CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: Scarred
The fabric of my jacket hung in tatters, and portions of my clothing underneath were erratically threadbare. I could feel strips of nylon hanging loosely down my thighs along with what was likely the frayed wool of my sweater, flapping in the wind and exposing my shredded skin to the frigid, late-winter air.
The cold was compounded by the pain. Every twitch of my upper body caused a prickling, stinging sensation to shoot from the torn flesh covering my spine. The nauseating coolness of blood trickled down from each gash in individual, streaming currents before meeting at the small of my back and seeping to the waistband of my jeans. Nothing was broken, of that I was certain, but the absence of cracked bones couldn't erase the unbearable urge to either throw up or pass out, or perhaps both in rapid succession.
"I need to carry you, Bella," Paul muttered impatiently at my side, as if given any other choice, he'd take it in a heartbeat.
I was panicked and wanted out of there as fast as possible, but I didn't want him-or anyone else- to touch me. "I can walk; I'm fine."
"I think everything's okay now, but we need to move fast, just in case." He turned his back to me and hunched over. "Hop on."
I wasn't a five-year-old with a stubbed toe, so I sighed and responded, "I think I can make it to my truck; it's parked at the top of the hill. But you're going to have to drive me to the hospital." For some reason, I'd always been able to smell blood, and the scent wafting from the fresh lacerations on my back twisted my heaving stomach into knots and put me on the verge of passing out. I was not in any condition to drive, as doing so would lead to further, inevitable disaster.
I staggered past Paul, cringing as my hands roved my pockets for my keys. I yanked them out and reached out for Paul to take them. In response, Paul's back stiffened as he ignored my request and repeated, through clenched teeth, "Hop. On."
He didn't seemed concerned or remotely shocked about the presence of massive, mutant beasts roaming freely on the nearby beach, which told me he probably knew what was going on. In a healthier mind frame, I would have been irritated at his refusal to explain the insanity around us, but right now I could only focus on the overbearing sense of nausea and searing ache stemming from my bleeding back
I sucked in a shaky breath and attempted to climb onto the wide expanse of Paul's back, but the tearing of skin stopped me cold. Paul didn't bother putting on the appearance of sympathy to soothe me; instead, he carefully lifted me from the base of my knees, keeping my back upright, and held me against him by gripping my lower thighs and pressing my chest against his. My upper body was straight but not as steady as it should have been in order to abate some of the pain. I drew in slow, measured portions of air, trying to keep myself calm. The close proximity forced me to take in Paul's scent as I breathed, and I swallowed uneasily as I realized he smelled just like Jake, woodsy, the aroma of pine and earth rather than a human odor along the lines of soap or sweat.
Paul started to run, heading through the edge of the forest bordering the highway, taking me further and further into the night, away from my truck.
"Where are we going? I need to go to the hospital!" I demanded, trying to not to feel intimidated by the fact that Paul traveled at an abnormal speed, never panting or seeming bothered by the added burden of my weight.
"Quiet," he responded gruffly.
I shut my mouth. I didn't want to give up so easily, but nothing that had happened in the past twenty minutes made any sense; things I never used to question, such as my safety in Jake's company, were now obliterated, making me uncertain of everything, including Paul. Also, the cold and the pain were consuming me, and I had to choose my battles carefully in order to preserve my strength. Resigned, I closed my eyes, my head bobbing up and down against the thin, surprisingly warm fabric of Paul's t-shirt.
I must have passed out, because when I re-opened my eyes, I was lying on my stomach on a couch. Though my body was still, the biting ache of my sliced back remained. The backside of my sweater and undershirt were pulled up, and as my hand drifted to the small of my back, I felt tape and gauze where I should have come in direct contact with ragged flesh. Someone had covered me with an afghan, but I was still shivering. Wincing, I lifted my upper body, resting my weight on my elbows. My movement did not go unnoticed.
"Bella? Bella, can you hear me?" Harry Clearwater hurried to my side and crouched next to the couch, his face a portrait of anxiety.
"Yeah..." My eyes adjusted to the soft light of the Clearwaters' living room, and I discovered my agony had an audience. Sam Uley sat upright in an armchair across the room, his face swathed in shadows. Embry Call stood rigidly at his side, resembling a member of the royal guard flanking his king.
All of them watched me in calculated silence, exacerbating my already unbearable discomfort. My head was spinning less as I eased into complete consciousness, and I suddenly recognized that the setting was all wrong. "I need to go to the hospital," I announced shakily. Surely, someone should have come to that conclusion already. "It...stings. Why...why am I still here?"
They stared at me with their mouths drawn into hard, thin lines, as if I had spoken in hysterics, striking them with nonsensical words. Without allowing it to, my brain flashed back to the beach, to the moment Jake's skin turned to fur. I thought of the claws where there were once fingertips, the violence where I used to find only compassion. I remembered the digging of those claws into my flesh, the piercing, the tearing, the blood.
The blood.
My stomach lurched as my memory became a reality; despite the bandages, I could still smell the scent of salt and rust forcing its way in through my nostrils. Before I could stop it, I vomited onto the Clearwaters' well-worn carpeting. A saner Bella would have apologized; but right now, I was banking on reason to save me from dealing with the horrifying absurdity I'd just endured. Rationality would save me tonight; hysterics would only take me backward, propelling me back into the terrified, weak little girl who let the world stomp all over her.
Again, I asked, my voice not as strong as I'd hoped it would be, "Why am I here? When are we going to the ER?"
Finally, someone answered me. Sam, head now in his hands, muttered, "We're still weighing our options."
Harry's eyes darted nervously to Sam before he turned his gaze back to mine and smiled diffidently. "We'll get you help, honey. You'll be fine. We just need a little time to work things out."
I felt groggy, but their cryptic nonchalance about my well-being was quickly stirring me into consciousness. The questions came without hesitation; I wouldn't let Sam silence my concerns about my own health. "Where's Charlie? How long was I out? What's going on?" I moved to stand, but Harry's hand came down on my trembling but unwounded shoulder and gently pushed me back into the couch cushions.
