I own nothing Twlight.
Chapter 13 - Mad World
Physical therapy is the best part of my day. I would rather be in any amount of physical pain than discuss my feelings. Pain, I can handle. I am all too accustom to that. But sitting down, in front of a therapist, talking about Jacob or my parents or my life. . .I'd rather have someone yelling at me to put one foot in front of the other. Dr. Moore tells me that I've grown too comfortable in my wheelchair. That I'm using it as a crutch, that I'm not putting the energy into healing. I want to give her the finger, to tell her that putting any pressure on my legs feels like someone poured gasoline all over me and lit a match. But it gets me out of Activity Time, so I go.
"Just keep holding onto the bars, you can do this," Phil, the physical therapist, cheers me on. "You got this, Bella. Keep going."
I want to throw some sort of expletive at him, but I'm using all of my concentration not to fall flat on my face. Building muscle and learning to walk all over again, well it's a lot harder than I originally thought. I imagined it being like riding a bike, you just know how to do it. But my legs won't cooperate, having atrophied a bit in the time they haven't been used.
"I'm. . .trying. . .I. . .can't," each word comes out of my mouth in a gasp.
"Yes you can," he says, waiting at the end of the bars for me, hands out.
I'm not using my legs to move so much as my arms. Wait, scratch that, arm. As the other is still in a cast. I want to yell at him that this isn't fair. I only have one fully-functional limb and he's forcing me to try to use three broken ones. This has to be illegal, some form of inhumane torture.
Rosalie just stands in the doorway, laughing the whole time. It's funny to make fun of the handicapped girl as she tries to walk in a straight line without biting it. I secretly think she likes me in the chair, because she uses the excuse of having to push me around everywhere as to why she hangs out so much with me.
"Just make it to me and then you're done for the day," he adds.
This gives me a boost of motivation to press on. I use my good arm to leverage myself against the two bars, slowly bringing my legs forward. They are now both in air casts, but that does little to help with my maneuverability.
"Keep it going," Rosalie yells from her spot by the door.
I throw a glare her way, only to notice she is actually holding a can of Coke and a bag of popcorn. As though she is watching a movie.
"What the? Where did you get the popcorn?" I ask, incredulously.
"The vending machine," she throws a kernel into her mouth, smiling. "Come on, Gimpy. Move your ass forward."
Phil looks at her disapproving, but doesn't say anything. He likes to stay on all of the patients' good sides. To be the "cool" therapist. I keep my same pace, trudging along slowly.
"Oh what's this?" Rosalie says suddenly, holding an envelope in front of her face. "A letter from a one Mr. Edward Cullen. I wonder what it says. Lets read, shall we?"
"Rose!" I yell, suddenly finding the will power to make it to the end of the bars into Phil's outreached arms.
He helps me over to my chair, congratulating me on a job well done. I ignore him, instead wheeling myself over to where Rosalie stands, letter still in her hand.
"Give me that," I reach up, she holds the letter over her head.
"My dearest Bella," she mock-reads. "I can't live without you, can't breathe until I see your face again."
"It does not say that!" I punch her lightly in the stomach, causing her to double over enough for me to grab the mail from her hand.
"Ow, shit, Bells," she wraps her arms around her mid-section.
"Oh please, it did not hurt that much," I roll my eyes, wheeling myself around her to leave the room.
"I know, but I like to pretend you're stronger than you really are. I want to help boost your confidence," she laughs, taking her spot behind me and pushing me down the hallway.
We enter the media room, which isn't actually much of a media room. Just a few couches spread out and a television, probably older than both of my parents, on a small table against the wall. There's a VCR and a small collection of VHS tapes next to it. Rose and I have probably watched the Clueless tape once a day for the past month.
She flops down on the couch, flipping through the channels before settling on an infomercial we've also probably seen once a day for the past month.
I roll over to a corner of the room, wanting privacy to read Edward's letter.
February 27
Bella,
I'm sorry that it's taken me so long to respond, I had to go to Chicago for a week to handle a personal matter. It was a wonderful surprise receiving your letter when I returned home. Truth be told, I never thought you were going to reply to me. I don't know what made you change your mind, but I'm glad you did.
I hadn't mentioned in my letter what Alice had led me to discover, figuring it would be best for him to tell me about his past on his own terms.
Your roommate sounds. . .interesting. I hope she doesn't wheel you into oncoming traffic one day for her own amusement.
My letter to him had revealed none of my true thoughts and feelings, instead it was just a description of all the crazy people that are in here with me.
"Bella?" my reading is interrupted by Dr. Moore.
I glance at the clock above her, realizing I've forgotten I have a session with her that should've started ten minutes ago.
