A/N: Big inappropriate love to all of you. Thank you for nominating me for a Giggle Snort award for best Bella. Um, this chapter actually isn't very funny though. Stuff at the end about stuff.

Strange, I never once took the time to read the name of the hospital on the side of the building. The sign read: Washington West General. Was that right?

So... if I was Swan after all, then how the fuck did I have transplanted memories from Flanagan? It didn't make any sense. Was I capable of astral projection? The only person I could vocalize this question to was the Blue Coat to my left (hybrid of White Coat and a Security Guard because he has both a tazer and a syringe), and he already thought I was crazy so my efforts would be fruitless.

But then again...

"Do you believe in astral projection?" I asked dully.

"That new age shit?" That fuck! He barely raised his head to look at me.

Scowling, I wondered if he'd piss himself if I proved him wrong by disappearing. Hm, actually I probably wouldn't disappear; my body would become catatonic when my soul took flight.

I clicked the heels of my red Sketchers together three times before I even realized I had no home to wish for.

"Well, Toto," I said to my package of Camels. "I don't think we're in Kansas anymore."

The secrets of the universe could not be found at the bottom of a cigarette package, but for now, it was all I had to cling to; tangents and nicotine.

You're not Flanagan. Stop thinking like her.

Yeah, don't fucking remind me, Voice-in-my-Head! Why didn't I feel like myself, then?

"Where am I?" I stepped casually away from my reluctant companion to sit on the curb by the side entrance of the hospital.

"Hospital." He stood in such a way as to convey how brusque and immovable he was, all folded arms and bowed legs. Well, that posture was just unfortunate.

"City, please?"

"Tacoma."

I thought of the race track and making love to Jacob in the motel. That, of course, was all me. I couldn't blame anyone else for my duplicity.

"Tacoma," I repeated and looked up at the Critical Care windows to see if Edward was looking down at me. The sun's rays on the glass curtain wall made the windows nearly opaque.

It was kind of warm outside, the sun finding its way through the inevitable Washington stratus cloud cover. Despite the unexpected heat, I shivered, contemplating the package of Camels in my pocket. Smoking would give me a purpose for sitting outside. The crazies who did nothing but sit with glazed expressions were too far gone; I didn't want to be one of them. I should probably just smoke.

The box poked into my hip. Did I smoke or not? Really, I shouldn't even think about smoking, but if I was going to be an immortal, did it matter? Did anything matter?

Questions. More questions and the only answers I found brought on more questions still.

Was I really only about ten feet away from the hospital entrance? I felt like I was bound to Edward by an elastic tether; the further I ventured away from him, the stronger the tension became. If I took another step, I would snap, not break free but float aimlessly into the unknown like a comet pulled from orbit. I needed to be grounded. Edward was my gravity.

So, why was I avoiding him? Actually, was I avoiding him or was he avoiding me? Would he leave me again; cut off all ties and hope for me to find a better life in Canada?

Now I thought of myself as a balloon lost to the wind.

These were terrible metaphors! Shit, I really wished I'd finished high school. I wasn't very clever at all. All I ever read was Bronte, and the ending of Wuthering Heights never changes, not even upon the thirtieth read-through.

My inner dialogue was making me vomit a little. Like, in my mouth. I missed Flanagan. I missed the ambiguity, the push and pull of being two different people at once. Being me sucked.

Do you know about pink elephants? It's a phenomenon among crazy fuckers like us.

My hands shook as I tried to swallow that particular memory and coax a cigarette out of the package. Carlisle had encouraged me to embrace my memories, rather than attempt to quell them, but repression had become as unconscious to me as breathing. I could see it, though, if I allowed myself to; the cracked ceiling tiles of the group therapy room at Southlake. The dialogue I had spouted here in Group was never my own. It was all her. I wasn't who I thought I was.

There's no place like home...

-({})-

"Buck up, buttercup. You're supposed to be delusional, not depressed."

"Why can't I be both?" I felt my lower lip extend in a pout. Flanagan was not impressed. "And I am depressed... Otherwise they wouldn't be treating me with ECT."

"Meh, they're just resetting the charge in your brain since your synapses won't play nice."