"You can't go to the hospital. Trust me when I say you're better off here." In the dim light, I could only see Sam's mouth as he spoke; the upper half of his face, including his eyes, was shrouded in darkness. He spoke too calmly to convince me of his sympathy, the lack of panic in his voice only raising goose bumps on my arms and perpetuating my own anxiety.
"Trust me when I say I'm not." My eyes narrowed on him. Even as I breathed, the rise and fall of my ribcage caused the gapes in my skin to stretch and burn from under my shoulder blades, as if my tissue had been subjected to a molten-hot cheese grater. I refused to suffer without an explanation. "I need to call my father. It's late, and he doesn't know where I am."
Sam sighed. In a pained voice that betrayed his indifferent exterior, he muttered, "I know. We're just trying to figure this out."
Not giving up, I stated the obvious, tears creeping out of my eyelids. "I need help." I was starting to feel like a prisoner being held against my will. Coupled with the fiery sensation coming from my clawed-up skin, the feeling of helplessness they were forcing upon me was almost too much. Weakly, I begged, "Please let me go."
Harry averted his eyes to the carpet. "Bella, I know this is all a bit overwhelming, but we're tying to find a solution that's best for everyone. Including Jacob. We have a lot of bases to cover."
Once, I'd felt safe and at home in La Push. Now, I felt like the walls were closing in on me; these people were no longer my extended family, they were my wardens. "I need a doctor; my back is shredded! I can't stay here."
"She's right." A female voice sounded from beyond the doorframe. Leah stood with her arm linked with another girl whom I barely recognized. The girl's face would have been strikingly beautiful if not for three discolored, raised lines striping her skin, from her forehead to her chin, distorting the shape of her right eye and warping one corner of her mouth into an involuntary frown. The marks looked somewhat fresh, not quite scabbed but not yet scars. She leaned on Leah for support, as if too weak to rely on her own two feet.
Sam, in the glint of a nanosecond, rose to his feet and closed the space between himself and the doorway.
"I told you to keep her safe, Leah. She should be in bed. Christ, can't you do anything right?"
Leah's eyes ignited with volcanic disdain. "She insisted we come here. And I'm a big fan of freewill, Sam," she spat out his name with pointed fury, "so I couldn't refuse her."
Sam turned his eyes to the girl, whom I now recognized as Leah's cousin from the beach who had once comforted Leah from behind a flawless, unmarred complexion. "Em," Sam said gently, cupping her distorted face in his immense palms, "what are you doing here? You should be resting."
"Sam," she spoke quietly and urgently, her words the half-hearted hiss of a wounded kitten, "you need to take her to a hospital. Please. For me."
"There's too much risk, Emily. You know who'll be there. We can't take that chance. For both her and for us. It's just not safe."
"I don't want her to have complications. We both know how painful things could get if we wait too long, if she gets an infection." She stared up at him with wide, pleading eyes, and I watched as his callousness crumbled as he bent to her will.
Resting his forehead against hers, Sam exhaled and whispered, "I know, I know. I'll make this right, Em."
Leah refused to look up from the floor as her hollow voice suggested, "We can take her to Port Angeles. We can make something up about an animal attack or something in the woods."
"We've gone that route before," Harry mused, eyes darting to Sam's Emily, who cowered, exhausted, in Sam's daunting silhouette. I couldn't help but stare at Leah, standing stoic and immobilized mere inches from the man she'd once been inseparable from.
Sam shook his head, never turning away from the frail girl hovering against him. "Which is why we can't do it again. No one will believe-"
"We don't have a choice, Sam," Embry interrupted carefully. "Jake will never forgive us if we don't do everything we can for her."
Sam nodded as Leah said, "I can drive her. If I speed, we can make it in a little over an hour. Mom said the cuts looked skin-deep; I think she only has to worry about scarring."
I darted my eyes around the room for signs of Sue Clearwater but found none. I felt like I was in the middle of a meeting for some sort of secret society, minus the hooded cloaks, burning candles, and ritualistic chanting.
I realized I didn't even know how much time had passed between whatever had happened on the beach and waking up on the Clearwaters' couch. "How long?" I croaked out. They all jerked their heads in my direction. "How long was I out?"
"Forty-five minutes. An hour, tops." Embry watched me cautiously. I understood then that they were all waiting for the moment when I snapped. Jake had morphed into...something. Something not human. And this didn't seem to come as a surprise to any of them. More than anything, they seemed to want to hide whatever had just happened, not dwell in the shock of it.
"Bella, can you walk?" Leah asked, not bothering to even glance at me.
I moved off of my elbows to a seated position; regardless of how I arranged my body, the searing pain remained at the same level of intensity: not quite unbearable but nowhere near the point where it could be ignored. When I rose to my feet, I winced but managed to shuffle across the room, shaking off Harry's and Embry's offers to help, as I wanted nothing from any of them other than a means out of La Push.
Leah finally lifted her eyes to appraise my face. "Are you going to be able to manage until we get to Port Angeles?"
I furrowed my brow. "What's wrong with Forks? I've been to that hospital a million times and always been treated just fine." I spoke in a biting tone and felt a bit guilty for directing it at Leah, since my problem was more with Sam than anyone else. He seemed to be in charge, the reason for my delayed departure from the reservation.
"Forks isn't possible; it's not safe," Sam barked. "You should be able to figure out why, considering the company you keep."
I blinked several times, my mind completely blank, before I remembered the source of Billy's long-term and Jake's new-found animosity and put the pieces together. "The company I kept," I corrected Sam before adding, "Dr. Cullen has always been an excellent doctor."
Sam snorted. "When he finds out what Jake is, I doubt he'll be so accommodating."
"And what exactly is Jake?" I swallowed at my words, both petrified of and desperate for Sam's response.