"Dun dun duuuunnn," Rosalie chants, not glancing up from the television screen.
I reluctantly wheel myself over to the doctor, following her to her office closer to the front of the building. Her office is full of self-help books, motivational posters, and every other stereotypical psychological tool you can think of. I want to ask her if she thinks that stuff really works. If fixing people is really that easy.
"How are you today, Bella?" she asks, taking her seat across from me.
She has her paper and pen all ready to go, to write down her thoughts on how crazy I am.
"Sore," I state.
"Well, that's not surprising," she says. "Phil says you did great in physical therapy today."
"I could've sat on my ass for the whole hour and he would've said I did great. He has self-esteem issues in which he's afraid of people not liking him," I respond, my own Phil-diagnosis.
She doesn't say anything, but the corner of her mouth threatens a smile. She clearly has reached this same thought.
"Jacob's court date is next week," she cuts to the chase. "Have you reconsidered testifying?"
She asks me this every session and every session my answer is the same, "No, I'm not testifying."
I know that she is growing more and more frustrated with me as the days pass, just as she has been with Rosalie for months. We are uncrackable. She cannot penetrate the barrier we have built around ourselves and it pisses her off, even though she would never admit to it. I wonder if my parents know they are spending thousands and thousands of dollars for me to be here and I am intentionally making no progress.
"You know, Bella, you can't stay here forever," she says, as if reading my thoughts. "Eventually you're going to have to go back out in the real world."
I want to tell her that I'd rather rot here for the rest of my life than ever go back to the real world. The real world is full of hurt and lies and pain. Your own parents could sit across from you at the dinner table every night for six months and not know you were having the shit beat out of you on a daily basis.
"Who is Edward Cullen?" she asks suddenly, after minutes of silence between us.
"What?" I ask.
"You wrote a letter to him a few weeks ago. You've never mentioned him before," she is looking down at her notebook and I wonder if she has the name 'Edward Cullen' written in big letters, reminding herself to ask about him.
"He's just a boy," I answer, brushing the topic off.
"Just a boy. A boy who happens to be the only person outside of here that you've contacted. You don't even actively try to keep in touch with your parents," she says, shaking her head. "You once even refused to see them when they came to visit you."
"That's because every time they come to visit, all they want to do is try to convince me to testify against Jacob. It's exhausting," I respond.
"They just want what's best for you," her voice is confused, as if she doesn't understand why anyone would treat their parents as I am.
"For months and months they ignored every indication that I was not okay. That I was miserable. That I was hurting, both inside and out, and now suddenly they care," I roll my eyes. "Besides, it's not Jacob's fault. His dad hit him, he didn't know how else to handle anger."
"Do you really believe that?" she asks, warily.
I don't answer, instead I just turn to look out the window of her office. It's another rainy day in Seattle, the clouds haven't allowed any sunshine to come through for weeks. I wonder how anyone can live in this area of the country and be happy. Or if they're all really as miserable as I am, they're just better at hiding it.
"Bella?" a voice intrudes on my thoughts.
I turn my head away from the window, expecting to see Dr. Moore's curious face but instead I am looking at Jacob. I close my eyes, but when I open them, it's still Jacob sitting there. I turn to look back out the window, but it's not Seattle I'm looking at anymore, it's Forks.
"Where did you go?" he asks, looking at me like I've suddenly grown a second head.
"Jacob?" I put my hand on his cheek, wondering if he's real.
He just laughs at me, turning to look out the window and I suddenly realize we're in his car and he's behind a steering wheel. I look down at my legs, both covered by a pair of jeans, my Converse shoes on my feet.
"How did I get here?" I shake my head, so confused. Wondering how I got from Dr. Moore's office to Jacob's car in a matter of seconds.
"What are you talking about? I just picked you up from your house," he looks back over at me, his eyes full of concern. "Are you okay?"
I just stare ahead at the familiar road before me, the one that leads to Forks High.
"Are you taking me to school?" I ask, my forehead wrinkling in utter confusion. The movement causes a sudden stinging sensation I don't understand.
"Well, it is Wednesday, so yeah," he replies, as if my question is the craziest thing he's ever heard.
As if just moments ago I wasn't sitting in a doctor's office in a rehabilitation center in Seattle, both legs broken, talking about testifying against him in court. I try to think back, did I leave Dr. Moore's office? Am I dreaming?
He turns into the school parking lot, and when I see the familiar willow tree ahead of us, my heart instantly starts beating faster on its own. He cuts the engine before turning to me.
"You know that I love you, right Bella?" he asks, the look on his face all too familiar. It's the same look he always gave me the day after.
