Hi! I'm super late, yada yada. I know. But this chapter hated me. I re-wrote it six times. This being the seventh copy. Is my math right? Who knows? All I know is that I am not happy with this chapter. There was an…air about it, this great build that I planned, but no matter how I write I just don't feel the full effect. This is the closest I got. And if you read with this song http:/www(DOT)youtube(DOT)com/watch?v=ISqznIvtZOk the effect is a little better. Gah, I dunno. Almost this whole time I've been trying to fix this to perfection. I've read this probably five million times and a half (I gave up once) and honestly? I'm sick of looking at it. I hope you like it, because right now I sure don't! I think my eyes have bled a little too much.

Anywho! After that mini-rant, I think I'll leave you to it. I hope you like the chapter, and the song. Oh, and that Supernatural/Twilight crossover I was talking about possibly doing? It's up. Only a small chapter, but it's out there! :D

So, enjoy, my lovelies! I adore you all! :DDDDDDDDDDDDDD (super smiley!)

Walking to class was slightly hard to do for him. He'd asked Derek just to meet him there, claiming that he was going to ask some more questions, but he knew Derek didn't believe him. He had to give the guy credit—he was smarter than he looked, or acted, for that matter.

In truth, Spencer just couldn't keep his mind off of her and those feelings she incited. He was on the verge of screaming at this point. He was just so frustrated. Why was he feeling like this? Hadn't he just met her? What was wrong with him?

The questions ran through his head so fast that he found it hard to focus on any one of them. They jumbled and squirmed, wanting answers that he simply couldn't give. He felt his nose sting as his tear-ducts tried to activate. He was so angry at his inability to fully comprehend what was wrong with him.

He wanted so badly to just throw his hands in the air and say that he was done. He was tired of chasing his own tail with this one. He was getting dizzy from the sheer amount of thought he was putting into this.

His swirling mind quieted as a buzz of commotion alerted him to the scene up ahead. He hadn't been aware he'd taken the route from last night, but as he rounded a corner, there was a large group of people. A tense chatter surrounded them, and he also noted police tape. He felt his stomach drop, wondering if the killer had struck again. Had they found the last victim yet? He found himself not sure on what was happening in the case, and that was a bad sign.

As he approached the group and the panicked air, he saw multiple policemen trying to hold back the confused, scared crowd. He always kept his badge on him, and his fingers slowly inched toward his wallet. He called out with more conviction than he thought he had, "Excuse me, officer!"

A nearby policeman jogged over, and Spencer didn't say a word as he led him away from the group. When he felt safe enough, he pulled out his wallet and flashed his badge to the man. "What's happened here?" again, his voice sounded stronger than he expected. He cleared his throat, nervously glancing around the campus to see if anyone was spying on their conversation. He found nothing.

"You know, I'm not too sure. I've heard from my buddy it was a suicide attempt—or a mental breakdown—something like that. Isn't the first time." The officer was too calm about it for Spencer's liking, but he filed that away. For the moment, he was trying to deal with the way his stomach churned at this news. He should be glad it wasn't the killer, but there was something nagging at him. Like instinct.

"Who?" his lips were numb when he asked, and the blood left his face at the answer.

"An Isabella Swan." As the officer saw his reaction, he raised an eyebrow, "You know her?"

"Uh…" the strength in his voice was gone, and it cracked as he tried to stutter out some response. He'd seen her, alive and well yesterday. "I…she's…a…report…literature…I…know her?" he gave up on making sense at that moment, and abruptly walked around the officer.

Oddly enough, he felt a bubble of anger deep in his belly. Hadn't he just been worried out of his mind about her well-being? Now she does this! A suicide attempt? He felt sick at the thought. What could have been so horrible? He realized he'd forgotten to ask if she was okay, but something inside him told him she was. Physically, at least. But she'd tried to kill herself. She tried to kill herself.

As he continued his journey to class, his thoughts were consumed with this. It was relief, but it was torture. He wasn't being bombarded with confusing, frustrating thoughts—just one. But this, this was terrible. The Bella that he liked a little too much had gone and tried to kill herself. She tried to kill herself.

This went on and on as he continued walking. He didn't know it was possible, but he realized after the fact that he had carried on a conversation with someone. He couldn't recall what it was about until he made it to where he was going. The problem? He wasn't at class.

##

Her eyes were slow to open, and she felt an immense pain growing in her head, shooting down her neck and back. She wasn't quite sure what had happened the night before, but she remembered everything at the same time. It was a fuzzy movie, just out of focus—but she'd seen it before, and she knew all the words.

She'd broken down. She'd reached her limit, somehow, and she'd let it lose. She'd broken everything valuable to her, and she'd nearly bled out. Her only saving grace was Jacob. She didn't know what happened after she called him, but she knew he would take care of her. In those last moments, she'd been scared to die. She didn't want to leave everything behind so quickly. She hadn't been sure why she felt this way, but she had this growing sensation—like a door was opening for her. Like she was needed, like she needed someone. The pieces were inching toward each other—they were still far, but they were getting closer. It would take her time.

This realization sobered her, and she looked around the stark, sterile room of the hospital. She was alone, and she found the slow, steady beep next to her oddly peaceful. She glanced at the heart monitor, saw the average spike of her heart beat, and felt her eyes water. She wasn't sure what this feeling was, but it was a cousin of regret. She felt like she'd missed so much. Like she'd never truly come back since that disastrous birthday. Now she just felt empty, as if she was truly hollow. Everything within her had been scooped out. She was a shell, and nothing more.

She felt this strange surge of emotions. She wanted to change. To get better. To fix herself. She didn't know how she would do it, or who would help her, but for just a moment, in the bleak room, her future looked bright. She saw a flash of something—a career, children, normalcy, laughter…but then it disappeared. Slipped away. Just like everything else had.

