Wow. The reviews continue to be amazing. Thanks so much! Well, my arm has officially been twisted. There will be a lovely happy ever after to this story, at the request of my very best friend, and you guys. But what's a happy ever after without the drama beforehand...? Hahaha. Enjoy! xxx lurrrve xxx

Chapter Three

I was woken by the sound of half-whispered voices.

"Who in the name of arse are you?"

I recognised my dad's voice. My parents must have returned. I hoped they had managed to sleep - they were having a hard enough time as it was at the moment. Their only child, bound to a wheelchair. Definitely not something they had wanted.

I racked my mind for a second, wondering who he was talking to. And then I registered the warm hand still clasped around mine. Paul must still be here. He hadn't left yet? I had no idea how long I had slept. It didn't seem like he had moved at all. I wanted to open my eyes and explain things, but they wouldn't cooperate. They were glued shut.

"Oh! I'm, er, Paul. Nice to meet you. I'm, uh, a friend of Leona's." He sounded awkward and unprepared. Maybe he hadn't anticipated my parents showing up. I wondered if he had even spared them a thought. It seemed like he had absolutely nothing better to do than stay here and hold my hand. I didn't know why he felt he had to, but I was already beginning to depend on that comforting hand. It was dangerous. What if he left now?

"I've never heard of you before," my mother said snootily. Oh, great. She'd probably think he was my secret boyfriend now. But would she really give me grief over it? Didn't we have bigger things to be worrying about?

"Well, I only met her yesterday," Paul explained. His grip on my hand tightened at his words. Yesterday… I can't have slept for that long then. Only a few hours at the most. If yesterday was still the day I met Paul, then today was still the day I woke up paralysed…

"Well, that's very nice of you to come visit her," my dad said. He sighed, and I heard him take the seat next to my bed, opposite Paul. He took my other hand; his was so cold compared to Paul's. He didn't seem to have any more questions for Paul, and I felt oddly grateful for it. My dad always took everything in his stride; nothing ever fazed him. My disability had been the only exception. I had never seen his calm demeanour so completely worn away.

I didn't like remembering that. Yet another person tortured over this accident, the one I had caused. I cursed myself for the millionth time. I could have stopped this from happening. No one would have to be here, if I had just thought. I should not have gotten into that car, or let Georgia drive.

I couldn't, I couldn't keep dwelling on it. It was done. It had happened. Regretting was not going to reverse this. It was not going to make me feel better. Yet, I couldn't seem to stop torturing myself. It was the only thing I knew how to do.

Because I didn't know what I was supposed to do, now. I was only sixteen. My life hadn't really begun, yet. There hadn't been any significant event in my life that stood out to me. I'd always led a fairly normal existence; just under the radar. I wasn't big on spotlights. I'd always been quite invisible at school, something I was used to. It had never bothered me. I had my friends, I had my family. I didn't really need anything else.

The thought of going back to school left a bad taste in my mouth. I would have my very own spotlight then. The only person in the whole school who was in a wheelchair. I wasn't sure if my school was even wheelchair accessible. Everyone would have to make exceptions for me. I would be trouble, a hassle. I would be in the way. I didn't want to go back to school at all. It wouldn't be worth it. The staring, horrified eyes. The gossip. The pity.

I refused to think about that anymore. If anything else was going to depress me further, it was the thought of school. For a miserable second, I wondered how many people now knew about Darren. He'd always been so much fun, and he'd talk to anyone from any clique. And he'd been so talented at writing; he had a way of putting words together that could make you laugh out loud or sob for hours. I'd been lucky to know him. He was Georgia's ex-boyfriend, but they'd broken up on good terms, and I'd always counted him as one of my really good friends. I couldn't believe he was dead.

I squeezed my eyelids tightly, not wanting to open them, ever. I couldn't think of anything that didn't sink me further into my depression, my black hole.

My left hand was squeezed suddenly, the hand being held by Paul. I was suddenly aware of eyes on my face, eyes that could only be his. My parents were having a whispered conversation on my other side, that I wasn't hearing. Something to do with doctors, treatments, recovery. Medical garbage. I didn't want to hear some harebrained scheme they were formulating to try and make me well again. Paralysed was paralysed. This was real life. They could do all they could do, but I wasn't jumping up anytime soon. All it would result in is dashed hopes and tears.

I was still for a moment, feeling a little comforted under his gaze. I gently squeezed his hand back, wanting to reassure him that I was OK. A second passed, and then his other hand covered the top of mine, holding my small hand in between the two of his large, burning ones.

I don't know how long I lay there, in between sleep and consciousness. I drifted, sometimes listening to conversations between my parents, sometimes falling into vivid dreams that I couldn't understand. I didn't hear Paul's voice again, so my parents mustn't have spoken to him again. He didn't move his hands away at any point, and I felt comforted under his watchful gaze.