I don't know how to respond. Instead, I slowly pull down my visor, opening up the mirror on it. It takes a second for me to recognize the girl looking back at me as myself. Her hair is hanging limply, her face is hollow. Deep circles line her eyes, the signs that she hasn't had a good night's sleep in weeks. Her eyes are wild and scared.
Then I see it.
The bruise above her right eye, the swell of her bottom lip. And then all at once I feel it, her aching ribs, her wounded shoulder. I don't even have to look to know the deep purple and blue marks that undoubtedly cover her thigh and arms.
"Where is Rosalie?" I ask, my eyes not leaving the face in the mirror.
"Who is Rosalie?"
The panic paralyzes me.
"I don't understand," is all I can say.
"Bella?" his voice sounds distant.
I close my eyes, squeezing them as tight as I can. Ignoring the pain it causes, ignoring Jacob's voice. I focus on my breathing, on taking in air and releasing it.
In and out, in and out.
I open my eyes again, hesitantly, with a growing sense of dread. It is pitch black all around me, everything coming into view slowly, as my eyes begin to adjust to the darkness. I see a desk in front of me, surrounded by bare white walls. Rosalie's slight breathing comes from the bed next to me. The clock on the nightstand reads 3:02 a.m.
My clothes are stuck to me, a cold sweat broken out all over my body. I throw the covers off, seeing that my legs are in the air casts. I laugh nervously, it was just a nightmare. Rose has them all the time. Maybe mine are just catching up with me. No big deal.
I lie back down, making a mental note to ask Rose how I ended up in my bed after my session with Dr. Moore that afternoon.
OoOoOoOoOoOoOo
I brush the incident off as just a weird dream, not bothering to tell Rosalie or Dr. Moore about my odd experience. The last thing I need is someone thinking I'm one of the crazies, like the girls who talk endlessly about themselves in group therapy.
It's not until about a week later that I actually begin to think that I might actually be going crazy.
I am writing a letter to Edward, finally working up the nerve to respond to his. Trying to ignore the guilt I feel over knowing about his parents, like I've gone behind his back somehow. Although, technically it was Alice who told me, but I don't want him knowing that I know until he feels comfortable enough telling me on his own.
I set my pen down, resting my head momentarily on the desk. I hadn't slept well last night, having been woken up again by one of Rose's nightmares. By the time I got her calmed down, I was so keyed up I couldn't fall back asleep. I shut my eyes for just a moment and a second later, I feel myself unable to breathe.
My eyes fly open and suddenly, I see Jacob above me. His hands are wrapped around my neck, choking me. I fight to breathe, to scream, to yell but nothing comes out. His face is filled with pure rage, his teeth bared. I claw at his arms, trying to get him to let go but it is a wasted effort. My head becomes cloudy, my eyes follow next. A black fog takes over my vision and then, all at once, all of the pain and hurt stop. Everything is white and bright and there are no feelings. It feels beautiful.
And I know that I am dead and that he has finally killed me.
It's dark again when my eyes finally do open. I put my hands up to my throat, still feeling the ache where Jacob's hands just were. Silent tears roll down my cheeks as I look over at Rosalie in the bed next to mine. She is sleeping peacefully, as though I wasn't just murdered five feet away. I wait until my heart returns to its normal pace before I pull myself into my wheelchair. I grab my cell phone, wheeling myself out into the hallway.
I'm calling his number before I even realize it, having memorized the digits he had written in his last letter.
It rings three times before there's an answer.
"Whoever this is, it better be good," Edward's voice grumbles into the phone.
New tears fall down my face as the familiarity of his voice hits me.
"Edward?" my own voice is strained, as though I actually was just choked.
There's a loud banging noise, as though the phone has been dropped, followed by a few choice words on Edward's part. After a bit more fumbling, he speaks again.
"Alice?" he asks, his voice still groggy but sounding slightly more alert.
"It's Bella," I respond, clearing my throat, trying to sound more like myself.
"Bella," he repeats. "Where are you?"
I can't respond, I'm so overcome with emotion that I have to swallow back my tears before I can even attempt to speak. Every time I open my mouth, however, I just start crying into the receiver.
"Hey," he says gently. "Are you still up in Seattle?"
I manage to get out a "yeah" in between sobs. He doesn't say anything, just waits for me to collect myself.
"I'm in therapy and then I'm in Jacob's car and he's talking to me and I can feel the bruises and then I'm back in my bed and then I'm writing you a letter and then he's choking me and I can't breathe and I'm dead," I get it all out in one run-on sentence.
There is silence for a moment.
"I'm going crazy and I don't know who else to tell."
More silence. And for a second, I'm convinced he hung up on me out of my sheer lunacy.
"I'm on my way," he says gently.
A/N: Sorry it's been a while, I've been out of town. Next update in a couple days. Please let me know what you think.