I was wearing blue scrubs and they did nothing to warm the chill that lingered deep within my bones. Flanagan handed me her sweater--the one she was wearing--and smiled wildly at the male nurse who had accompanied us to the Day Surgery waiting room. She wasn't even wearing a bra!

"Like what you see, asshole?"

Idly, I wondered what it would be like not to care about anything. How could she be so free-spirited, considering what had happened to her?

Here in the Great White North, fairy tales and monsters didn't exist, to the best of my knowledge, and the drugs that lubricated my brain cells wanted to keep it that way.

"I was going to live forever," I snapped. "How many among us can say that?"

Flanagan flicked her tongue around her nipple to make sure she had the nurse's attention. She did; it was completely undivided. "Among us? Dude, maybe half would say that. There's a lot of schizos who suffer from delusions of grandeur up in this house."

She stood up and approached the nurse. "I'd like to fuck you."

"Isabella," he stammered. "Not here, okay?"

"Fine," she said, lifting herself into his lap to straddle him. "But you belong to me, bitch. That sweet ass is mine. If you want me to blow you, you'll have to bring me 60 mg of Ativan this time. Not the off label shit either."

My face likely turned ten shades of red. "Aren't you married?" I asked in a quiet voice.

She looked at me, her face hollowing infinitesimally. "Yeah, I'm married. I have two kids. Life is fucking perfect. Can't you tell how fucking happy I am?"

Our eyes locked, and for a moment, I could not speak. A silent exchange occurred that I couldn't explain. Naked and vulnerable, our defences were stripped away and our misery on display, fully and completely to each other.

"Bella Swan?" the day surgery nurse paged, and Flanagan jumped off of my chaperone.

"Coming," he said, his voice cracking.

Maybe I'd never wake up from the anaesthetic. Maybe the electricity would damage my brain into oblivion.

-({})-

Sonja found me in the common room, staring out the window. I had lost more time.

"Where's Edward?"

"Who's Edward?" Sonja asked dully, and I nearly shit myself.

"He's... I mean, he's my... He's real. Isn't he?"

"Fuck, I'm totally messing with you," she laughed. "Yeah, he's real. I saw him get into that shiny silver vulva of his. He's fixated on that car. It might as well have cunt lips."

"Says the girl who wants to fuck the paper towels."

"Touché. Too-fucking-shay."

"Where's Jake?"

"Jacking off. I can't fuck him on account of my therapy."

-({})-

Flanagan ushered me into Group room B269 for our therapy session. "Who the fuck invented group therapy? Seriously, who was the fucking genius who said, 'Let's take ten crazy people and put them in a small room together to hash things out?'"

"Dunno," I muttered as she deposited me in a chair amidst a group of particularly shady characters.

I'd been roused from recovery only minutes after waking. I hated losing time. Every moment I lost terrified me because time was my only mile-marker. Edward wanted me to forget him, but I wouldn't. Not ever. They could numb me with drugs and electricity, but I'd rather be dead than believe that my love for Edward wasn't real.

"Buzz Buzz!" an emaciated brunette smirked at me. I couldn't quite bring her into focus. Words and colours swam around me. Voices reverberated off of the acoustical wall tiles creating a symphony of echoes. I felt like I was only seeing the shadow cast by the real world. The cacophony of voices became apparitions.

I lowered my head into my hands and tried to shake off the dull tinnitus that resonated, just enough to be infinitely annoying.

"I shouldn't be here."

You're a fucking liar!

Louder. The voices became louder. Screams. Echoes. Shadows.

"Bella?" Dr Shapiro's voice sharpened into focus. "Are you alright?"

I nodded, cringing.

-({})-

I was in no rush to return to my empty room. The beautiful pale face and shock of coppery hair jolted me. Heat and emotion rushed back into my cold body.

"You're waiting for me?"

"Of course, Love."

"I thought that maybe you'd left again."

"Never." Edward drew back the covers and I ran to his side, snuggling into his chest. Somehow he was warm.

"I love you." I was so tired. My eyes wouldn't stay open.

His lips on my skin were the last sensation I felt before drifting.

"I love you, Bella. Forever."

For once, I tried to believe him. He felt like home.

Author's Note:

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