I opened my eyes when I heard Georgia's name being mentioned. The first person I saw was Paul. He was sitting back in the chair he had kicked away earlier. His head was resting on his arms, which were stretched in front of him, my hand still clasped gently in both of his. His eyes lit up when he saw me awake, and a smile flashed across his face.

"Georgia?" I asked him, and my parents, who were opposite him, fell silent at the sound of my voice. My mother hurried over to my side, leaning around my dad.

"She's OK, honey. It looks like she's going to make a full recovery. She woke up earlier on, something the doctors didn't expect yet," she said in a soothing voice. I nodded, the pain in my chest loosening a little. That was definitely good news. I couldn't imagine how much worse things would get if Georgia died too. I had already lost so much. At least I wasn't losing Georgia too over mistakes I had made.

I studied my mother properly for the first time. I hadn't been able to look her in the eye. How many times had I nodded and assured her of my knowledge, when she had lectured me on safety? Don't get into cars with strangers. Don't walk home alone at night. Don't drink and drive. Don't ever get into a car with a drunken driver.

I was ashamed of myself, and I couldn't face her. She had trusted me not to do anything stupid like that. And what had I done? I had been irresponsible, and now I was in hospital.

I could tell immediately she hadn't gotten much sleep. There were dark purple shadows under her usually sparkling eyes. Her face had lost its vitality. She looked like another version of me. We didn't have any hope that I could recover, and we were just imagining the difficult future ahead of me. I wished fervently that there was someway that I could take everyone's depression, and wallow in the pity without dragging them all down with me.

"Are you OK?" I asked her, my throat a little hoarse from sleep.

"Don't worry about me," she said, brushing my hair back from my forehead, fussing a little with my bedcovers. "Just concentrate on getting better. We're getting the best doctor in this hospital for an evaluation. I'm not sentencing you to that wheelchair yet."

Oh, so I was wrong. She hadn't given up hope yet. She was in denial. She was going to fight for a loophole. I wondered if I was the only one who had accepted it fully yet. The best doctor in the whole world couldn't just snap his fingers and make my permanently numb legs move.

I looked away from her, unable to meet her eyes again. Hope was such a dangerous emotion. I couldn't fall victim to it too. If I got my hopes up, I'd only have further to fall.

I glanced over at my dad, who winked lazily at me. He was slumped in his chair, also looking exhausted, his hand still loosely wrapped around my right one. I shot him a small smile. They weren't sleeping. Did they think that I wouldn't notice? Now I was worrying about them, too. They needed to sleep. It wasn't like I was going anywhere. I'd still be here when they woke up.

I glanced over at the window. It was dark outside. My eyes wandered to the clock on the wall. Eleven. I'd slept for a long time, and I wasn't sure if I'd fall asleep again. I finally looked back at Paul, who had been here all day. He didn't look too tired, but that could just be a front. I wondered if he had even gone to get anything to eat at all.

"Are you OK?" I asked him.

He smiled a little. "I've been better. But I'm fine."

"Have you been here all day?"

"Yep. Haven't moved."

"Aren't you hungry, or tired?"

"I'm fine."

"Paul…" I began to protest, not liking the idea of him depriving himself of food and sleep just to sit there and hold my hand. When I said I wanted him to stay with me, I didn't mean I wanted him to go to extremes. He was allowed to eat and sleep.

"Leona, I'm fine," he said, interrupting me before I could get started.

I glared at him. "Go and get something to eat."

"No, I'm good, seriously."

"Paul, if you don't go away and eat, then I'm going to get you thrown out permanently."

He frowned at me for a second, and I smirked a little. He stuck his tongue out at me.

"Fine. I'll be right back." He stood up and let go of my hand reluctantly. He left, glancing at me before closing the door on his way out. My mother, who had been watching us closely the whole time, sniffed.

"Leona, do you not think you should have told us about him before now?"

I sighed. "I only met him yesterday. It's not a big deal."

"He was sitting there when we got here, and he didn't move an inch for the rest of the day. He didn't look away from your face. It didn't look like you'd only met him yesterday," Mom nagged. I shot a pleading glance at my dad, who immediately intervened.

"Amanda, lay off them. If Leona says she met him yesterday, then that's what happened. I think he's definitely a respectable young man, especially for staying here with her when they barely know each other. How many other of her school friends have visited her so far?"

I made a face. Neither Suzanne or Harvey had visited me at all. They had taken a different car home from the party, one with a sober driver. I knew Suzanne through Georgia, but we spoke everyday and I liked to think we were close friends. Harvey was my best guy friend. He was really quiet and shy, and he was always getting teased by the jocks over his glasses and the fact he loved Chemistry. I was so overprotective over him, it was crazy. He was so sweet. Why hadn't he come to see me? I'd get over Suzanne not being here - she was probably wherever Georgia was - but Harvey? That hurt.

"Well, yes, I suppose," Mom said, wringing her hands together, worrying. "But he wasn't wearing a shirt."

