was crippled, disabled, handicapped - whatever label you wanted to attach to me. Sooner or later, he would realise this too, and he would leave. I just wanted that time to be sooner, instead of dragging out. Maybe then it would hurt a little less.

I watched his expression change. It went from complete shock, to horror, to agony, and finally returned to anger. His eyes still retained the agony. I was upset too. He didn't have to care so much about me. He didn't have to get this involved. He could still walk away, and so he should.

He was silent for a long time. He just gazed at me. He opened his mouth a few times, looking as though he was on the verge of speaking, but the words never made it out. I stared back at him sadly, waiting for him to admit that he couldn't handle this anymore. I was broken, and couldn't be fixed. He deserved someone perfect.

"And there's no way…?" he asked eventually, trailing off. His tone was so harsh. Was he angry at me, for being so stupid and irresponsible? I cringed away from this idea. I knew I had been an idiot, and that this was only what I deserved for not thinking first, but I didn't want Paul to tell me these things. It would make them facts, make them even truer.

"No," I said, dully. "The damage is irreversible."

I pulled myself out of his grip and lay back into my pillows, eyeing the wall blankly again. Saying it out loud depressed me, and dragged me towards the black hole I was struggling so desperately not to fall into. I was trying not to drown in my depression.

I wondered morbidly if I would have been better off if I had died in the crash. I never would be fully alive now, after all. There were so many things that were restricted to me. Would living out the rest of my life really be worth it?

I chided myself, for thinking like that. I didn't want to die. My parents didn't want me to die. And it seemed that Paul didn't want me to die, either. I had things to live for. And they would be worth it.

It was strange, how I barely knew Paul for less than probably a whole hour, and already he was worth living for. Strange.

I could feel his gaze on my face. He never stopped watching me, did he? I wondered if he was pitying me, feeling sorry for the poor little crippled girl. I didn't want him, or anyone else, to feel sorry for me. I didn't think I'd be able to deal with the sympathetic and pitying gazes in my direction. I didn't need their condolences; I was already feeling pretty sorry for myself. But I deserved it. This was what I got for being stupid and irresponsible, and for not considering my safety, or anyone else's.

"I'm really sorry," he said, sounding it. So he was feeling sorry for me. I didn't answer him, and continued to stare desolately at the wall.

He stood up suddenly, and kicked the chair he had been sitting on. It shot across the floor and hit the wall with a resounding crash. I jumped at the noise.

"They're going to throw you out if you don't calm down," I told him. Despite the anger I could feel radiating off him in waves, I didn't feel scared of him.

"I'd like to see them try," he growled, and started to pace, his hands balling up into fists. He looked like he wanted to rant and rave, and I decided to give him permission.

"What are you thinking?" I asked him quietly. He growled again, before launching into his rant.

"Why did this happen?" he demanded, of no one in particular. "Why would God let this happen? Why did He make you my imprint, and then try and take you away from me? And damage you beyond repair in the process? Why would He do that? How could He?" He looked like he was trying to restrain himself from kicking something again with difficulty.

I didn't understand. I didn't understand why he was so angry, why I had become his burden to bear. I didn't understand what he had meant by 'imprint'. My head hurt. I wanted to ask questions, but I had no energy. I wanted to sleep, and black out for a while.

"Paul, would you do me a favour?" I asked him, closing my eyes. I heard his footsteps cease. He had stopped pacing.

"Anything," he said.

"Will you find out how Georgia is for me? She's my friend, she was in the crash too? Her name is Georgia Rhys."

"I'll be right back." I heard him leave the room quickly, and then break out into a run in the corridor. I wiped away the dried tears on my cheek. What I wanted now was to sink into a dreamless oblivion for a couple of hours.

I heard Paul before I saw him. I opened my eyes when the sound of his footsteps racing up the hall reached my ears. And then he was there in the doorway, his muscled chest heaving slightly from the running. He was so gorgeous, and it was such a waste that he had no one to ogle him, because I could no longer do it. It felt like another life, where I had been so carefree that I was able to appreciate gorgeous guys. Those guys had never wanted me before, and they weren't going to want the girl in the wheelchair. No would want me. Not even Paul.

"They said she's stable now," he said. "If she makes it through the night, than there's a good chance she'll be OK."

"What's exactly wrong with her?" I asked, almost too scared to hear the answer. This was my friend he was talking about. It could be a line for an episode in a medical drama on TV.

"Internal injuries. One of her lungs collapsed," he answered, his mouth twisting a little. He no more liked saying it than I liked hearing it. I felt so afraid that she could die. I'd been friends with her since I was little. We'd lived next door for years. She gave me a lift to school every day.

My heart twisted in pain again. I had never learned to drive, as a result of that. Georgia had always given me a lift, and I had never felt an overwhelming desire to learn myself and buy my own car. But I should have. If I had been able to drive, I could have driven Georgia and Darren and Julie home, and we'd all be fine. Darren wouldn't be dead. Georgia and Julie wouldn't be badly injured. I wouldn't be unable to move my legs.

