Chapter 03
Jacob's POV
She looked so helpless . . . lying there in the stark white of the hospital room. Everything seemed to be white: from the curtains on the windows; to the floor, ceiling, and walls; even down to the sheet and pillowcase on the bed. She was hooked up to tubes and monitors. Her eyes were closed, and if we'd been in a different setting it would have looked like she was just taking a nap. But she wasn't. The monitors were beeping annoyingly, and one of the tubes was bright red as blood from a transfusion was dripped into her still body.
It was early morning, 3:46 a.m. (I looked at the clock). I'd been sitting here, in a chair beside her bed, since they'd brought her into the recovery room and hour and twenty-seven minutes before. Counting the seconds, minutes, hours was the only way I was able to keep my sanity right now. If I didn't focus my mind on something besides the reason I was here, I knew I would go completely insane. Is that what had happened to Bella? Had something in her snapped, and that's why she'd just . . . lost it like that? I didn't know. I didn't know how long it would be until I did know, or even if I would ever find out. Bella wasn't awake to ask, and she wasn't showing signs of waking anytime soon.
The light in the room was dim, just one light in the corner turned on. The nurses had wanted to make sure she was able to sleep. They'd given me condescending looks at first, until they got a good look at my face. Consequently, they'd been coming in every so often to ask me if I needed anything, a drink or something to eat maybe. I said no to everything. I didn't think my stomach could take even a sip of water right now.
I heard voices outside the slightly open door. I couldn't hear what they were saying, they were mumbling, so I got up from the chair and leaned against the wall beside the door so I could hear them better. I peeked around the corner quickly. It was Charlie and a doctor in a white doctor's coat. I pulled myself back against the wall to listen.
The doctor spoke first. "We had to give her a blood transfusion. She's lost quite a bit of blood. We also put her on an antibiotic, just in case anything came in contact with that knife before she used it. We didn't find anything besides the usual amount of germs, but we want to be careful. Infections are always the deadliest things we deal with in the hospital, as hard as that is to believe. When she wakes up, we have a psychiatrist ready and willing to talk to her, to see maybe if this was her first time, or even a one-time-thing. We don't want this to continue. We can admit her to a rehabilitation facility, if you would like, or you can take her home when she has recovered. It is ultimately up to you, and Bella of course, but I would strongly suggest you admit her to a facility. Just to make sure this doesn't happen again."
"Dr. Gerandy . . . I don't want to put her in a . . . a . . . mental hospital. Not right away, anyway. I can't do that to Bella. I'll take her home. I can take care of her."
"If that's what you want," the doctor said, a slight note of skepticism in his voice. "She is lucky, though."
"How the hell do you call this lucky?"
"She only hit a very small artery. She missed all her major and vital ones, so we know she wasn't aiming to kill herself. If she was, this could have been a lot worse. Normally, in situations like this, the cuts are vertical, not horizontal like Bella's. The norm, when the cuts are horizontal, is the patient is only trying to release some emotional pain by inflicting physical pain on themselves. When they cut, their bodies release endorphins that sort of . . . "take over" the brain so they can forget about their emotional turmoil for a little while. I have a strong suspicion that this is what Bella was trying to do."
Both of them were silent for a few minutes, before Charlie spoke again. [NM Ch. 3 Pg. 79] "Is it true?" he whispered. "Did they leave?"
"Dr. Cullen asked us not to say anything," Dr. Gerandy answered. "The offer was very sudden; they had to choose immediately. Carlisle didn't want to make a big production out of leaving."
"A little warning might have been nice," Charlie grumbled.
Dr. Gerandy sounded uncomfortable when he replied. "Yes, well, in this situation, some warning might have been called for."
I didn't want to listen anymore. [End of Excerpt] I walked back over to my chair and flopped down in it, as quietly as I could. There was a soft whumpf as I landed in it. A few minutes later I heard the door squeak quietly as someone opened it. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Charlie come in, looking tired. He rubbed the bridge of his nose like he had a headache or something, then came over to me.
He put his hand on my shoulder and then whispered, "Can I talk to you outside for a minute, Jake?"
I nodded, not being able to make my mouth work to say anything, got up from the chair, and followed him out into the hallway. We left the door cracked a little, just in case Bella woke up while we were gone.
He rubbed a hand over the top of his head, looking down at the floor. "You okay, son?"