Refusing to waver from his cryptic stubbornness, Sam only said, "Right now, we need to worry about getting you treatment." As I opened my mouth to object, Sam amended, "The right kind of treatment. From a human being; not one of them."
I braced my arm against the doorframe and fought off a wave of pain. "Maybe if you'd explain things to me, I'd be a bit more understanding, but as it stands, I don't have any idea what's going on. I want to call Charlie, and I want to go to the hospital in Forks."
Sam's fists clenched as Embry made his way to my side. Turning back to Sam, he said, "I can go with her to Port Angeles. Do you want me-can I explain...?"
Sam closed his eyes and inhaled several times before responding, "Given what she's seen, just tell her. Whatever's going on in her head is probably just as bad as the truth, if not worse."
Embry moved toward me but hesitated briefly as he made eye contact with Sam. "They'll find out eventually."
My forehead wrinkled out of confusion, but no one paid me any attention.
"Yes, but I refuse to let it happen like this." Pinching the bridge of his nose, Sam continued to look pained as he continued, "Go."
Embry offered me his arm, and this time I accepted, though I refused to look at his face. Like Jake, he'd transformed into a completely different person since the last time I'd seen him: bigger, cockier, and menacing in a way I couldn't wrap my head around.
As we turned to leave, Sam left Emily's side and reached out for Leah's arm, the ampleness of his palm encasing her delicate elbow. Quietly, he murmured, "I'm sorry about earlier. I just worry about her-"
Emily ducked her head, appearing ashamed.
Leah refused to look at either of them as she jerked free of Sam's grasp. "I get it. It's fine."
"I really am-"
"Save it." Her lips twisted into a grimace and her eyes drained themselves of emotion. Before Sam could take in the full weight of her reaction, Leah turned on her heel and walked out the door.
Embry and I followed Leah to her Civic, where I opted to lie down on my stomach across the backseat as Leah and Embry rode up front.
As soon as the doors slammed shut, I cleared my throat. As vehemently as I could muster through the pain, I asked, "Does someone want to tell me what the hell is going on?"
Leah threw the car into reverse, jerking us backward out of the driveway and into the road. I braced my upper body with my arms to ensure my sensitive backside didn't touch the back of the seat. I managed to avoid contact, but the sudden movement pained me nonetheless.
I called on every bit of strength I had to not pass out so I could get answers. I didn't plan on seeing any of the Quileutes again after I was free of their inexplicable imprisonment of me, so I knew now was my only chance.
"Where's...Paul?" I wanted to ask about Jacob, but something about the cold silence of the vehicle told me to test the waters first.
"Paul's with Jake," Embry said unevenly.
"Are they okay?" The possibility Jake might not even be alive was too petrifying to voice aloud.
"They're both fine."
"How...?"
"Jake can take a lot. You don't need to worry about him."
I hated to admit it, but Embry was right. I still loved Jake, albeit as a friend, and I was terrified for him, but he wasn't mine to worry about anymore; I had no leverage from which to demand answers. To distract myself from the emotional turmoil that realization cost me, I let my hand return to my bandaged back, focusing on the physical ache of my bleeding flesh.
As I allowed the stabbing throbs to seep into the forefront of my mind, I almost fainted again, but I couldn't let myself give up. I was petrified and barely coherent, but I didn't have a choice other than pushing through the hurt; I needed answers. I opened my mouth, ignoring the dryness of my throat, and breathed out the key question. "What was the thing that swallowed up Jake? On the beach?"
Embry closed his eyes and leaned against the headrest. "How much do you know about Quileute legends, Bella?"
I could only sigh and say, "Just spit it out, Embry."
I watched his bicep move as he lifted his hand to rub his jaw. "We're descended from wolves. For centuries, wolves have been the protectors of our tribe-"
"Oh, for the love of all that's holy, Embry," Leah interjected, her tone hovering between groaning and growling, "spare us the history lesson and just tell her."
"It doesn't make any sense if I just go right into it."
"It doesn't make sense no matter how you approach it. Anyway, she knows about the bloodsuckers; the girl's already had a crash course in crazy."
Embry's grip tightened against the console separating his seat from Leah's, the plastic cracking minutely under the tips of his fingers. "Jake's a wolf, Bella."
I waited for him to continue so I could verify that he was speaking in the metaphorical sense, but Embry just watched the road fly by through the condensation-laden windshield and kept his mouth drawn shut.
"That's...not possible." I'd seen it with my own eyes, Jake's transformation into something subhuman, but I knew him. He was a boy. A kid. Once, he'd been my best friend. He was gentle and kind and human. I'd kissed him, hugged him, held his hand. His heart thumped as mine did. Despite what I'd seen in the last two hours, I wouldn't believe he was anything but the boy I'd once called my Jacob.
"Not just any wolf," Leah sneered indignantly. "A werewolf."
"Funny," I shot back, though I sounded anything but amused. "Hilarious. And I'm the Bride of Frankenstein." My voice shook, weakening the impact of my desperate sarcasm. I'd seen too much, and experienced even more, to wallow in full-on denial, though that certainly didn't stop me from trying.
"No joke," Embry said simply as he pivoted in his seat to face me.
I could only shake my head, because there was no way I was living in this horrific, nightmarishly cinematic world. Something must have happened to me to make all of this imaginary madness seem real. Maybe I never woke up from that coma two Januarys ago; maybe I was a vegetable somewhere, playing unrealistic scenarios over and over in my irreparably damaged brain as a means of entertainment. That possibility was insurmountably better than living a reality where Jake shared his body with a violent monster.
"Bella," Embry whispered, "for real. It's insane, I know, but it's real."
In a hoarse murmur, even though I knew better, I answered, "No."
"Yes." Leah's voice didn't waver, but I could hear the anguish underscoring her tone.
"No; Jake's Jake. Not some mangy, rabid animal. He's going to have a nice, normal life. He's going to be happy. This isn't supposed to happen to him." Whatever it was wasn't supposed to happen to anyone, not in the universe I used to live in, where vampires and werewolves were relegated to horror films and Jake was the single constant I turned to for normalcy. But for awhile now, I'd known not to take anything for granted, and I suppose, as utterly bizarre as it was, that included Jacob's humanity.