I laughed in spite of myself. Oh, the horror of a shirtless Paul. My parents looked over at me at the sound of my laughter, smiling reluctantly themselves. I wonder if they had expected me to be laughing so soon. I mean, it sure wasn't a laugh riot around here. Were we supposed to be sitting around, sinking in our depressions, terrified to crack a smile because it was wrong? Wrong to show amusement when I was paralysed?

I didn't want anyone to be unhappy. I didn't want to be unhappy. I just wanted to get through one second at a time, and try to ignore the clenched fist full of hurt in my stomach.

Mom didn't object to Paul any further. She gazed at me for a moment, and then sat on a second seat next to Dad. I felt like I was on display. All anyone ever did was sit around me, gawping. I almost felt compelled to do something entertaining. They just sat around… waiting for me to recover? Keeping me company? I didn't know.

I really wanted to go home. Staring at the same four walls had already become head wrecking. All the hospital sounds around me… they only just reminded why I was here, how I got here… I wanted to be in my own room. But then again, I wasn't sure I completely wanted to be in there ever again. I would be in a wheelchair. I used to dance around my room, singing. I couldn't do that anymore, and I wouldn't ever be able to again. How depressing.

I stared straight ahead of me again. It was only a minute later when I realised I was waiting for Paul to come back. That realisation shocked me a little. Had I really begun to depend on him that much? Oh… it was dangerous. He could snap one day, and decide I was too much hard work to be around, because I wasn't perfect. What would I do then? I couldn't let him get to me. It would just hurt too much when he eventually left.

He returned a couple of minutes later. He must have choked the food down. He grinned at me when he re-entered the room, and I couldn't stop the smile that spread across my face. Suddenly, I didn't care about trying to keep him at arm's length. I'd already begun to count on him being right in the seat next to me, despite my brain warning me that I shouldn't.

He took his seat and took my hand again, and it was like he hadn't left.

And then I felt like I was on display again.

I eyed the shadows under my parent's eyes, and I sighed.

"You should all go home and sleep," I said.

"Ah, we're fine," Mom said, while Dad shook his head.

"No," Paul said simply. I rolled my eyes.

"Staring at me can't be very engaging. Seriously. I would feel better if I knew you were sleeping," I said quietly, pleadingly, eyeing my parent's tired faces again. They glanced at each other. "You can come back the minute you wake up," I said, taking advantage of their lack of protests. "It's not like I'm going anywhere."

"Are you sure? And you'll be OK?" Mom fretted.

"The hospital is full of doctors. I'll be fine."

They both looked like they didn't want to leave, but my parents stood up and gathered themselves. I looked at Paul. He had one eyebrow raised, as though he was daring me to ask him to leave. I frowned at him.

"I was talking to you, as well," I said.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Paul…"

"You've already gotten rid of me once. You aren't going to manage it again."

My parents were oblivious to this exchange, and took turns in kissing my forehead, saying goodbye. My mom shot a glance at Paul, and looked like she was about to protest to him staying, but my dad dragged her away. I watched them leave, hoping they'd look better in the morning. Less dead. I then turned my attention back to Paul.

"Really. You should go home and sleep."

"Don't start. I'm staying here."

"Is there any point in arguing with you?"

"Nope." He smiled at me. I sighed. Looked like I wasn't going to get rid of him anytime soon.

We didn't say much after that. He continued to gaze at me, and at some point I fell back asleep.

When I woke the next morning, I could hear voices outside the door of my room. I recognised my mother and father's voices, accompanied by a man's voice I didn't know. They were talking about medical stuff again, and I immediately tuned out. That was probably the doctor, the best one in the hospital; the one they wanted. I didn't want to hear how they were going to attempt to fix me.

I turned my attention to Paul. He was asleep. He was leaning forward in his chair again, his arms stretched out, my hand in both of his. His head was resting on his arms, and his eyes were closed. I watched him for a moment, shaking my head. He should have gone home to sleep. What would his parents be thinking now? What was he really doing, in fairness? Spending the whole night by my bedside, holding my hand. He really wasn't obligated. I couldn't figure him out.

The door opened, and I automatically looked over to see who it was. My breath caught. It was a doctor, quite obviously, going by the white coat and the files and folders in his hands, but it was a gorgeous doctor. He didn't look like he should be working here at all - he should have been on a runway somewhere.

"Hello," he said, smiling warmly at me. "Leona Lynch?"

I nodded, a little dazed.

"I'm Dr Carlisle Cullen. It's a -"

He broke off suddenly, having just noticed Paul, and stared in his direction, looking completely surprised. I followed his gaze, confused, and was just in time to see Paul's eyes fly open. He breathed in through his nose again, and then made a face, his head snapping up.

He and the doctor stared at each other for a moment, while I felt increasingly more confused. Did they know each other? My confusion only got worse when Paul stood up suddenly, his expression a mixture of horror and fury.