Was I okay? Was I okay? Hell no. I was so far from okay right now, I didn't even know what "okay" meant. I just shook my head, though, shrugging.
"This must be pretty hard on you. You finding her, and all."
I just shrugged again. I still couldn't make my mouth work. It was like my voice box had dried up, a desert wasteland.
"If you . . . uh . . . ever need to talk to someone . . . ."
I stopped him right there. I could see what it was costing him to say this, worrying about me when all he wanted to do was worry about his daughter. "Thanks, Charlie, but I'll be alright. Don't worry about me. Let's just worry about Bella. I'll be fine."
He nodded his head (by the looks of it he didn't know what else to say), and went into Bella's room. I watched him walk slowly over to her bed, sit down in a chair, and take Bella's hand. I couldn't look anymore at the . . . broken man in front of me. I turned around and walked the long hallways to the elevator. I took it down to the ground floor and walked outside. There was a breeze blowing, but it didn't even feel good to me. I walked along the outside wall of the hospital, and came to an alcove. I slid down the brick until I was sitting on the hard cement sidewalk. I pulled my knees up to my chest, crossed my arms, and laid my head down on them.
The tears came without me even realizing it. I couldn't seem to make them stop, either. What was going to happen to Bella? I hadn't even gotten much of a chance to know her, but already the thought of anything else happening to her was ripping my insides to shreds. I didn't think I could take it if . . . if she didn't . . . make it. The thought itself was agony.
Bella . . . .
Bella's POV
I didn't get to come home for a week. Dr. Gerandy wanted to make sure I was okay, emotionally as well as physically. He'd sent in a psychiatrist to talk to me, but I had nothing to say. How could I justify what I had done to this judgmental person who probably thought I was crazy? I didn't say anything to the tall, thin, blonde-haired person, carrying a notepad and pen. Her makeup and newly-painted nails were flawless, and looked like the type of person who'd never experienced anything worse than a broken nail.
I had nothing to say to this condescending bitch.
I know I was being mean and rude, even if it was only in my mind. But I didn't care. I didn't care about much of anything anymore.
I heard the lady talking to my dad outside my hospital room door. She wanted Charlie to admit me into a facility - her word, not mine - but Charlie was adamant - he wasn't going to do that to me. Not yet. This time they were his words, not hers. He wanted to take me home, thinking the familiar surroundings would help pull me out of my depression. They'd at least agreed on one thing there - I was depressed. They were stupid. Depressed didn't begin to cover it. Not in the least.
I hadn't said a word since they'd admitted me into the hospital. Charlie told me I'd been unconscious for a few days. My wrists were still bandaged but my wounds were already pretty much healed up. Even now, even seeing how much I had hurt Charlie by what I had done, I couldn't bring it in myself to regret what I'd done. It had been the only thing I could do at the time to keep me from going completely crazy.
Some people would argue that what I had done made me a crazy person, but someone in the same situation as me would probably understand completely.
The drive home was silent, but it wasn't the comfortable silence Charlie and I usually shared. This was one strained and stressed. Neither of us could bring ourselves to break it, however, and that was fine with me. When we got to the house, I got silently out of the car, not even bothering to grab the small bag of things Charlie had brought for me. They could rot in his backseat for all I cared. He got it, though, and followed me just as silently through the front door. It was unlocked. There was nothing in Forks that could hurt us - at least not anything that would be deterred by a locked door.
I didn't stop to talk to Charlie; I didn't even wait for him to get in the house. I headed straight up the stairs and into my bedroom, locking the door behind me. I turned around and stared at the room. So much his as it was mine.
[Excerpt, NM Ch. 3 The End, Pg. 83-84]
Everything looked exactly the same as I'd left it. I pressed down on the top of the CD player. The latch unhooked, the lid slowly swung open.
It was empty.
The album Renée had given me sat on the floor beside the bed, just where I'd put it last. I lifted the cover with a shaking hand.
I didn't have to flip farther than the first page. The little metal corners no longer held a picture in place. The page was blank except for my own handwriting scrawled across the bottom: Edward Cullen, Charlie's kitchen, Sept. 13th.
I stopped there. I was sure that he would have been very thorough.
It will be as if I'd never existed, he'd promised me.
I felt the smooth wooden floor beneath my knees, and then the palms of my hands, and then it was pressed against the skin of my cheek. I hoped that I was fainting, but, to my disappointment, I didn't lose consciousness. The waves of pain that had only lapped at me before now reared high up and washed over my head, pulling me under.