As hard as I tried to quash it, the lesions on my back would not be ignored. Around me, the car was getting warmer and warmer. The heat, the small space, and the overpowering stench of blood proved to be too much. My stomach churned, and I vomited over the edge of the seat, onto the floor mats.
Leah groaned, and I gave up my fight temporarily, letting unconsciousness overtake me.
I don't know how long I was out, but when I woke up again the windows were down and Embry nervously asked me if I was alright. I only snorted bitterly in response. We rode the rest of the way to Port Angeles in silence, with me ignoring Embry's attempts to lure me back into conversation and Leah disregarding us both. Once we arrived at Olympic Medical Center, Embry did all the talking.
The story was ludicrous, though not nearly as preposterous as the truth. I'd had dinner with Jake and his friends in Port Angeles, to "reconnect" as Embry put it, before we decided to go for a hike on the outskirts of town, along the base of the Olympic mountain range, where we'd come across a bear and her cub. The others managed to run clear of the territorial grizzly, but I'd tripped and she'd caught me with her claws as she'd forced me to the ground. Eventually, Jake managed to come along and distract it, allowing me to escape. He'd been hurt a bit, though nothing worthy of a trip to the ER, so he'd gone home immediately to nurse his wounds.
"And why is Jake the hero in this scenario?" I'd asked Embry under my breath once the nurse had stepped out in search of more peroxide.
"If he's not, you're dad will never forgive him for getting you into this mess, even if it was just an accident."
"So what's the problem?"
"Bella..."
"Don't 'Bella' me, Embry."
"Then don't pull a Leah and let bitterness eat away at your judgment."
I did my best to sneer at him. I was starting to understand Leah's animosity toward the men in her life, who could only identify bitterness and never heartbreak. She'd been surrounded by this insanity for longer than I had, and I could see how the absurdity of it could chip away at the sanity of anyone immersed in it on a daily basis.
Mostly to myself, nearly forgetting Embry was still there, I muttered, "This can't be happening. This just...isn't real."
Leah walked in then, carrying three cans of soda. Embry opened his without taking time to thank her first, and I only pushed mine away; even liquids proved to be impossible for me to digest.
Embry downed his entire Coke within the span of seconds and then gaped at me incredulously. "So you can buy vampires, but werewolves are just out of the question?"
I didn't answer at first. When Leah had told me Edward was vampire, it had only taken minutes to accept he wasn't like me; really, I'd known that all along. Before he'd crushed the pedestal I'd put him on into dust, he'd seemed better than the rest of us somehow, impossibly intelligent, freakishly insightful, and unapproachably beautiful. I never thought I was worthy of him, though I had wanted to claim him as my own regardless. The fact he wasn't human didn't shock me; it merely verified what I'd always known: he and I traveled on parallel planes, our lives never meant to intersect. But Jake...Jake had always been my equal. We were the same. Neither of us had grace or sophistication. He couldn't sing on key to save his life, and I was inept when it came all things athletic. He chewed with his mouth open; I couldn't drink a can of Coke without burping endlessly. We stumbled through life together, two bumbling kids who didn't know what the future held for us. So, to answer Embry's question, I choked out, "I can buy vampires. I might even buy werewolves. I just can't accept Jake as anything but Jake."
"He still is, Bella. Just with added...perks."
Leah snorted at the boastful excitement in Embry's voice.
Snubbing her, Embry continued, "It just happened, a couple of weeks ago. We all get a bit testy, right after the change. I'm a newbie, too, but I think Jake just got pushed over the edge when you told him-" his voice dropped to a nervous timbre "-uh, what you told him."
"How did you know about that? What I said back at the beach?" I asked, unsure if Embry or anyone was capable of actually communicating with Jake. Even if that were a possibility, I couldn't understand when Embry had time to talk to Jake at all, let alone about such an intimate subject.
Embry chuckled under his breath, as if this absurd nightmare were somehow entertaining. "We have a special way to communicate when we're in wolf form."
"Wolf form? You can change back?" The air flew out of my lungs in a whoosh. Jake wasn't going to be subjected to an eternity as an aggressive beast; he would be Jake again. And then it hit me: tonight wasn't his first foray into monsterhood. Chances were that he'd been that way before. Quite possibly, he knew that, remembered it even. The idea that consciousness played a role in Jake's transformation flipped a switch in my emotions. Concern gave way to anger as I realized Jake may not be as innocent as I'd thought, as I'd subconsciously hoped.
"Sure. Though it takes practice. I'm still not that great, and obviously we can be prone to control issues."
"'Control issues?'" I scoffed. "Is that what you're calling me being mauled and probably scarred for life? Is it some sort of learning exercise for you guys? The trial-and-error approach to how to avoid mutilating the poor humans?"
Embry's face fell, likely out of disappointment over my failure to be impressed by his newfound lethalness. "It was an accident. It happens...sometimes. When we get angry, we can kind of lose control. It gets easier the more experience you have. He didn't mean to do it; Bella, it's killing him, what happened to you."
"'It happens,' does it?" I mocked him through a near-hiss. "Emily? Is that what happened to her?"
Leah sat down her can forcefully on the tray next to the exam table on which I laid before abruptly stomping out of the room.
Embry shot a sideways glance toward her fleeting form as he swallowed, answering my question through his silence.
I had a million questions left, but I wanted to reserve them for Jake. Unlike Embry, Sam, and Paul, Jake owed me answers. I wanted him to account for what he had done, accident or not. If he knew he was capable of such carnage, part of me wanted to hear it from his mouth so he could see his careless destruction firsthand. If he knew he could hurt me on a whim, why had he brought me to a deserted beach and put us both at risk? Another part of me wanted to never see him again, to avoid dealing with the new Jake and all the arrogance that came along with him. The jury was still out as to which side would win out in the end.
