Yikes. Sorry for the wait for this one. I only have excuses... soz. I'll update soon, I promise.

I don't really have an extensive knowledge of all things medicine, so you know. I watch Grey's Anatomy, and that's about it. So if you notice any massive, gaping, obvious flaws in any medical mumbo jumbo I attempt, just roll your eyes. Thanks!

And thanks for the reviews. You're all so cool. lurrrve xxxx

Chapter Four

Paul's POV

No way in hell.

I stared at the leech in front of me, trying to control the violent tremors that threatened to take me over. I couldn't lose control. My nostrils were burning with the sickly sweet scent of vampire, and all I could think of was how there was no way in hell I was letting him work on Leona. I didn't trust him. No way. He could just turn around and walk back out.

He stared back at me, his eyes wide with surprise. Other than that, he looked quite serene. I almost snorted at the white coat. How pathetic. I wondered if his patients had any idea that he'd love to suck their blood almost as much as he wanted to save their life.

I was aware of Leona looking from me to him confusedly. I had no intention of telling her anything; not the fact he was a vampire, or that I was a werewolf. I figured she had enough to deal with at the moment. I didn't want to overload her with information. Especially completely incomprehensible facts. To her, at least.

There was an long, uneasy pause. I racked my brains, but I couldn't think of anything to say. Neither could anyone else, it seemed. The tense atmosphere was suddenly shattered as Leona's parents entered the room. They were oblivious to it, approaching Leona to hold her hand.

"This is the doctor we were telling you about, Lee. He's going to help make you better," her mother said, her tone soothing, probably reading the agitation on her face wrong. I knew Leona was confused and worried as to why I was on my feet, shaking slightly, and staring at the doctor hostilely. I wanted to comfort her, but at that moment, I didn't know what to do first. Get the leech out? Or tell Leona everything was OK?

I decided it was best not to raise her parent's suspicions. The last thing I needed was them watching my every move. They were already unsure of me. I didn't want to make Leona's life any more difficult than it already was by having her parents in her ears warning her about me. I didn't want to be a problem for this family. I wanted to blend in, become a figure they got so used to seeing that they didn't really see me anymore.

"Do you mind if I talk to you for a moment, Doctor?" I asked, working extremely hard to keep my tone calm. I couldn't help the subtle sarcasm at the end of the sentence though.

"Of course," the bloodsucker said politely, and led the way out of the room. I followed, clenching my fists in frustration. I didn't like this complication. Why did the stupid leech have to be here? Why Leona?

"Paul?"

It took everything I had to pretend I hadn't heard her. I'd answer her questions once I got rid of this vampire, and I knew she would be safe. I had already failed her so far. We were supposed to keep our imprints safe, and all I had succeeded in doing was letting her get herself into a car accident, rendering her paralysed. I was not going to sit back this time and put her at further risk by encouraging a vampire to work on her.

I closed the door of Leona's room behind me, and wheeled to face the leech.

"What are you doing here?" I spat, forcing myself to lower the tone of my voice so they wouldn't be able to overhear.

"I work here," he said calmly.

I glared at him. "I know that. I'm actually not stupid. I mean, what are you doing here? Go find another patient to drink dry, because you're not coming near Leona."

The bloodsucker chuckled. "Paul, right? Do you not think I would be out of a job if every one of my patients died due to blood loss?"

"Are you being smart with me?" I demanded. Maybe I was being irrational and immature, but I didn't need this extra stress.

He sighed. "Look, I'm not here to hurt her. I'm here to help her. Surely you can put whatever animosity you still have against me behind you, in the interests of Leona?" he asked.

I struggled with myself. What if he really was the best doctor in the hospital? What if he could find a way to make her better?

The leech put a hand on my shoulder, and I winced at the glacial touch.

"You imprinted on her?" he asked. I nodded, and he looked fascinated. "I'll help her," he said reassuringly. I wondered whether or not I was insane.

I agreed.

