Fix You

Chapter Seven

Bella's POV

I don't know whether I'm dreaming or not. Everything seems oddly blurry and distant, and the persistent heat around me makes nausea creep into my stomach.

That sickness is completely drowned out by the feeling of pain there, though. Actually, pain doesn't seem like the right word; it's not strong enough. The feeling is so much that it makes my eyes water, my thoughts turn to mush, my body become motionless.

I can see the outline of a person saying what I assume is my name and the sound of some voices laced with anger, but that disappears again as blackness surrounds me.

Just as suddenly as it disappeared, everything returns to me.

I feel more alert than before - how long ago that was, I don't know; maybe it was half an hour - and I remember everything with the force of a ton of bricks. I see Carlisle, masked with smoke, and an unrecognisable sound of agony rumbles from my lips.

In response, his face crumples. It's a sad sight.

I try saying his name, wondering if it'll be my last word, and that doesn't seem so bad. He tells me to save my breath, but it's so hard to force air into my lungs.

Everything suddenly becomes claustrophobic. What if the smoke takes up all the air? What if-

With one last protest, I drift once more.

We're moving.

I can feel it.

But, at the same time, I feel oddly numb.

Somebody's sitting beside me and, when I recognise the familiar blond hair and the friendly eyes, I suddenly feel safer. I could never forget him. "Carlisle..."

I can barely say his name, but it feels good doing so. He grips my hand and the warmth feels spectacular. We speak and, after the words leave my mouth, I find myself struggling to remember them. But whatever he says is comforting, as though he's some kind of safety blanket, and I cling onto every one.

God, I hope he doesn't leave me. I tell him so and he looks at me oddly; I pray beyond anything that I'm not being too clingy as I may have been in the past, but losing him when I need him most breaks my heart. It's selfish, but if he leaves I-

"I'm not going to, Bella, I promise."

And just like that, I believe him.

Then there's all kinds of movement again and bright light fills our space, breaking the idea that we could be alone together for as long as possible. Some people try to separate us and I feel my heart beginning to race, but I have to tell myself they're going to help me. This is good.

But, without Carlisle by my side, I feel oddly incomplete.

I'm inside and there are bright lights around me. Everything is hectic, as though time is running out. There are various people in blue overalls wearing masks and plastic gloves, and I presume that I'm about to have surgery.

Images of knives and blood flash through my head.

There's a frantic beeping above me and I realise that it's my heartbeat on the monitor.

"Try to keep calm," a voice tells me, and I want to listen but it's just words. Suddenly, there's a mask covering my face.

I want Carlisle so badly.

"Try to count backwards from ten, Miss Swan."

They're so cold and impersonal.

I only reach nine before I'm gone.

I'm conscious, but it seems too much effort to open my eyes. Firstly, I fear what I might find out when I do, and secondly I'm worried they may be sore and crusty.

Bearing this in mind, I sit silently for a while, just focusing on breathing and listening.

Oddly, I can feel somebody's presence by my right. Maybe it's a doctor. Maybe it's Carlisle.

Oh, he is a doctor.

I smile to myself, and there's movement and noise. "Bella? Bella, I'm here. I said I wouldn't leave."

Knowing I have no choice, I slowly move my eyelids and the light comes flooding through. I blink wildly, trying to grow accustomed to the shock, and the familiar sight of Carlisle gradually becomes clear in front of me.

Goodness, he's beautiful.

I thought I'd never see him again and the tears spill out of my eyes at the relief.

"Car-" I begin, but my voice sounds raspy. Knowing this, he reaches over and carefully gets some water for me. He's also got a straw, a lovely touch, and he places it carefully into my mouth. After taking a few swallows, the ache in my throat disappears and I try again. "Carlisle, you're okay!"

"How are you feeling now?" he asks, handing me a tissue. My arm feels a little stiff as I raise it to my face, but I just about manage. Good, I'm not paralysed or anything horrifying like that.

"Kind of numb," I admit, pleased that I'm now sounding steady.

"That'll be the painkillers. There's an immense amount being pumped into you."

That makes me feel strangely squeamish, but I focus on his face instead. "Did you get hurt at all?"

He shakes his head. "No. No, only a little damage to my lungs and throat from the smoke inhalation, but that's nothing that can't be fixed." As I continue to look at him, I see how his eyes seem red, how he looks paler than usual and how he seems so tired.

"How long has it been since..." I trail off, not wanting to recall it quite yet, even though images are still flickering through my head without warning.

The lifeless eyes.

The flames.

"Three days," he replies and my eyes bug out.

"Three days?"

He nods. "You had an operation as soon as you got here to remove the bullet and repair the surrounding tissue that had been damaged. You were so lucky, Bella, they managed to save you just in time. If the bullet was a fraction upwards..." He breaks off. "Well, we might not be having this conversation. You had me so worried."

