For life be, after all, only a waitin' for somethin' else than what we're doin', and death be all that we can rightly depend on.
Dracula, Bram Stoker
Chapter 23 - Sleeping Beauty
The first thought I registered was that my tongue felt like it'd been coated in wallpaper glue.
My mouth opened, and my lips were just as dry. It was like I'd run a marathon. My body ached, my brain was cloudy, and I would have happily sold my soul for a drink of water.
It was difficult to open my eyes. They felt so heavy, and then when I could finally crack them open, the light streaming made my head scream in pain.
"Too bright…" I whispered to myself.
"Hey, shh…it's okay…I'm here…" Edward's voice cut through the fog. I could feel his hand on my face. I smiled, closed my eyes, and drifted back off to sleep.
The next time I opened my eyes, the room was dark. My nose itched, but when I tried to move my arm, it was heavy. Something like a clamp covered my index finger, and an IV line ran into my arm.
I tried to lift my head to look around, but I was so tired, it was almost impossible to move. Giving up I slowly leaned my head towards the small bit of light that filtered in. It came from a large window that I didn't recognize, the blinds pulled open to let in the moonlight.
My eyes slowly made a circuit around the room, taking in the antiseptic environments of what must be a hospital. A television hung on an arm from the wall. Monitors to my left. An IV stand and bag next to them.
Slowly shifting my head to the other side, I registered a chair pulled close enough for the occupant to rest his head on my bed. The mess of red hair pressed up against my leg, as if instilling comfort or support.
Edward's eyes were closed, his mouth slightly open as he slept. A small furrow dented in between his eyebrows, the faint light deepening the dark circles under his eyes.
He looked horrible and wonderful at the same time.
I wanted to wake him up; to ask why I was here, what had happened, but my mouth was too dry to talk. I slipped my arm down my leg to rest the edge of my hand against his head. Then I closed my eyes, dropping back off into the sleep that was claiming me.
When my eyes opened again, the room was lighter, although not as painful as the first time. Edward sat in the same chair I had noticed earlier. His feet were propped on my bed as he read from a folder. He was dressed for work in a blue shirt and tie. The dark circles were still there, although not quite as pronounced.
"Hi," I rasped. His head shot up, a look of relief flitting across his face.
"Hey Sleeping Beauty." He stood, moving to the edge of my bed. "How are you feeling?"
"Dry," was all I could manage to get out. Edward grabbed a plastic glass off the table next to my bed, and shook what sounded like ice out of a blue plastic pitcher. Turning back to the bed, he slipped his hand under my shoulders to elevate me slightly.
"Just take one, and let it melt, okay?" He tipped the glass against my lips, and I opened my mouth to catch a disk of ice. The cold was startling at first, but once it started to melt it felt heavenly.
"Better?" He inquired as he sat down on the edge of my bed and took my hand. I nodded, not wanting to speak for fear of choking on the ice cube. The motion set off alarms everywhere. My head and muscles both screaming in protest.
"Do you know where you are?" Edward asked. I noticed that his hand had shifted to my wrist, and he was looking over my shoulder at something.
I shook my head no gently. The motion wasn't as painful as the up and down of a yes, but it still hurt.
"Pain is a good sign, but try not to move. You are at St Guy's. You've been here for a week." He held the glass up. "Are you ready for some more ice?"
"Yes." A whisper was all I could get out, but it hurt infinitely less than a nod. Edward slipped his arm behind me, and easing me up again, held the glass to my lips so that I could catch another disk. He eased me back gently before kissing my forehead and smoothing my hair away from my face.
"I'm going to go get your doctor. Try to stay awake for him, okay? He'll want to check you out and ask you some questions, and I need you to stay conscious for them."
I let out a shaky breath, and slowly nodded, feeling a bit less woozy. Edward stared at me for a long moment, an expression on his face that I couldn't understand. Then he smiled and leaned his forehead against mine.
"God I missed you," he whispered before straightening up. He ran the back of his hand across my cheek. "Be right back, okay?"
I couldn't tell if it was a question to me or an affirmation to him. I moved my head up and down once to indicate that I understood; wincing in pain once he was out of sight.
With Edward out of the room, I was able to take in my surroundings better. Small speakers sat on the table next to my bed, along with a few books and a picture of my dad. The table in the corner held vases of roses, daffodils and tulips. My backpack sat in a chair against the far wall.
I tried to shift in the bed, and felt something roll off my lap. Reaching down next to my leg, I found a familiar lumpy object.
"Your doctor will be by in a few minutes." Edward stood in the doorway, his hands stuffed in his pockets.