I looked down at them, the two motionless limbs hidden by my bedcovers. They might as well have been someone else's legs. I couldn't move them, I had no control over them. My brain could still remember how to command them, how to wiggle one of my toes, but no matter how hard I tried to make them move, nothing would happen. I couldn't feel them.

A searing pain crashed through my head, and I winced. I wanted to sleep. I wanted to forget.

Paul was suddenly there; his face was right next to mine, his fingers anxiously pushing the hair off my forehead.

"What's wrong?" he asked fretfully, his grey eyes searching mine.

"Nothing," I said, not really wanting to waste his time with the list of things that were wrong with me. He raised his eyebrows sceptically. He didn't question me further though, and I was grateful. His eyes examined every inch of my face, just like he had done that first time, and I watched his forehead crease as he eyed the bandage plastered across my left cheek.

"What happened to your cheek?" he asked me.

"It got cut. I needed stitches," I informed him, sighing wearily. There were bandages on my arms, and my stomach, and my back, and my legs, but I didn't want to point them all out too. He already looked sickened by the one on my face. I felt my eyes fill up with tears again, and I closed them, hiding it from him. He was sickened by me. I was no longer what he had wanted, if he had even wanted me at all. I was damaged.

So why hadn't he left yet? Why was he still here? Was he trying to torture me further, by letting me hope that he would stay, despite what had happened to me? If he just left now and never came back, then I would be able to get over it sooner. Prolonging it would just make everything a lot worse.

"Leona?" Paul's voice spoke my name softly. I tried to open my eyes, but they refused. I could feel myself slipping into unconsciousness, and I welcomed it. I wanted to sleep. I just prayed I wouldn't dream. Dream of things that were now impossible for me.

"Yes?" I breathed, too tired to project my voice. He would be able to hear me anyway, I was sure of it.

"Do you want me to stay?"

I paused before I answered. I wanted to tell him that if he didn't want to stay, he didn't have to. That he didn't have to feel obliged. But I didn't want to listen to him leave. I honestly didn't want him to go, which left me with only one answer.

"Yes." He didn't reply, but I felt his warm hand envelope mine again, and I sank quickly into oblivion.

Paul's POV

I felt so helpless.

I listened to her breathing slow, as she drifted asleep. Her hand felt so cold and limp and lifeless inside of mine, and it scared me. Her face relaxed, but it was so pale, drained of blood, and she almost looked dead. That thought scared me even more. What if she hadn't have survived that car crash? What would I have done then? I finally found my soul mate, my other half, but what if she had died before we had any type of chance to be together?

I shuddered.

I leaned forward and rested my head on my arm, the one holding Leona's hand. My eyes never left her face. This was not how I had planned to spend the day. I had pictured us having lunch, having fun, getting to know each other better. And now I was sitting in hospital, holding her hand, knowing she would never recover.

Paralysed. It was a word I knew, a word that everyone knew, a word the majority of people had no concept of. Other people were paralysed in car crashes. It was horrible, it was irreversible, it was terrifying, and I had never, ever expected it to happen to anyone I knew. Especially not my imprint. Not her. Not Leona.

It wasn't fair. Jared had Kim, and Quil had Claire, and they had all been given the chance to be happy, without any kind of tragedies to worry about. Sam and Emily were different; Emily had been injured, and they were both unable to fully get over it. I had never imagined I would be in a similar situation. Leona and I were never going to fully recover from the fact that she wouldn't be able to walk.

It wasn't fair. Leona hadn't deserved this. On the beach, she had been so sweet, so innocent. If I had had any idea this was going to happen, I would not have walked away from her. I hadn't wanted to in the first place. I had wanted to stay with her for the rest of the evening. I should have. I should have ignored the fact that Sam had requested a meeting - I should have stayed with her!

I remembered arriving at her house, and finding no one home. I had been incredibly confused. I had waited and waited, thinking that maybe she was held up somewhere, because there was no way the Leona I had met would have given me the wrong address. In desperation, I had crossed over to the neighbours' house, only for them to tell me that she had been in a car crash, and she was in hospital. And I had run the whole way there.

I hadn't meant to lose my temper with the nurses. But they wouldn't tell me anything, not even if she was OK. I had had to hold on to my self control with everything that I had. And then I had heard her voice, so faint, but I knew it was hers, and I followed it.

Nothing could have prepared me for the shock, seeing her lying there, so frail looking. I couldn't stand it. She didn't look like my Leona. She looked like a broken corpse. Nothing had ever scared me more.

At least she had wanted me to stay. I hadn't realised that I had been afraid that she would try and push me away until she admitted she wanted me to stay. But I could already tell she was expecting me to walk away from this. Little did she know how much I couldn't. But I liked to think that even if she wasn't my imprint, I would still help her through this. I liked to think that I was enough of a human being to do that. But because she was my imprint, I was going to do everything in my power to help her recover. She wasn't getting rid of me.

But I was painfully reminded that she would never fully recover. I couldn't have imaginings of us walking hand in hand together… instead, they were of me pushing her wheelchair.

I clenched my empty fist. This wasn't fair. This just was not fair.