In the back of my head, a small voice tried to whisper that maybe I deserved this, but I gagged it; I was simply too tired to waste energy on hating myself. It was getting old, and though I didn't want to shy away from what I'd done, how I'd hurt Jake, I saw discrepancies between our tragic mistakes. My actions were motivated by honesty. As brutal as that honesty had been, I hurt Jake to save not only myself but also him, to save us both from a platonic purgatory. I didn't know why Jake met me this evening, why he insisted we talk about matters he possibly knew could spark his "you're-not-going-to-like-me-when-I'm-angry" temper. But he mutilated me, and though he probably did so accidentally, I had a sneaking suspicion Jake acted out of recklessness. And I wasn't sure I could call the varied consequences my actions and his a draw.
At some point during the necessary but uncomfortable silence that had fallen between Embry and myself, Charlie arrived, rushing into the exam room with an expression on his face that told the world he was a force to be reckoned with; I half-expected him to tell me he'd rounded up several bears as suspects and ask me to accompany him to the station for a line-up.
"I can't believe this, Bells." He just kept saying it over and over, shaking his head at himself as if the lesions, the bleeding, and the pain were all his doing. "I can't believe this happened."
"I'm okay, Dad," I lied through a cringing smile.
His eyes were bloodshot, and his hands trembled when he thought I wasn't looking. "We'll get you plastic surgery, kid. Like this never happened. You'll be as good as new."
Compared to Charlie's inept acting prowess, even I was a shoo-in for an Academy Award. I'd heard the doctor tell him cosmetic surgery wasn't necessary, which translated to "your insurance won't cover that." What was necessary was a tetanus shot, an antibiotic administered through a pill better suited for a horse, 117 stitches, and a prescription for painkillers. The nurse supplied me with my weight in bandages and gauze, telling me to redress my wounds daily, before turning me onto my side and draining fluid out of each of the four deep gashes striping my back. Puss was bad, blood was worse, and when the two combined, I felt well-justified in passing out right there on the exam table.
I woke up minutes later to the nurse and Charlie appraising me with pity, making me feel both freakish and pathetic.
In one small, long-overdue stroke of luck, the attending physician wasn't forcing me to stay overnight, though he admonished me to keep my stitches clean but dry to ward off bacterial infection. On our way out the door, Charlie spotted Embry and Leah slumped against unyielding plastic chairs in the waiting room.
"Thanks for taking care of her, kids." Charlie mumbled his appreciation, but I knew that his words stemmed from absolute sincerity.
Leah responded by grunting something incoherent and downing a gulp from the can of soda gapping her otherwise clenched fist. Embry, left to serve as the diplomat, smiled weakly as a means of accepting Charlie's misplaced gratitude. "No problem, Chief Swan. So she's going to be alright?"
Embry spoke as if I wasn't here, and I knew why. He felt guilty for my situation, for Jake's actions and the brief moments he and his friends held me captive in La Push. I saw it all over his face, and the reaction stirring inside me told my scarring had already become more than just skin-deep: I didn't want to tell Embry it wasn't his fault. I wanted to blame and hold grudges and just hate someone other than myself for once, whether it be Embry because of his current proximity or Jake because of his thoughtless actions. I wanted to become as revolting on the inside as the inevitable scars that would mar the flesh covering my back. Ugliness was effortless, and everything in my life in the past six months had been anything but.
Charlie smiled gently down at me then, and in his eyes I didn't see pain or sorrow; I only saw relief. I was still alive, and for that he was grateful. Though I was tarnished physically, I wasn't going anywhere. If my father could find a silver lining in this god-awful mess, then I could attempt to stave off the easy path, the resentment that had consumed Leah and now knocked at my door. I could have opted to take that road, to hate everyone and everything surrounding me, but that wasn't who I was, or at least, it wasn't who I wanted to be. I watched Leah, closed off from the world, and cringed at the thought of becoming her. I wasn't destined for a happily ever after, but I wouldn't have to fall back into the isolated chasm of self-loathing I'd already dwelled in for far too long.
"Let's go home, Dad," I said as I gently tugged on his forearm.
My father headed toward the parking lot, but before I could follow, Embry cleared his throat. "He's sorry, Bella."
Jake had moved up the ranks and was now officially the last person I wanted to talk about. The part of me that wanted to sever ties with him was now winning out. I stood on the precipice of the ER exit, the automated double doors sliding open and closed, permitting rhythmic gusts of the March wind to filter into the hallway, as I finally lifted my gaze to Embry's. "I know."
Embry's forehead creased. He opened his mouth to say more, but I cut him off with a wave of my hand.
"I need time. Tell him not to call."
I didn't wait for Embry's answer as I shuffled myself through the open, waiting doors toward the idling police cruiser.
X X X
I slept in the familiarity of my own bed, on my stomach, through the rest of Saturday night and into Sunday, stirring only when the pain caught up to me, signaling it was time to take another dose of antibiotics and two blue capsules that would lull me back into unconsciousness. Charlie told me Jake called more than two dozen times that day, meaning either Embry had failed to deliver my message or Jake just refused to obey the wishes of anyone but himself. I refused to answer the phone and told Charlie to say I was sleeping, which I usually was.
I simply could not deal with Jake. I was too tired and pained to be truly angry with him, and I knew that he didn't intentionally hurt me...but that was all I knew. I wasn't ready for answers, and I'd never be ready for excuses. I just wanted to forget he and the tragically bizarre world in which he now lived existed.
During a rare waking hour on Sunday night, I spoke to a frantic Renee and did my best to assure her I was alright, though I must have been doing a dreadful job because she proceeded to ask for Charlie, who stood on the receiving end of her worried tirade for the better part of an hour.
