Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Special thanks to PTB and my super betas - AddictedtoEdward and Ms. Ambrosia. Without them, I don't know what I'd do. Thanks ladies!
BPOV
I lay in bed that night, thinking over what had happened earlier that afternoon with Alice and how horribly I'd acted towards her. She had forgiven me, of course; it wasn't in Alice's nature to hold grudges. Plus, as best friends, we could act in ways with each other that other people would never forgive. It was part of loving someone and accepting them – the good, the bad, and the ugly.
I knew I was going to have to tell her and Jake about the accident and its aftermath someday. I knew I probably should've been telling them – or anyone, really – about what had happened from the moment I woke up in the hospital. If my reactions to Alice today were anything to go by, holding it in certainly hadn't been the healthiest thing for me. But talking about it meant thinking about it, and it still hurt so much to relive those moments. The memories caused me to feel like I couldn't breathe and I truly feared I'd never breathe easily ever again.
I tossed and turned painfully, willing my brain to turn off for the night so I could fall asleep and escape from all of my emotions for a little while. I kept hoping that the pain medication would kick in and help pull me under, but it wasn't working. I couldn't shut my mind off from replaying the accident and everything that happened afterwards over and over in my head.
I think I hear Charlie's voice. It sounds like he's talking to me from the far end of a tunnel; I can hear the sound of his voice, but can't make out the words. It feels like he's holding my hand. I try to open my eyes again, but there's just too much pain. I just want to die.
My eyes flutter open. I feel like they're being dragged down by bricks and it takes me a minute to fully open them and focus on what's around me. It looks like a hospital room. It smells like a hospital. There's a painting on the wall, next to a small screen TV. I can hear the beeping of the heart monitor.
Charlie is sitting next to me in a cold, hard chair. He looks like he hasn't shaved in a week, and his hair is disheveled, as if he has done nothing but run his hands through it or pull on it.
The room is chilly and I shiver under the blankets, staring at my father. I'm trying to put the pieces together; trying to remember where I was and how Charlie and I had gotten here. My throat is dry, and I can see a plastic jug sitting on the tray to the left of the bed. I reach for it, without thinking, and the pain of just moving my body makes me gasp out loud.
Charlie's hand flinches in mine and I hear him murmur, "Bella..." as he comes up out of his slumber. Once he realizes I'm awake, he stands up and bellows for a nurse, which causes the ache in my head to intensify.
"Bells, are you okay? Honey, can you talk to me? Are you alright?" He doesn't pause long enough for me to give him an answer.
A nurse walks in and smiles when she sees my eyes open. "Hello, Bella. I'm so glad to see that you're awake. You've had all of us very worried." She smiles gently and starts taking my pulse before moving on to check my other vital signs.
I ignore her because I can only stare at my father, who is standing as close to the bed as he possibly can. There are tears streaming down his face, and they're the only things that stop me from voicing my questions, my worries and my fears. If Charlie is crying, things are bad – very bad.
I can hear the monitor behind my head beeping crazily; my heart rate has skyrocketed. The nurse calls for a doctor and he rushes in to give me something to calm me down.
An hour later, I am as calm as I'm going to be. I can see Charlie speaking quietly to a doctor just outside the door to my room. They're whispering and the doctor has one hand on Charlie's shoulder. His head is hanging down and his eyes are on the floor. I can barely see the doctor squeeze Charlie's shoulder and Charlie looks up to give him a small nod. The doctor leaves and Charlie turns to come back into my room. He takes a deep breath as he looks at me and I know something bad is coming. I still can't remember what happened to cause me to be in the hospital, but I know instinctively that it's something I don't want to hear.
Charlie sits on the side of my bed, trying not to crowd me. He reaches for my hand, and I want to pull it out of his grasp, but I know I'll need this connection. I know he needs this connection.
"Bells, honey, I have something I need to tell you. I need you to be calm, okay?" He waits for my answer, and I give him a short nod, just wanting him to get it over with. Pull it off quick, like a Band-Aid, rather than prolonging the pain.
"Honey, what's the last thing you remember?"
I shake my head, partly as an answer to him and partly trying to clear my fogged brain. Charlie gives me a minute and something finally clicks.
It's dark, but the sky is clear. Phil is asleep in the back seat, snoring just loud enough that I can hear him over the radio. Mom is asleep next to me in the front seat. I reach down to turn up the radio or change the station, but something causes me to look up and I see a car bearing down on us. I draw in a breath to scream. Then there is nothing but a dark, wet, heavy cloak of nothingness.
I try to open my eyes, but I can't. I hear voices, just under the sound of sirens.
"Shit, I think a rib may have punctured a lung. Goddamn, she's a fucking mess."