"Who brought Bubba?" My voice sounded hoarse, like I had a cold or bronchitis.
Edward sighed and ran his hand through his hair before making his way across the room to sit down in the chair. He took the stuffed dog from my hand.
"So that's what his name is. Rose brought it a few nights ago."
I smiled and closed my eyes. My father had bought him for me when I was little. "My dad..."
"I talked to your dad; he sounds like a nice man. Not the introduction I would have liked to have had, but it's one more thing that I can cross off my Bella Swan mystery list."
I was too tired to ask him why he called my dad, so I let it go. I just smiled and turned my hand over, slowly curling my fingers in as a non verbal request for contact. He slipped his hand underneath, lifting it up so he could kiss the inside of my palm.
"He's been incredibly worried about you, but Rose and I have been keeping him updated. He's not a man of many words, is he?"
We were interrupted by my doctor, who shooed Edward away while he checked my pulse, eye responsiveness and asked me some basic questions.
He also gave me a run down of my injuries. I was admitted with a cerebral contusion from a fall down the steps. The swelling had put too much pressure on my brain; therefore the decision had been made to keep me in an induced coming as a way to circumvent the risk of serious brain damage. I'd been out for six days while medication had been used to slow my circulation and decrease the swelling. Beyond the head injury, I had six stitches in my forehead, just above my right temple and another twelve stitches in my right forearm. I also had scrapes and bruises all over my body, and a badly sprained left ankle.
It was surreal, listening to him rattle of injury after injury. I didn't remember a single thing. The closest thing I could compare it to would be blacking out after drinking too much, and waking up in a strange place.
All in all, the doctor appeared to be happy with my responses, and indicated that he wanted to run some additional tests before making a further assessment.
Aside from the blow to the head, I had been pretty damn lucky, he informed me. They would run tests, including a full scan to assess how my brain was healing. He also warned of side effects to a head injury, such as memory loss, radical swings in emotion, and potential for some fine motor impairment.
He could tell from my reaction that I wasn't processing it all, and promised to answer questions throughout testing. It was all so incredibly overwhelming.
The minute the doctor was gone, Edward was back in my room.
"How're you feeling?" He asked. His hand went immediately to my wrist, his eyes to what I would assume to be a clock n the wall.
"Tired." I whispered as I tried to pull my wrist back. I'd already gone through one circuit of poking and prodding, and didn't want anymore.
Edward gave me a sheepish smile and let go of my wrist. "Sorry, learned habit."
"S'okay Doc." I gave a weak smile and let my eyes fall shut again. "Just need a cuddle."
"Somehow I don't think the medical board recognizes that as a sanctioned treatment." Edward teased me. It was a relief to hear him more relaxed.
"Holistic," I replied, too tired to say anything more. I felt his arm slip under me again, gently sliding me over before climbing into the bed. Resting on his side, Edward bent his arm to support his head. His other hand slipped underneath mine to rest on my stomach. I squeezed it, too tired to talk anymore, but unwilling to fall asleep yet.
"Do you want to hear it all?" Edward asked tentatively. I squeezed his hand once, hoping he would understand it as a yes.
"What is the last thing you remember?"
It was hard to pull cogent thoughts together. I'd have a flash of something, and then it would be gone. I focused for a few minutes, trying to remember.
"You were muddy."
Edward focused on our hands, not meeting my gaze.
"You fell down a flight of steps after trying to protect Rose from Royce King. Now that I am over being worried sick about you, I am torn between yelling at you for being stupid enough to go head to head with someone twice your size or loving you even more for being so brave. Maybe it should be a little bit of both."
I tried to recall an interaction with Royce, but nothing was there.
"Rose?" I whispered, unable to raise my voice any higher.
"She's fine. She was knocked around a bit, and is staying with Emmett until her new flat is available. He didn't think it was safe to stay in the current one."
My brain was too foggy to process it all. I had vague flashes of our building, of Rose shouting. And memories that I shouldn't have. Rose crying and saying over and over that she's sorry. Someone with a British accent talking about Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. Dirty jokes about vicars.
"What are you smiling about?" Edward asked.
I could feel his breath on me cheek. It felt good to have him close. I was tired, and I was sore, but I felt safe.
"Dirty jokes."
I heard him chuckle. "You remember those, eh? Guess it's a good thing I didn't tell you anything incriminating. Could have gotten kind of dodgy, couldn't it?"
"Tell me," I whispered.
"Tell you something dirty? I think your voice is sexy like that," Edward teased.
"Incriminating. Tell me." It was difficult to get out more than a few words, but I managed to make my point.
"Okay." He was quiet for a minute before answering. "I moved all of your things to my flat."
