I do not own any of the Twilight characters...
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Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
What was that noise? Lord, it was irritating... The inside of her head felt tender as the thoughts bounced around inside of it. As though she had been asleep so long that she had forgotten how to use it. She explored it gingerly, trying not to injure herself. She could not recollect where she was. She couldn't remember... And that was annoying. Who was she? She was pretty sure that she was somebody. Somebody in a world of millions of people. She still hadn't quite taught herself to move again, so she lay there still as she tiptoed around her skull, trying to dislodge the memories that she had misplaced.
Feeling was coming back to her, too. She could feel her body, her slender figure, and her legs. Her nimble hands and thin wrists. She could feel her face, her eyes locked shut with no hope of opening. Yet, anyway. And she was becoming dimly aware of something covering her, a sheet, some sort of fabric. And that breakthrough seemed to up her confidence. She turned her head so that one cheek was pressed against something cool and soft. Her toes curled up beneath the sheet, and she inhaled a scent that reminded her of lavender.
And that beeping was still there. Insistent. Never-fading. And always completely and utterly irritating. It made her want to cover her ears, but she couldn't remember where her ears were located on her body, or how to connect her hands with them. She switched back to her mental state, probing, sometimes a little too roughly. It infuriated her that she could not remember what had happened to her. It infuriated her that she could not sit up and demand answers. Right this second.
She became aware of something touching her skin. It brushed her right arm, the crease of her elbow. In an unconscious movement, she snatched up from under the cover and grabbed onto the thing that was bringing back her senses. Her fingers clutched at it. As she waited, she realised that it was somebody's hand. It was gloved, but she could feel the shape of fingers. She exhaled shakily, this new discovery slotting itself into her memory. And there was noise too. She had heard a lot of this noise, but had never been able to place it. She knew she should have been able to, but she had just been too tired...
But it seemed today was her lucky day. She could separate the sounds from one another, the syllables. She could recognize them. They were words, not just pointless noise. Somebody, whoever's hand she had hold of, was talking to her. "Bracken? Bracken? Can you hear me, Bracken? If you can hear me, squeeze my hand." It took her a moment, but with a jolt she realised what he was saying. Bracken. Why was he calling her that? He did mean her, right? She struggled to clutch at straws of ability, struggled to remember how to do what he wanted. But she couldn't, she couldn't remember...
There was a short sigh and the fingers began to slide from her own carefully. No! No, they couldn't leave! She clutched at it; instead of letting her hand flop uselessly back to her side. She heard a gasp. "Nurse Lewis? I think she's waking up." There was another voice (she was blazingly happy that she had remembered how to listen to people talking), higher, more delicate. "Finally. I'm glad." She waited. She still had the hand clutched in her fingers. She had no desire to let go. "Bracken, can you open your eyes? Can you open your eyes for me?" Open her eyes...? What...?
That was like giving a toddler a pair of wings and telling it to fly. It would not know how, without instruction. But she didn't need instruction. Frustration burnt inside of her. She knew how to do this. She just had to concentrate, to think... She could do it... She just needed...
Beep... Beep... Beep...
"You check'n th'smoke 'larm 'gen, Dad...?" Her lips had moved, and sound had come out. She had spoken. Spoken! She had harnessed her voice! She pursed her lips, trying to do it again, but couldn't manage it. The words seemed to delight her witnesses. They were still trying to encourage her, but she was tired. Much too tired to comply. She managed only a senseless whisper before blackness sliced over her like cold black waves of water.
She floated like that for a while. Feeling nothing. Seeing, hearing nothing. She could just lie back and forget everything. Forget her life, forget her struggles. Forget... But then her comfortingly ebony expanse was slashed apart. Sound roared in her ears. Her throat was dry. She couldn't breathe. And everywhere she looked there was red. Dancing and flickering and tearing her eyes out of their very sockets...