"She's got a broken hip, I think...Damn, I can't see! Bring me a flashlight!"
"She's bleeding internally. We got to get her the hell out of here."
I'm in an excruciating amount of pain. I can't seem to open my eyes or scream from the agony. Thankfully, I'm dragged down into nothingness again.
"There was an acci..." I trail off, already knowing where this conversation is about to go. I shake my aching head vigorously, wanting to stop Charlie from saying something I desperately do not want to hear.
"Bells, another driver hit the car head on. Phil...and...your mom..." I can see Charlie's Adam's apple bobbing up and down and there are tears in his eyes. I'm tugging, trying to pull my hand from his, but he's holding tight. "Honey, they were killed instantly."
All the air has been taken from the room, and I can't catch my breath. I hear these vague mewling sounds and a detached part of my brain is wondering where they're coming from. It's not long before I realize the sounds are coming from me. Charlie pulls me into his arms, gently, where I sob. A nurse comes to give me something to help me sleep, and Charlie holds me until I succumb.
I sleep, fitfully, until the next morning. Charlie has not left my side all night.
The nurse has kindly brought Charlie a cup of coffee, and as she's leaving, the doctor arrives to talk to me. "Ms. Swan, I'm Dr. Philips. I'm very sorry for your loss." I just stare at him. He clears his throat and gets down to business.
"You've been in a coma for the last two weeks." My eyes fly to Charlie, who just holds my hand, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles.
The doctor continues, "Until we run some tests, we won't be sure if the accident or the coma have had any effect on your brain. At best, you can expect to suffer from chronic headaches. At worst, there could be memory loss or changes to your personality." I feel like I'm going to be sick.
Dr. Philips is kind, but matter of fact. "When you came in, Ms. Swan, you were suffering from a number of internal and external injuries. You have a broken hip and broken ribs. One of your ribs punctured your lung. Your liver had also been lacerated and the surgeons had to make quick work of it to save your life." The doctor clears his throat again and then says, "The bottom half of your body was a mess. You were hemorrhaging badly, but we managed to get the bleeding under control." I think he has something more to add, but after a quick glance at Charlie, he just clears his throat.
Dr. Philips goes on to explain that I will need weeks, if not months, of physical therapy to completely regain movement and flexibility in my body. He also suggests meeting with the hospital's psychologist to talk about the emotional and mental impact of the accident.
He clears his throat again and I want to offer him a glass of water, but I don't have the energy or the strength. "I have talked this over with your father, and if you're agreeable, when you're further along in your recovery, we would like to move you to the Mayo Clinic here in Jacksonville. You would stay there until you regain normal movement in your body and can function on your own without assistance."
I stop listening. My head is pounding and I cannot begin to process the information he has just given me on top of my grief for my mother and Phil. With a gentle pat on my hand, he leaves me alone with Charlie.
The next day, Jake arrives, and Charlie takes the opportunity to go shower and sleep for a few hours. Jake fills me in on things that Charlie can't, or won't, tell me about what has happened since the accident and while I was in the coma.
As soon as they found my cell phone in my purse, Charlie had been contacted. He'd called Jake during his mad dash to the airport to tell him what had happened. Jacob had wanted to come to Jacksonville with him, but Billy was incredibly ill and wasn't expected to live much longer; Jake just couldn't leave him. Charlie had to make the trip alone, and promised Jake that he would call whenever he could.
Charlie had gotten to Jacksonville about five hours after the accident occurred. Alice arrived only an hour later. Neither Charlie nor Alice left my side except to shower and change clothes once a day; the hospital helped them find a hotel not too far away, so they had a place to stay, but they rarely used it. Alice had stayed for a week, but not knowing how long I was going to be in the coma, Charlie convinced her to leave and return to New York. She only agreed when he promised that he would call as soon as I woke up. My best friend was in a spitting rage when it turned out she had to travel to Paris for a business meeting and missed my waking up.
"Charlie was your constant companion while you were unconscious, Bells; he talked to you everyday, especially once the nurses told him it was possible you could hear him." Jake is sitting in the chair next to my bed, rubbing my knee in soothing patterns. "He called me at least twice a day, and a few times, he even held the phone up to your ear so I could talk to you, too. He said that maybe if we talked to you enough, you'd wake up to tell us to shut up." We give each other weak smiles and somewhere deep inside, I'm happy Jake is here when I need him most. But happiness cannot compete with devastation, agony and grief. It's better to remain numb.
Jacob stays only for the night; he returns to La Push when Leah calls to tell him that Billy has taken a turn for the worse. Two days later, Billy dies. Charlie and I miss his funeral.