Leona's POV

I watched Paul and Dr Cullen re-enter the room, my eyes narrowed. Something was going on. I wasn't sure if Paul was going to tell me exactly what it was or not. I mean, we barely knew each other, and I couldn't expect him to tell me everything, after all. I tried to catch his eyes. He didn't look at me, his gaze never leaving the doctor's, watching his every move. He didn't take his usual seat either, like I expected. He leaned against the wall across from the foot of my bed, folding his arms across his chest.

I didn't listen to whatever the doctor was saying. He and my mother and father were talking, but it sounded like Japanese to me. Dr Cullen was gesturing his charts and fiddling with X-rays, and I didn't hear a word. I was focussed on Paul. It was only when he spoke that I was jolted out of my trance, and words rushed into my ears.

"So it's possible?" Paul asked, and I watched a small light of hope ignite in his eyes. My heart began to speed up, thrumming quickly against my ribs. I tried to catch up with the conversation, and make out like I had been listening. Anything that made Paul hopeful was worth listening to.

"The chance of it happening is very small, so small it barely counts as a chance. But miracles happen. It could be possible, yes," Dr Cullen answered him.

"What could be possible?" I asked, completely lost. All attention turned to me, and I was immediately self-conscious.

"You might be able to regain the use of your legs, darling," Mom said, her eyes shining with tears.

"But there is a greater chance that you won't," Dr Cullen said, gently, throwing an anxious glance at my mother. He was probably worried she was getting ahead of herself. I understood what he was saying. There was probably only a two percent chance I'd regain the feeling in my legs. A very small chance. I wouldn't allow myself to hope for it, because I would just end up disappointed.

My eyes flickered onto Paul of their own accord, and he was gazing at me, that small light of hope in his eyes still visible. Pain stabbed at my heart.

What if nothing happened, and I was still paralysed? What would happen to that spark of hope, then? Was this hope the only thing keeping him here? Were my legs really such a big issue for him? Was that all he thought about now, when he thought of me? Would he give up on me, if I was still disabled at the end of it all?

I did my best impression of a smile at Dr Cullen in thanks. I was sinking again, sinking into depression.

I wasn't going to hope. I was already resigned to the fact I couldn't walk, and that I was doomed to a wheelchair. A tiny chance that I might be able to walk again was not going to make me hope, and only inevitably destroy me.

I could only see a wheelchair at the end of the tunnel.

But, if by some miracle, I could walk again…

Well, I wasn't going to complain.

But I wasn't going to hope, either.

My parents and Dr Cullen left the room after a while; I had no idea why. Maybe they were going to discuss something, maybe they were going to talk about things that I wasn't required to know about, like the cost of my spinal surgery or the chances of me dying on the operating table. I knew I was being morbid, but I didn't want to be positive anymore. I just wanted it to all be over. I wanted to go home.

Paul took his usual seat, and took my hand. I gazed at him. His face was so familiar to me already, like I had been looking at him all my life. He half-smiled at me, and I could still see that small ray of hope in his eyes, all that was keeping him here with me.

"Are you OK?" he asked, and kissed my hand. My cold skin burned when his lips touched it, and continued to burn long afterwards.

I shrugged, not really sure of the answer. He frowned worriedly, and I searched for something to distract both of us.

"What was that, earlier?" I asked, hesitantly.

"What was what?" He raised his eyebrows.

"Whatever that was, with the doctor," I clarified, and his expression changed again. "You looked like you wanted to set him on fire."

He coughed suddenly, sounding like he was hiding a laugh. I waited.

"It was nothing. I don't know what you're talking about," he said eventually.

"It didn't look like nothing," I pressed, but he just shrugged.

"Just wanted to talk to him, that's all," he said, his tone closing the matter. I was irritated. And it was stupid. He had no obligation to tell me anything. I sighed, frustrated, but I gave up.

Paul brought up the spinal surgery, and asked me how I felt about it. In truth, I was terrified at the thought of it, but I tried to sound nonchalant. I didn't want to worry him. I didn't want him worrying that I wasn't coping. Because I was. I was getting through everything, hour by hour. I could handle this.