"Go home?" I asked. I was struggling to stay awake, but I needed answers.
"You? Me? I guess I can answer both. They'll keep you for a few more days. My professional hypothesis is that they'll want to do another scan to assess the healing process. If that comes through okay, they'll monitor you for a few days to gauge your progress. I would think they would release you by the end of the week. You'll stay with me so that I can keep an eye on you until you're back up and around. Then we can talk about what comes next. As for me, I pop in throughout the day, and then stick around at night until they kick me out. A few of the nurses have taken pity on me when I've fallen asleep in here, but for the most part, I've been here as much as I can."
I squeezed Edward's hand in acknowledgement. I was too tired to talk any more.
"Get some rest, Bella. I'll be here when you wake up. I promise."
It was the last thing I remember him saying before drifting off into sleep.
The next morning brought a flurry of activity including a full scan to verify that all the swelling was down and that injury site was recovering as expected. Edward stayed with me through as much of it as possible, insisting that I must be okay, because I cracked a joke about my brain already being scrambled when the doctor came in.
I was slowly regaining my strength and voice, and was more aware of what was going on around me. I was still unable to recall of the events leading up to my hospitalization, and peppered Edward with questions. He gave short, terse answers regarding Rose and Royce, and guaranteed me that I wouldn't have any issues with Royce King again.
The doctor stopped by my room late in the afternoon on what I believe was Tuesday, and told me that if I continued to make progress, I would likely be released in a few days. He advised me to take it easy and allow my body time to heal, reinforcing that it might takes months before I was truly back to normal.
My strength and appetite slowly returned. I was able to get up and move around, although more than a few minutes of walking wiped me out. I finally managed to talk to my father, who was equal parts relieved and furious at me. He and Edward had a lot in common there. Dad didn't bring up Edward, but I knew it would only be a matter of time. Apparently they had spent a lot of time on the phone together, and Dad had given Edward the right to oversee my treatment in London. I was surprised at first, but Dad explained it as a logical choice. Almost half a day's time difference necessitated that someone here look out for me. I didn't ask him why he didn't choose Rose. I didn't need to, it was apparent in his voice.
He apologized for not coming over; a heart attack a few years ago made it almost impossible for him to fly long distances safely. I didn't begrudge him that. I loved my father; knowing that he was concerned and that he'd been in constant touch meant enough.
Once I could keep down real food, and could get to and from the bathroom without incident, my doctor hinted that it was time for me to go home. The thought of a shower, clothes that didn't tie in the back, and a comfy bed sounded just short of heaven, and made me want to move things along that much faster. Edward watched me like a hawk, popping in multiple times throughout the day to make sure that I was behaving 'as the proper patient should.'
No one else had come by to see me. I had the sneaking suspicion that they had all be told to stay away until I had my strength back. While I knew that it was the right decision, it made me feel like I was encased in bubble wrap. A delicate keepsake on the top shelf of a display cabinet that couldn't be touched or interacted with for fear of breaking it.
It made me long for the outside world, my friends, my life. When Emmett showed up with flowers on Wednesday evening, I felt like I was being granted an audience with the pope.
"Hey there, you are almost back to looking human." Emmett called from the doorway, a large bouquet of wildflowers in his hand.
"Not that I don't appreciate it, but what is it with people and flowers?"
He looked down at the bouquet in his hands, "I thought women loved flowers?"
"We do, Em. But I have a bit of an over abundance right now." I pointed at the table in the corner, "I have enough flora to build a float for the Rose Parade thanks to Alice. I think she cleaned out the florist."
"Then these will be in good company." He set the flowers down on the end of the bed and pulled up a chair. "How are you feeling?"
"Better. Not quite ready to go into Mixed Martial Arts, but I will have a cool scar on my arm that looks like a snake."
Emmett shook his head. "You amaze me. Are you not afraid of anything?"
"I'm afraid of a lot of things, Emmett. I just don't think sometimes."
"Yeah, well, fortunately, the grizzly that you got into it with didn't think much either. It could have been a lot worse."
We stuck to the subject of my injuries and recovery. We were both dancing around the cause of the accident, with no clear way to break through.
"How is she, Emmett?" I finally gave in, wanting to know, but strangely afraid of the answer.
He sighed and took my hand. "You know Rose. At first she was putting up a brave front. Worried about you more than anything. Once we knew you were stable and out of the woods, she broke down and told me everything. I can't say that I am proud of some of the things that I said to her, but they needed to get out there. The good news is that she wasn't hurt, and she's working through things one day at a time."
Emmett paused as he reached up to trace a finger over the gauze covering my upper arm.