In the days that follow, Charlie and I talk very little. It is enough to sit there and watch TV and hold his hand. The silence isn't uncomfortable in the least. I think it is just too painful to voice what we're both feeling; the emotions will bury us under their weight. He holds me when I cry and is constantly asking if there is anything he can do for me. Nothing is scarier than seeing my father helpless. I have always looked to him as the tough guy, the hero who always had the right answer. Even before I lived with him full time, I had this image of him as a rock – no one could be steadier or more solid than Charlie. Seeing him after my accident and mom's death has changed that. Something inside of him has broken and he is trying to put it back together by helping me. He called my best friends and they circled the wagons to assist him and me. He also called my boyfriend, Joe, but that hasn't turned out nearly as well as he has expected.
As Joe walks into my hospital room, I know immediately that something is wrong. He refuses to meet my eyes, and while he seems somewhat concerned for my condition and prognosis, he won't talk to anyone but Charlie or the doctors about it. In fact, he won't talk to me at all. He has made it very obvious that he does not want to be alone with me, making up excuses to leave the room when it appears that's exactly what will happen. The inevitable is staring me in the face, but I'm too overwhelmed with everything else to recognize it for what it is.
It's easy to tell that Charlie is less than pleased with how Joe is acting, but Charlie disapproves silently rather than venting his anger verbally. I'm thankful for that, fairly sure I won't be able to handle the emotional stress of my father and boyfriend in a screaming match. I'm barely able to handle the tension between Joe and I on top of everything else I'm dealing with. I'm hanging by an extremely thin thread.
Physically, my body feels like it has been ripped apart from the inside out; like someone has taken me and run me over, boiled me in oil and then left me on the side of the road, naked on a sunny day in the desert. Emotionally, I still can't wrap my head around the fact that my beautiful, vibrant mother is dead. Anytime I try to think about it, it makes my physical pain seem like absolutely nothing. And the guilt...the guilt is ripping me apart. I'd survived and she hadn't. It doesn't seem fair that my mother, who was so full of life, has been taken away and I've been left here instead.
Joe has been at the hospital for two days before he finally speaks to me.
It happens after breakfast; Charlie has been here since visiting hours began, with Joe sauntering in about an hour later. The minute Joe walks in the room, Charlie jumps up from the chair next to my bed and announces he is going to get some coffee. Before Joe can open his mouth, Charlie is out the door, deliberately leaving us alone.
Joe stands silently at the end of my hospital bed, looking all over my room before finally making eye contact with me. His face is full of indifference and I mentally steel myself for whatever is coming. When he doesn't say anything after a few minutes, I open my mouth to ask him to leave. He cuts me off before I'm able to say anything.
"Bella, I can't do this anymore." Joe runs a hand over his face and looks at the floor.
"I didn't come here intending to break up with you, but I can't let this go on any longer. You and I... well, we haven't been working for a while, and I just don't have the energy to pretend anymore. While you were gone, I realized that you just don't fit in my life the way I thought you did. I was going to tell you when you came home, but with the accident... When Charlie told me the extent of your injuries – I feel horrible saying this – but I can't be there to help you through your rehabilitation. God, I'm sorry. But I've come to realize that I don't even want to try to make this work; I just don't have it in me. I'm sorry."
He glances at me once before he turns and walks out the door and out of my life. I am humiliated and in shock.
What the hell just happened? Was I really just dumped while lying in a hospital bed? Seriously?
The questions are running through my mind and the tears stream down my face. I don't bother to hide them from Charlie when he returns to the room, looking around for Joe and staring at my tear-streaked face. When I can find my voice, I just tell him that Joe decided that we should break up and he had left. Charlie is speechless; he looks a bit like a fish with the way he keeps opening and closing his mouth. It would've been amusing if I weren't so stunned and hurt. The man I love just broke up with me while I'm recovering from a serious accident and lay broken in a hospital bed. My mother is dead, I'm grieving and he's got the nerve to walk in here and say he can't do this anymore? Are you kidding me?
Charlie and I sit in silence for a while, and every once in a while I hear a muttered curse or insult directed toward Joe, but I choose to ignore it. I go back to feeling numb again, as it seems to be the only way to keep the crushing pain from cutting off my airway.
And here I am.
My hip protested as I rolled over onto my back, staring up at my ceiling in the dark. I took a deep breath and ran my hands over my face, scrubbing the tears from where they had fallen.
How much could one person be expected to take?
I wondered, not for the first time, if it would have been better if I had succumbed to my injuries and died with my mother and Phil. The tears began again and I knew I was in the darkest place I could possibly be, wondering if I really had it in me to take one more breath, to live for one more day.
A/N:
Would love to hear your thoughts about Joe...he's just awesome, isn't he?
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Thank you so much for reading!