I did not resurface.
I woke up on the floor. I knew it had to be the middle of the night, because the it was pitch black outside except for the pale white moon. I turned away from it, not able to look at it. The color reminded me too much of him.
He had taken everything of him away from me, everything except my memories. There had to be something I could do that would keep him from disappearing completely. Because I knew, even though I would always remember him, I wouldn't remember everything. Even now, the sound of his voice was slipping away, and I knew it wouldn't take my devastatingly human brain long to forget the beauty of his face. I had to etch his name in me, never letting it go.
Maybe I could go one step farther than that, though. Maybe I could keep a physical representation of him, even if I couldn't keep my material representations.
It had worked once, hadn't it? What I had done in the woods . . . it had taken the pain away once. Maybe . . . just maybe . . . it would work again.
I slid myself across the floor and pulled myself to my feet using the knob on my door. I tiptoed catlike down the stairs to the kitchen, remembering to skip the one that creaked; I didn't want to wake Charlie. He would be so disappointed with me (more so) if he caught me at what I was doing. Which is why I wasn't going to stay in the kitchen while I did it. That would be a mistake. I would tiptoe into the kitchen. Grab the knife - my favorite one, with the blade that never seemed to get dull. Sneak back up to my bedroom. Lock the door behind me. Tiptoe back into my bed. Pull the covers up over myself. And draw out my pain again.
It was surprisingly easy. Charlie didn't even break his snores once.
When I got back into my bed, I didn't even hesitate. I put the knife in my right hand. I placed it against my left forearm.
E.
The blood intoxicated me, even while the smell of it made me nauseous.
D.
Edward (I let myself think his name, knowing I wasn't going to succumb to the urge to utter it ever again), you left me . . . . How could you leave me, and take everything I have of you? My human memories will fade, and you had to have known that . . . . How cruel are you really?
W.
I can't act like you never existed. You had to have known how impossible that would be for me to. My mind has been set for a long time now. How could you think I would just be able to forget about it all? Forget about you?
I switched the knife to my left hand. I placed the blade to my right forearm.
A.
Like you never existed? How could you be so obtuse? How could you think that I would ever forget you? How could you think you could never exist in my thoughts? In my world?
R.
This is the only way I can keep you now. Even though I know it's wrong, I can't stop. I don't want to. You've taken everything of you away from me, right down to the pictures, and the love you left for me in a cd. Would it have been so bad to leave them here for me? Would that have been so awful?
D.
What did I do to make you want to leave? Why did you suddenly decide I wasn't good enough for you? Why couldn't you have decided that before I got so . . . involved with you? I love you, Edward . . . . Don't leave me . . . . Please . . . .
It was a fruitless thing to ask for. It would never happen. He had already left me. In fact, if I was honest with myself, I'd never really had him in the first place.
I held my arms straight out in front of me, so I could gaze upon my handiwork.
E A
D R
W D
I would never be able to forget him now, no matter how much my memories faded. I wouldn't be able to even wash my hands without seeing his name anymore. The thought comforted me. There was nothing else I could do.
He would never completely leave me now.
I tiptoed into the bathroom, making sure no blood dripped onto the carpets. I had to get this bandaged. I could never let Charlie see this; I'd be damned if he tried to put me back in the hospital. I locked the door to the bathroom just in case, and turned to the sink. First I ran my arms underneath the faucet to get rid of any excess blood. It was still oozing out of my arms, but not nearly so bad as it had in the woods. After that, I patted the wounds dry and got the gauze out of the medicine cabinet. After wrapping it around my forearms completely, I secured them with tape. I would have to wear long sleeves from now on. It wouldn't be much of an obstacle here in Forks, though, where it hardly ever got warm.
I cleaned up the bathroom, flushing the blood-soaked toilet paper down the toilet and putting everything away. I might have just gotten a tampon and peed. Charlie would never know - I hoped. No. I would make sure I never hurt him again with the knowledge of what I had to do to keep myself sane. He didn't need to go insane by knowing. He was safer in the dark.
I tiptoed back to my bedroom. I wiped the knife off on the inside of my pajama pants. They were thick sweats, so they wouldn't stain on the outside. I slipped the knife between the mattress and the box spring, by the wall. Charlie never cleaned my room or did the laundry, so he wouldn't have a clue.
I smiled to myself as I was able to drift into a dreamless sleep.