The stress of my short conversation with Renee tensed my already rigid muscles, and I forced myself to take a hot bath. I stripped off my loose cotton nightshirt and glanced over my shoulder into the mirrored door of the medicine cabinet. After I peeled off the crimson-tinged gauze with less-than-eager fingers, for the first time, I examined my butchered flesh. My breath hitched in trepidation as I lowered my eyes to the center of my back. From the gap just below my shoulder blades to the hollow of my lower back, four deep, garnet gashes contrasted sharply with the alabaster of my remaining, unblemished skin. The half-inch wide slits left by Jacob's claws had begun to scab, creating a variance of glistening, deep-pink tissue and the dulled, ruby hardness of clotted blood. Grimacing ruefully, I realized my humorless joke the night before hadn't been far off; as I studied the myriad of stitches running the length of my wounds, I realized I was closer to the Bride of Frankenstein than I'd originally thought.
I ran the bathtub faucet until the heat of the water calmed my quaking fingertips and gingerly lowered myself into the shallow, steaming water. I leaned forward, wrapping my arms around my knees in order to avoid dampening my raw, stitched-up back. The doctor had warned me to keep it dry, but I was determined to get clean, to wash the ugliness of First Beach off of me.
I sat there in the vapor of the hot, still bathwater for at least twenty minutes and mourned the loss of my smooth, unblemished body. I'd never been all that vain and I didn't have anyone to be beautiful for anymore, but looking in the mirror at my back once I existed the tub, I couldn't pretend I wasn't disgusted and deflated over the pinkish marks that would soon take up permanent residence there, defining my physical appearance more so than eye color and a pretty smile ever could.
Charlie begged me to stay home from school on Monday, arguing something about "nursing my wounds" and "building up strength," but I'd already missed enough school due to comas, run-of-the-mill illnesses, and emotional breakdowns and figured the pain would be the same regardless of the setting. A day of resting on my bed only reminded me of whom I'd been months ago, physically unsullied but emotionally scarred beyond anything I was experiencing now. I wouldn't--couldn't--go back to that.
X X X
Somehow, despite my visit to the ER in Port Angeles instead of Forks, word had spread about what Jessica referred to as my "incident." As soon as I pulled into the parking lot, she, Angela, and (standing a few yards away) Mike awaited me, each expressing their own unique brand of eagerness at hearing my story. Jessica hungered for gossip, while Mike and Angela likely just wanted to understand so they could comfort me, though in very different ways.
"Why are you even here?" Mike asked, dumbfounded after I'd regaled my fabricated tale.
"Why not?" I shrugged before adding with a calculated, slightly loopy expression, "Painkillers are magical."
Truth be told, I hadn't taken anything other than Tylenol to dull the stinging down my back before carefully piling myself into the cab of my truck. I'd insisted on driving myself to school rather than tag along with Charlie in the cruiser, so my prescription painkillers weren't an option; I didn't want to be impaired behind the wheel and risk hurting someone, seeing as how someone else's thoughtless behavior is what put me in this situation in the first place. However, I banked on feigned prescription-drug use to help me avoid further questions.
En route to Spanish, a blasé expression still hanging purposefully on my face, I knew I couldn't survive the entire day faking a medicinal high in order to keep my classmates' interrogation at bay. Alice stood in the center of the nearly deserted hallway, blocking my path to the classroom door.
We weren't speaking, at least not anymore, but she seemed undeterred by our recent history of no contact. "I can smell it; you're bleeding," she accused, her tone falling somewhere between concern and minute hostility.
"Bear attack," I gulped, hoping to slide by her.
She repositioned her petite body so she could continue to obstruct my escape route. Her expression dripped with skepticism. "Bear attack?"
"Yup. Saturday afternoon. In Port Angeles." I couldn't look at her.
"I would have seen-"
I'd forgotten about her side gig as a fortune teller. Sighing, truly uninterested in her answer, I asked, "You didn't see it?"
I snuck a peek at her face, discovering that Alice was distracted, her unfocused eyes darting back and forth as if mentally searching her brain for some sort of explanation for her lack of foresight. "God, no. Had I seen-we would have stopped-"
I only rolled my eyes and pushed away the question of who constituted "we." "Class is starting."
Alice narrowed her eyes at me, grabbing my arm with her tiny, glacial hand. "Bear attack? Really?"
"Bear attack. Really." Even if she did know I was lying, a distinct possibility, she'd never guess the truth and I would certainly never offer it to her. I pushed past her and found my seat, knowing there was likely nothing else she could say to me.
Ultimately, I was right. After class, she only followed me with watchful eyes until I disappeared on a separate path to second period. I didn't see her again until lunch, but even then she remained sequestered at her own lunch table, her usual companion not yet joining her. At that point, I was sick of sitting up ramrod straight in all my classes in order to avoid the back of my chair making contact with my gaping, poorly bandaged wounds. However, the pain of my stitched-up cuts would have been a vast improvement over Mike's return to the coddling routine he'd perfected last fall when I'd broken my ankle. His constant attention forced me to summon up every ounce of self-restraint in order to avoid throttling him. Recalling our little Hallmark moment in the hall three weeks ago, with my sobbing and his comforting, I could only blame myself for the annoyance.
Walking to our table, Mike insisted on carrying my lunch tray and told me I should drink more milk in order to strengthen my bones.
"I didn't break anything, Mike. I don't think calcium matters for flesh wounds."
"Bella," with far too much concern, Mike spoke sweetly, on the verge of flirtatiousness, "it's always important to take care of your body."
Mike discussing my body in any capacity made me nauseous. I brushed off the discomfort of both the overabundance of Mike's affection and the stinging of my abrasions and settled in at my usual spot in the lunchroom. Within seconds, Tyler not-so-subtlety inquired about my injury, so I again launched into the bogus bear-attack story, pausing at all the right parts for the sympathetic sighs and mortified gasps of my audience. I was getting bored of the lie, but I wasn't stupid. I had no other choice, as anything of interest would mean telling the truth, which was far too weird and confusing to interrupt my classmates' blissful, cluelessly normal lives.
When I concluded my narration, I was prepared to fade into silence and stare out the window as they talked amongst themselves, just like I always did during the lunch hour.
But something was different.