I mean, what more could life throw at me to try and get me down? It had taken my legs from me. And one of my friends. I had been through more in the space of a few days than I had ever hoped to go through in my life. I had managed not to break so far. Maybe I was stronger than I had realised.

"Everything is going to be OK, you know that, right?" Paul said, squeezing my hand. I smiled at him. He was right, wasn't he? In ten years time, I would look back on now and see it as a life-changing experience. A small chill swept through me, as I wondered… in ten years time, would I be in a wheelchair? Would it be a solid part of my life, so much that I barely noticed it anymore? Would I be… used to it?

How could that ever be possible? I knew now, that when I saw my wheelchair for the first time, all I was going to be able to think of was the reasons I was forced to use it. Alcohol. Stupidity. I knew that they would be all I thought of every single second in that wheelchair.

How could I get used to it? How could I get used to being paralysed?

My breathing was already a little laboured when the knock on the door signalled someone's arrival, and my new visitor was the trigger to my panic attack.

It was Georgia.

In a wheelchair.

I couldn't breathe.

I couldn't breathe.

"Leona? Leona!" Paul's tone was urgent and panicky and I didn't want to worry him - I never wanted to worry him - but I needed him. I couldn't breathe. I squeezed his hand, gasping for non-existent air.

"Leona, look at me, look at me," Paul said desperately, and told hold of my face, forcing me to look into his eyes. "Breathe," he whispered, his eyes fierce. But I could see his fear. I couldn't look away from his intense gaze, even if I wanted to, and I took a deep breath, filling my lungs to the max. I breathed out shakily, and my reflexes tried to deny me taking another breath, but I fought them. It was just the panic, I told myself. It wasn't real. I could breathe, and I would breathe.

Paul breathed with me, and the panic slowly ebbed away.

I was almost embarrassed. I had suffered from panic attacks ever since I was little, but they happened very irregularly, and there was no pattern. It wasn't just anything that set me off. It usually happened when I was overwhelmed by something, and that didn't happen often. But afterwards, I always felt apologetic, because it seriously freaked people out.

I could tell Paul was now severely freaked out.

"Leona?"

I finally turned my head away from Paul's at Georgia's voice. Her hands covered half her face, and her eyes were filled with tears. She was heavily bandaged, and she looked empty, almost dead. It frightened me a little; Georgia was so full of life, all the time.

"Are you alright? I didn't mean to scare you," she said, her voice thick with unshed tears. She had seen me panic before, and she hated it. It always upset her, and I was apologetic again. She had enough to be upset about at this moment, I figured.

"I'm sorry," I said, to both of them. Paul had seated himself back in his chair, but he was shaking slightly. I must have scared the life out of him. He didn't react, but he just continued to watch me closely, holding my hand in both of his. I was distracted by Georgia bursting into tears.

"Oh, Leona," she sobbed. "It's all my fault."

"Don't," I begged, my eyes filling up also.

"I shouldn't have driven that car… I killed Darren… and you, you're…oh…" she trailed off into incoherency, holding her face in her hands. I stretched my hand out to her, frustrated. If I could just move my legs, I would be able to move down the bed and reach her. But I couldn't move my legs. Of course I couldn't.

She placed both her hands on the wheels and pushed herself closer to the bed, and took my hand. It was damp with tears, wrapped in a white bandage. A wire leading from her arm was attached to the IV on the side of the wheelchair. I had one too, but for some reason, Georgia's disturbed me more than mine had.

"Why are you in a wheelchair?" I asked, before I could stop myself. Please, don't let her be paralysed too.

Georgia's eyes were sympathetic through their tears, and I hated it.

"They didn't even want to let me out of the bed," she said, hiccupping slightly. "They said I should take it easy, 'cos I'm just out of surgery, but I'm fine. I had to see you, see that you were OK," she said, tears spilling down her cheeks.