She settled into herself then, not moving for fear of hurting herself, but calming. The tidal wave within her dulled to a simple roar in the back of her mind, and she felt like she was stuck between awareness and sleep as she just stared at the ceiling.

Hours seemed to pass her by. She continued to stare upwards, her only movement being to blink. The calm feeling remained, as long as she stayed still and didn't think. She felt at peace in this moment, and she didn't want it to end. She didn't want the emptiness to come back. She was tired of it. So tired.

The door opened, and the sound seemed magnified in the stillness of the room. She instinctively closed her eyes and chose to feign sleep. There were two voices just outside the open door, and they hadn't come in yet. She recognized one, though she couldn't place who it was.

"No one can know. And you understand why, right?"

"Yes, sir, of course. I understand."

"Thank you. Is she okay?"

"She's stable now. We don't usually allow visitors for another fifteen minutes…"

"It's important."

"Okay. I'll go."

"Thanks again."

There were footsteps, which grew softer as they went down the hall. A few moments after they disappeared, she heard a small sigh and the person she recognized came closer. There was the breath of a chair next to her as he sat, and there was a warm air about him. She felt better, though odd. He said nothing, and as the room grew calm again, she could hear his breathing. She matched it.

She debated opening her eyes. Who was that voice? She knew it, which was odd, because she paid little attention to anything nowadays. Except for…now she knew the voice. She slowly blinked her eyes open.

He wasn't looking at her, but at the blank television screen across the room. She had a feeling that he didn't actually want it on, but she felt odd just looking at him, and she couldn't think of anything else to say.

"You can turn it on," she began, and he jumped and whirled at her voice. She grew quiet, "…if you want."

He stared at her a moment, seeming shocked by the fact that she'd spoken. He stuttered after that, "W—what? N—no, thank you."

She looked away and licked her lips, feeling nervous now that he was looking at her. She shrugged. "Okay."

They lapsed into silence, and she could tell he was trying to think of what to say. She took the liberty of speaking. "What are you doing here, Spencer?"

He didn't look at her, but instead fixated himself on a spot on the hospital blanket. He watched a loose thread wiggle in the small amount of cool air coming from the vent across the room. He tried to think of an answer, but couldn't come up with anything but the truth.

"I heard about what happened to you…" he paused, but gave her a more specific answer, "about what you did to yourself." She heard the tension in his voice, like ice, and she sensed that he was frustrated. She didn't know how she knew, but she watched the tightness in his movements as he shifted in the chair, facing her fully, but still refusing to look into her eyes. She tried to think about what he was saying, why he was mad, but her brain didn't want to cooperate with her efforts of understanding.

"Why are you mad at me?" in that moment, both of them heard the childlike honesty, coupled with the vulnerable quaver of her voice. His expression softened and he sighed again, and she felt tears come to her eyes. She wasn't sure why—she wasn't sure she wanted to know why—but she didn't want him to be mad at her. She wanted him to like her, even though she couldn't like herself.

"I'm not," he replied, trying not to think about how she seemed to realize immediately that he was in a foul mood. The thing was, he was angry…he wanted to be angry at her, for doing this to herself…but he couldn't be. He didn't know why, and that only made him all the more frustrated. Everything was beginning to get too confusing when it came to her, and he just wanted a straight story. What were these feelings? What was haunting her like this? What was going on between the two of them? Why couldn't he just leave her alone?

He tried to quell his thoughts to a manageable level as she spoke. "I can tell you are. I don't know how, but I can. Please don't be." He detected honesty in her voice, and a wave of understanding, of camaraderie washed over him. She knew how he was feeling, was strangely tuned to him as he was to her. To this day it bugged him that he sensed things—saw things—that Derek, just as trained as he was, did not. It was getting to her too. Now he felt more like they had a common enemy, as opposed to her being the enemy. They just had to figure it out.

This made him feel slightly lighter, slightly more attached to her. Secretly, he'd acknowledged the small crush he had on her, but this was something different, something he didn't want to get tangled up in. Trying not to breathe a too-noticeable sigh of relief, he merely nodded to her, for lack of any other response.

"I'm not…not at you," he replied in a calmer voice, leaning toward her. He wanted to be closer, and he found himself acknowledging that more than he had before. He didn't like it, but he felt powerless. He rested his elbows on the hospital bed, looking down for a moment. He realized just then that he'd barely talked to Bella, and that these things he was thinking about were ridiculous. What had happened to him, and that control over his life that he'd had and he'd liked?

"Then what are you mad at?" There was something, in this moment, that he felt—like his insides were lifting, shifting, rolling. Her eyes were closing, slowly, and he wasn't sure how to take that. He paused for a few moments, trying to clear his head.

The door opened, and everything stopped. His heart skipped a beat, and he looked over, as if he'd just woken from a dream. A nurse walked in, and checked Bella's pulse. He noticed then, that she'd fallen asleep.

"We were just talking," he told the nurse, gesturing to Bella. Why had she fallen asleep so fast? Was something wrong?

The nurse smiled and shook her head. "She's still a little…tipsy, I'm sure. No worries, she'll be back up soon enough." She continued with her duties and left before Spencer noticed. Bella had been, for lack of a better word, high, as she spoke to him.

He flopped back in his chair, crossing his arms, pursing his lips, and shaking his head at the sleeping girl before him. He felt his once 'floating' insides drop again, and he felt weighted. She rolled just slightly in her sleep.

It figures.

And with that thought, he waited for her to wake up again.

See what I mean? It's just…it doesn't have the impact I was going for. But I hope it's not completely terrible…love you all! :*