My earlobes felt heated all of sudden, and the tips of my eyelashes hit the back of the skin just below my brow as my eyes widened with recognition. Stupidly, I shifted carefully in my seat, facing the party of two at the corner lunch table. Alice wasn't looking at me, but that wasn't the source of my concern. He was. Blatantly. Persistently. So much so that when my eyes met his, he didn't even try to break contact. Instead, he kept staring, almost as if doing so would physically draw me to him.
Every feature in my face tightened as I understood this was about one of two things: boredom-abating curiosity or a renewed thirst for the intermittent drops of blood seeping through the bandages covering my back. He could smell me, like a predator horning in on a three-legged doe. For him, killing was instinctual, he'd told me once. Still, I wasn't afraid. Just royally pissed off; my massacred flesh was neither a trivial piece of entertainment nor a snack.
I glared back at him for a fraction of a second before I couldn't bear to think of him anymore. I rotated back in my seat so I was facing forward, toward Jessica, who was inquiring about the cosmetic damage to my skin. "Permanent," I told her flatly, though unable to fully quell the sadness in my voice. I considered going into detail, to gross her out and put a stop to further questions, but instead I just swallowed another dose of Tylenol and edged a corner of my sandwich into my mouth, longing for the commencement of seventh period, when both lunch and English would be behind me.
As soon as the bell rang, I shot up from the table, toward English. I went directly to the classroom and had just begun to perch myself at my desk when Edward arrived. It was too soon for him to be here, as he usually waited until seconds before class started to make his appearance. Despite his early arrival, he took his usual, out-of-the-way route to his desk. That was his ordinary routine, but what happened next wasn't. As soon as he was out of my periphery, my ears flamed again, my heart detonated in my chest, and I couldn't breathe evenly if my life depended on it. All the signs were there; I didn't have to turn around or engage in guesswork to know for certain every nerve in his body was fixated on me. Not just glancing casually or staring at something just beyond me. No-he was watching me. I knew if I glared at him, just like at lunch, he wouldn't look away. It was infuriating, and I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing he could still affect me. I ignored how the short hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and prayed for a fresh wave of indifference to wash over me.
Mr. Berty dismissed us thirty seconds early, and for once, I was grateful that Mike was at my desk in the blink of an eye. "You need help with your books? I noticed you were having problems carrying your backpack after lunch, and I figured you might not be holding up so well..." He was hopeful, as if carrying my books like some 1950s schoolboy would win my affection; if he offered me his letterman's jacket or asked me to wear his class ring, I was going to lose my lunch. I held back a sigh as I admitted that I could actually use the help and granted him a wary thank-you.
Mike and I walked out of the room together, my ears still hot and my heart still thudding in erratic frenzy. I moved at a snail's pace, taking great care to avoid walking too close to anyone for fear that someone might make accidental contact with the rawness of my skin.
I spent the my final class of the day wanting to curl up in an invisible ball under my desk, but knowing that doing so would cause the skin on my back to stretch and tear in agonizing protest. I just wanted to go home, where I could be alone and free of the pitiful glances and probing questions. To everyone at school, I was thatgirl--the ridiculous, newly scarred emo girl who experienced brief moments of self-induced isolation between freakish, random catastrophes. The last time I'd been the focus of their gossip, after their discovery of my break-up with Jake, I'd been too numb to care. This time was different, as I was now hyper-aware of their lingering stares and stage whispers. I hated to admit it, but it bothered me that none of them knew I was trying to fight back, trying to be as normal as I possibly could. Feeling their eyes on me was making me feel different and uglier, which only made me angrier that I was allowing the scrutiny to get under my skin.
Still, I trudged though History, playing the role of the diligent student and pretending nothing bothered me, watching the clock, imploring the day to end. I was tired, not fragile; annoyed at my receipt of more unwanted attention, but not depressed. The instant class ended, I was out of there. I gathered up my books from my desk and hauled them out to my truck, not bothering to stop at my locker for my jacket.
The parking lot was packed with cars but not yet a single student. I smirked; it was my first true victory of the day. The door of my truck shone like a beacon, calling me, telling me that once inside, I could just be and not have to put on a show. The sky had begun to spit sleet down upon me as I made my way to my truck, but the wetness didn't damper my slowly uplifting mood.
Home. Home. Home, my head chanted, telling me that when I got there, I could collapse on my bed and pretend none of the recent insanity I'd experienced was real.
As I reached into my bag to fish out my keys, I heard a familiar roar and either my esophagus had folded into my abdomen or the muscles in my throat had learned to close into themselves like a fist, because my next breath emerged strangled, and the slight thrill I'd felt moments earlier over going home vanished.
Pulling to a stop at my side was a familiar sight, though now newly unwelcome. Out of the idling VW Rabbit poured four colossal Quileutes, dwarfing it to the point where it looked like a clown car. I was only unfamiliar with one of the four, who moved to lean against the bumper, scoping the area as if he was on guard duty. Sam emerged from the front, with Embry climbing over the now folded passenger seat before walking around and easing the driver onto the asphalt. Both Sam and Embry gripped Jake's arms as if he were either under arrest or on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Or, quite possibly, both.
They held Jake back, at least ten feet from where I stood, my right side practically welded to the unopened driver's side door of my truck.
Wide-eyed and desperate, all of the cockiness he'd displayed on the beach either gone or buried, he started speaking, his words sad but accusing. "You wouldn't take my calls."
I felt no guilt, only resignation. "You're sorry. I get it. But, Jake, I need some time-"
"I had to begto come here, Bells." His volume increased along with his desperation. Sam and Embry tightened their grasp on Jake's large biceps, prohibiting him from leaning forward by even a millimeter. He didn't fight their hold on him and returned to his pleading. "And I know I'm forcing another risk on us, but please-"
"There is no 'us,' Jake. There's you and the tribe and then there's me. Please, just go."