"I'm OK," I told her, but no one believed me. I didn't even believe myself.

Georgia shook, her crying turning worse than before. "They… told… me… you're… paralysed," she gasped, and I nodded, almost unable to confirm it. I didn't want to. It was obvious she was a mess over this, obvious she was blaming herself for everything. But I couldn't sugar-coat the facts for her, to make her feel better, as much as I wanted to. I mean, I could hardly tell her I was going to walk again, could I? I wanted to tell her that I would be OK, but that would be a lie, and she'd hate me for it.

"This is all my fault," Georgia sobbed, squeezing my hand almost as tightly as Paul was. "I'm so, so sorry."

"I don't blame you," I said, and I was glad I could say it, because I didn't blame her. "I blame myself."

In my peripheral vision I could see Paul begin to shake his head furiously, but I didn't look at him. It was all my fault. I could have so easily prevented all of this.

I watched Georgia cry, feeling so close to breaking down myself. I wished there was a way to make it all better, or make it all go away, preferably. I wished there was something I could say to her, to make her feel better.

But the only thing worse next to being paralysed, was being the person who paralysed her best friend.

It wasn't something that could be fixed with apologies, or tears. I didn't want her to blame herself, but I knew that she would, every time she saw me in my wheelchair.

I couldn't stop my tears. I hated this.

I cried quietly to myself, while Georgia sobbed noisily. Paul eyes were fixed on my hand, the one held in both of his, his face expressionless. He didn't say anything, or move, but he helped me without meaning to. He'd always be there to hold my hand. Wouldn't he? I had the feeling that I meant so much to him, more than I could understand, and he would be there to hold my hand, and breathe for me when I needed him to.

These thoughts calmed me down, and I wiped away my tears with the back of my hand. Georgia calmed down too, not long afterwards.

"They might prosecute me, you know," she said, her eyes dead and haunted. "For drink driving, and manslaughter. How could they think I meant to kill Darren…?" Her face crumpled, and she looked away from me.

My heart split into little pieces, and I was filled with horror.

I really didn't know which one of us had it worse, right now.

A nurse came in to take Georgia away. "Come on, dear," she said. "You need to sleep and rest so your body can recover. Worry about all this when you're better."

Georgia threw her a filthy look, wiping her eyes, but didn't protest. She grabbed my hand again before she left.

"I'm sorry," she said vehemently. "You're my best friend, and I love you. I'm so sorry I've done this." She was crying again.

"It's OK, Georgia," I said, "I love you too." I couldn't bear for her to beat herself up over this. She wasn't to blame. She was too drunk to know what she was doing. This was my fault. I was sober. I should have thought. And now my best friend was like this, an empty shell, blaming herself for hurting the people she loved.

She was wheeled towards the door, but turned her head to catch my eye before she left.

"Suzanne said she'd come and visit you soon," she added, making an attempt at a smile.

"Have you heard from Harvey at all?" I asked, and my heart sank as she shook her head.

"Suzanne said he won't answer his phone. We don't know where he is."

I nodded. I had a fair idea of where he was. Locked in his room, blaring his heavy metal music. It was his escape. He was so sensitive, and whenever he had had a hard time from his bullies, or whenever he just needed to forget about something that upset him, he hid from the world, hid in his favourite music. The news about me and Georgia must have nearly killed him. I wanted to hug him, and tell him it was alright, but I had to give him time. I had to let him escape for a while.

If only I had an escape.

I hoped Harvey would be in to see me soon.

Georgia left, and I felt completely drained. Everything we had had before this was completely screwed up, everything that was once so normal and comforting and OK. Because of that accident, we were all left in this big huge mess.

Georgia could be facing jail. Darren was dead. I was paralysed. Everyone who knew us was affected by the crash, too - family, friends… we had all lost so much that we would never be able to get back.

But, as I registered Paul's eyes on my face, I realised something. I had lost my ability to control my legs, but I had found something, too. I found Paul. Paul found me. Maybe I could live without everything that I had lost, if I had Paul.