It seems like such a miracle that we've survived.

That reminds me. "Oh God, did Victoria...?"

"She's alive too," he smiles. "Cuts and bruises, a fractured wrist, but she's alive. I never thought we would be, despite what I said."

I try to ignore that; that was what had kept me going. "What about the two girls who escaped?"

All the expression seems to disappear from his face as I say this. Instinctively I try to sit forwards, but he quickly places me back down, warning me about my stitches. "The girls have been all over the news. They're giving twisted versions of what happened and it's... it's sickening. I'd rather not discuss them, to be perfectly honest, Bella. They're after a lot of attention."

"Okay," I reply, surprised and disgusted. "What about the poor man?" The image of his blood across the floor and on my clothes makes my heart pound faster. Thankfully I'm in some kind of hospital gown. "Do his family know...?"

"Yes, they were here." He seems to look ten years older as the pain and compassion he feels for the people shows on his face. "They know."

"It's so sad," I breathe, but that doesn't express what I want to say. "Have they caught James yet?"

He runs his hand through his hair and from the gesture I assume the answer's a negative. "No, not yet. But they've been questioning me about him and I've given the best description I can. They're probably going to want to speak with you as well, but only when you're in a fit state. I won't let them otherwise."

I nod, but my eyes are suddenly attracted to a figure I see standing by the doorway. It's a woman, a beautiful looking woman, with caramel hair curling perfectly around her shoulders and a pale complexion, just like Carlisle's. She's staring at him intently.

My body seems to run cold as I remember again. He's married.

It feels like something is shattered inside me. Maybe it's hope.

"Is that your wife?" I ask, surprised my voice even produces sound. He looks around quickly and nods, not looking at me. It seems as though he feels guilty for spending this time with me and I know he's gonna have to leave soon.

It's so distressing that the painkillers can't even block out what I feel.

Without warning, everything I'd been trying to forget comes back to the surface with more power than ever before and it feels like I'm drowning. My eyes close, but the pictures are still there in my vision, taunting me.

It's as though I'm back in the room, with the bullet inside me and the flames around us.

"Bella! Bella!" A voice breaks through and I feel something on my face. My eyes open and I see Carlisle inches away from me, staring at me with fear in his eyes.

It feels hard to breathe, but looking at him makes it a little easier. Times moves sluggishly, but slowly I come back to reality. I take in the scene around me once more, trying to familiarise myself.

I must have had a panic attack.

Carlisle says this out loud and I swallow, trying to get some moisture in my dry mouth. I nod, agreeing with what he said. "I... I've... I've had them in the p-past. S-Sorry, it all b-became too m-much."

"It's okay. You're safe now."

His words would need to be a lot more powerful to convince me.

I have a horrible feeling these memories will be with me for a hell of a long time.

I don't know what day or time it is when I wake up next, but the first thing I register is Carlisle talking with his wife outside, and I close my eyes to block it out straight away.

Why is there always something out there to ruin my chance at happiness?

I'd felt so special when we'd gotten talking, but he was already taken.

Surely there was a drug of some kind to stop people from thinking? I just can't stop imagining myself being back at the cafe, and I want to escape to a world where everything is easy, where there's no trauma.

Those dark thoughts sicken me and plague me.

But I just want out.

Either that, or Carlisle.

I take one more look at him and, as I see closely, it seems that he looks angry. His wife suddenly storms away in a quick breeze and a brief moment of satisfaction warms me.

He heads back inside the room and forces a smile at me, something which makes me even more uneasy.

"Is something wrong?" I ask.

"We just had an argument," he sighs, looking more tired than ever before. "She thinks I should be resting at home."

That's probably true; he shouldn't be doing any harm to himself by staying here. I tell him this and he just exhales heavily.

"Bella, I want to stay until I know that you're okay again. Call it selfish, but I can't help it. Esme can't seem to understand that."

I stare at him silently, trying to comprehend his words. He's staying here because of me?

Maybe he feels guilty.

Or maybe... just maybe, he cares.

Even though it's incredibly pessimistic, I can't help thinking forward to when I get better. Will that be the end of what's happened between us? Will we move apart and never see each other again? Will my only memories of him be of our ordeal?

It's heartbreakingly cruel.

I want to tell him not to ever leave, but that's selfish of me. It might effect his marriage and his happiness.

Yet, why is there an overwhelming urge to do so? To beg?

I try to stop thinking about it, knowing it might make me more ill, but then I wonder if that's what I really want; if I stay unwell, Carlisle will never leave me.

That's an awful way to think and I'm repulsed with myself. Some people in my situation would give anything to get better.

I'll just have to make the most of his precious company and somehow find a way to survive when he's gone.

But those words fill me with sickness and fear, and I wonder if I'll cope. He was the reason I got through the trauma.

The torment is clearly too overwhelming and I slip into unconsciousness once more.