"She really wanted to come, but I think she's afraid of what you'll say. She blames herself for what happened, and is afraid that you will too."
I blew out a breath and shifted in my bed so that I could see Emmett better.
"I'm not mad at her Emmett. Mad at the situation? Sure, but she couldn't control what Royce did, so it would be wrong to be angry at her alone."
Emmett nodded as if he understood. "Did Edward tell you about King?"
Edward and I had spoken about my fall, but not the details surrounding it. I shook my head slowly, still trying to get comfortable with slow controlled motions.
"The police questioned him, but it was his word against Rose's. When I tried to back up her story, he started squawking assault claims at me, and got his lawyers involved. Before it could go anywhere, the police declared it an accident and he was on a plane to Tokyo with some cock and bull story about keeping an eye on the family investments."
"He got off?" I sat up a bit straighter in my bed. The quick motion shooting pain through my body.
"Take it easy, Bella. You aren't ready for that yet." Edward stood in the doorway to my room. His gaze was leveled on Emmett, and he didn't look happy.
Emmett stood, brushing the creases out of his khakis. "I should let you rest. I'll tell Rose that you are doing better. When you feel strong enough, I know she'd like to hear from you."
He turned to leave the room, stopping to quickly clap Edward on the shoulder before exiting.
"Are you okay?" Edward asked as he sat down in the chair Emmett had just vacated.
"Yeah, although I am really getting tired of answering that question." I glanced at the door. "Why do I have a feeling that there is something that Emmett didn't tell me?"
He smiled and placed a duffle bag on my bed, avoiding my question.
"I brought you something to make you feel better."
I reached for the top, but he pushed my hand away. "Not until I leave. I want you to take your time with it."
Moving it to the table beside my bed, he nudged me to scoot over so that he could crawl in bed with me.
"I have the green light to take you home tomorrow."
I sighed in appreciation. "That is the best news I could have gotten. Thank you."
"I have the flat all ready for you. Lots of DVD's and food to fatten you back up. Jasper even dropped by some books on the off chance that you want to work on your dissertation."
My dissertation. I hadn't thought about it since waking up in the hospital. My eyes darted to the chair on the far side of the room that held my backpack.
"Don't worry. Jasper called your advisor to let him know that you had been in an accident."
"Why did he do that?"
Edward looked down at our clasped hands, as if uncomfortable with the question.
"I didn't know if you were subject to the traditional school cycle, and didn't want you to miss out on your chance if you were in the hospital. I knew you were just at hard edit and proof reading stage, and I was going to have Jasper take care of it so that you were ready to go. But apparently the timing isn't an issue, so everything should be okay."
The sincerity of his words brought tears to my eyes. I'd never had anyone do anything so complete unselfish for me.
"What are you crying for?" Edward asked as he pushed my hair back from my face.
"I can't believe you did that for me. I don't know what to say…" Thoughts whirled around in my head. The fact that he cared so much; that he would help me complete something that could potentially take me away from London floored me. It was truly selfless.
"The sooner you get it done, the sooner we can get on with our lives. I'm just being logical, Bella."
A knot had formed in my throat, making it difficult to talk. "I don't know what to say."
"Just say thank you, and be dressed and ready to go by noon tomorrow, okay?" He kissed my forehead and stood up. "Call me if you need me to bring something else to wear. I put in what I thought would be easiest, but can always bring something else."
Edward flipped off the light and pulled the door halfway shut with instructions to get some rest. But sleep wouldn't come. Instead, I laid in the dark, trying to make sense out of the chaos of my thoughts. My emotions were too close to the surface, and made it impossible to be objective about our conversation. I wanted to dissect it, to understand why I felt such sadness in Edward's actions. But I didn't have the strength to go there.
Flipping on the small light over my bed, I reached for the duffle bag that Edward had left on the table. Unzipping the top, I found a black leather book resting on top of my clothes. There was no title on the spine, and when I opened the pages, I was surprised to find hand writing as opposed to type. The script was familiar, and there was a date at the top of the page from late January.
A note was paper clipped to the first page:
All your answers regarding the accident and what happened after are here. I thought it would be easier for you to read them at your own pace than ask.
There are things that are in here that predate the accident. My thoughts, rambles, whatever you want to call them. I thought reading them might help too. Whether we talk about them or not is entirely up to you. There is nothing in here that I wouldn't say to you now, therefore there is nothing to fear.
These are my transparent thoughts. They are all yours.
Edward
I pulled the note paper and clip off the page, and raised my bed up into a more comfortable position. Then I started with the first page of Edward's journal. The story of us.
It started out like any other day. Process, focus, structure. Repeat.