Her lips were wide, her throat scratching. A one-tone noise filled her eyes. The black-red chaos fell apart, scattering like feathers in the wind. The noise was deafening, horrifying. And it was coming out of her mouth. Hands clutched at her lips, drowning the noise a little. They were her hands. But more were thrusting her down, pushing her back into the familiar horizontal position of lying down. "Bracken! Bracken! You need to calm down! You need to-" The scream died away as though it had never been there, but an echo rang around. Her body was shivering violently. Fingers touched her face and she snatched at them, holding them in her burning hot hands. She was sat, and her eyes were open. Her eyes were open. She could see.
She had forgotten what it was like. Everything was blinding, so that she shut her eyes almost as soon as they had opened. But curiosity forced them wide once more. White surrounded her. The sheets, the floor... The walls were cream. She turned her head wildly from side to side. There were tubes coming from every angle, tubes that went into... Well, went into her. She felt sick as soon as she recognized where she was. In a hospital. She shuddered feverishly.
"Bracken. You did it." She looked at the source of the voice. A man looked down at her. His eyes were honey-coloured, his hair blonde. He had snowy skin and wore a doctor's uniform. She had his hand clutched in one of hers. He released it as she realised his, looking down. She was covered by one of those awful hospital gowns. It made her want to rip it off and clothe herself normally. She was breathing rapidly, so that her breath scratched in her throat. She'd had problems like that before; brief spells where her breathing had bothered her until a black ocean had swallowed her up.
"I... I... I..." Her voice was small and hoarse. The doctor looked at her patiently. She examined the badge of his jacket – Dr Carlisle Cullen. "I... I..." She gave up, wetting her lips with her tongue. She looked over her shoulder, shaking still, to see a rectangular sign pinned up behind her bed. It was a whiteboard, and written in fine black handwriting was Bracken Moore. It smacked her in the face almost physically.
She was Bracken. Bracken Moore.
Finally she found herself. "Where am I?" The words were still in that same low, strained voice that didn't belong to her, but sounded smaller, more fearful. She tried to control her shaking but wrapping her arms around herself. "You're in hospital," the doctor, Dr Cullen, told her. "But don't worry. You're going to be fine." Bracken pressed a hand to her forehead. Something wet fell on her hand. What..? Water was trickling down her face. Why? Had she lost control over herself? Why was she crying?
"But... why?" The words seemed to trouble Dr Cullen. He turned to the nurse, who hovered at the end of the bed. She had dark skin and shiny black hair, scraped back into a ponytail. She wore the same expression as Dr Cullen. "Memory loss," he murmured, so low that Bracken forgot to listen, distracted by the jumping of her heart in her chest. And then the blonde doctor was looking at her again. "Don't worry about that now, okay?" His voice was soothing, but it did little to calm her. What was going on? She wanted to know. She needed to know. She shoved and pushed at the barrier in her mind, but it refused point-blank to budge. She eventually gave up, defeated. The doctor was still looking at her.
"Bracken, what do you remember?" Bracken assumed he meant her human functions. Not what had happened to her. She had just made it clear that she couldn't grasp those details long enough to examine them. A flash of dancing red. Choking. Twists of memory, tantalizing, but not enough to trigger a full blown flashback. She blinked. It was going to take a while for her to be able to talk casually again. "I... Well, t-talking. I can hear and see and..." She trailed off.
Dr Cullen looked as though he was going to suggest something, but then shook his head. "Too early..." It was another murmur. Bracken didn't care to strain her eyes enough to pick apart it's meaning. He nodded once. "You should rest. Well done. You've defied the odds." He turned and walked away silently. Too silently. The nurse picked up a file from the table that arched over the end of the white-clad bed, smiled at her, then departed.
Bracken lay back down, still shivering. There were so many holes in her memory. So many things she only half-recalled, or not at all. She wanted to drag them towards her, to see them, to taste them, right now. But when her head hit the pillow, it was blissfully soft. Her eyes felt full of sand, though she had only had them open for a short while. And before she knew it, her consciousness slipped. She was not floating on black water that threatened to swallow her, but soft, clear liquid that rocked her until she was completely relaxed.
She was back.
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