"You don't know what you're saying, Bells-"
He stopped short, his uninvited, pleading words hanging in the air, enhancing my discomfort. All four Quileutes bristled. Before I could question their sudden switch to combative stances, a loud, startling shattering of glass echoed through the empty parking lot. The double glass-paned doors leading to the main building of the high school had swung open with disarming force, pivoting 180 degrees on their hinges and smashing against the brick wall that bordered the doorframe. Shards of fallen glass danced violently against the pavement as Edward charged straight for us, his face a mask of fury, his pace inhumanly fast, moving toward the group surrounding me like shark thirsting for its next kill.
I didn't see how the rest responded-I could only watch him as he covered the wet expanse of concrete separating us with menacing determination. While I couldn't tear my eyes from his face, he didn't look at me. Not once.
He stalked right past me, his eyes targeting Jake with rabid, immobilizing intensity. In one swift, seemingly effortless maneuver, Edward placed his body between Jacob's and mine, his shoulder blades occupying the line of sight stemming from my dumbstruck gaze, as he simultaneously wrapped his long, lithe fingers around Jake's throat. The hulking bodies of the remaining Queleutes created a barrier around Edward, and he took advantage of this to drop his human charade and move at lightspeed.
It all happened in a blur until Edward had Jake pinned, silent but squirming, to the roof of the Volkswagen. The force of Edward's clenched grasp against Jake's neck violently arched Jake's upper body backward, his feet limply dangling just above the ground. The crown of Jake's skull was smashed into the metal of the top of the VW, denting the frame significantly under the deadly force of Edward's unbridled fury.
Though I had let resentment for Jake build and unleashed it on him only moments earlier, I now pitied him as he hung helpless, quite possibly within inches of his life. My mouth hung open, but I couldn't protest or scream-there were no words.
A human would have already breathed his final breath, but the new-and-questionably-improved Jake only jerked his own hand up to where Edward's formed an ironclad grasp around Jake's throat and attempted to yank Edward off of him. Jake was strong-firsthand experience had taught me that lesson-but Edward, a lion toying with his food, was stronger. Jake's efforts to free himself were in vain, as Edward only leaned over him in pure, merciless dominance. I could only stand on my toes and watch, my useless brain silent in incoherent shock.
"You," Edward growled, his jaw tight, nostrils flared as if buried in the stench of a thousand rotting corpses, the muscles in his forearm raging from under the fabric of his shirt, "you did this to her." He swallowed his jaw hanging open slightly, and for a split second, I thought he was going to rip off Jake's face with his teeth. Instead, he spoke again, shock and ire rendering his voice nearly unrecognizable. "You were the one-you mauled her."
From nowhere, Sam's voice shot through the tension, cold and domineering. "Take your hands off of him; what happened was an accident. This isn't the place." He turned to his fellow tribesmen as he spoke, adding "No one will attack here today."
None of them physically attempted to free Jake, which I found perplexing until I realized they, like myself, were likely stunned into complete and utter immobilization. Everything had happened within the span of seconds. Only Sam seemed to have a grasp on reality, but fear flickered in his eyes, telling me that grasp was slipping. Yet, though he was afraid, Sam didn't seemed shocked; it was as if somehow he knew what he was getting into before the Rabbit had even rolled into the parking lot.
Sam's words failed to distract Edward from the torturous vise he'd formed with his hand and secured around Jake's throat. He growled again, low and feral, and continued, "Touch her again-" he tightened his grip so that Jake choked for air through haggard, stunted gasps "-and I will end you."
With a shove, Edward released his hand from Jake's reddened throat. For the first time, I noticed I had company at my side. Alice stood within a yard of me, eyes wide with shock and terror as she roved her eyes over me to ensure that I was alright. Once she was satisfied, she turned her attention to the Quieluetes, replacing the worry in her expression with chilled disdain.
My eyes scanned the area briefly, showing me that Alice wasn't the only new addition to the group; thirty or more of my classmates hovered in varying distances around the idling Rabbit, their stares trained on Edward and Jake, whose faces were identical showcases for rage and revulsion.
Jake was alive with adrenaline, his body twitching for an outlet for his new murderous power. "Touch me again, bloodsucker, and I'll break you in half."
Edward scoffed. Malicious enthusiasm coating his voice, he sneered, "Marvelous. I'd love for you to try."
Miraculously, Jacob didn't move to attack Edward as I'd expected, though he kept flashing murderous glances in both Edward and Sam's directions as he trembled against his car.
Sam, like a patient parent ignoring a cranky child, addressed Edward directly over the sound of Jake's labored, vicious breaths. "I was hoping to see you here," Sam's tone was unfeeling but calm as he wedged himself into the limited space between Edward and Jacob.
Edward said nothing, only tightening his fists as if the action were the singular key to keeping him from snapping the necks of everyone in his wake. I stood completely behind him now; he'd backed up a few paces as if to shelter me from the Quileutes. I could smell him, the sweetness of his scent nearly compelling me to cry, rejoice, and vomit all at once.
"I just wanted to let you know that, as of late, our treaty has a little added reinforcement." Sam narrowed his eyes and nodded. "Our numbers are increasing. We just thought your kind should be aware."
"How long?" Edward demanded, his stare never leaving Jake's taunting face as if searching for something beyond a verbal answer. "When did you change?"
"Far back enough to know that we can't trust you," Sam responded matter-of-factly.
"You have nothing to worry about as long as that"-Edward indicated Jake with an upward jerk of his chin-"stays away from her."
"And you care because...?" Jake chided, furiously confused over Edward's ultimatum.
"I care because I'm capable of everything you're not. Of protecting her. Of sacrifice. Of doing the right thing." He was everything at once, violent but broken, bitter yet earnest, injured while dangerous.
Jake smirked at Edward's cryptic hostility, likely enjoying the chaos. Bitterly, I mused, The cocky ones always do. I hung my head as I realized I never thought Jacob Black would fit into that category.
Edward lunged and then suddenly stopped inches from Jacob's frozen face, effectively wiping the arrogance clean from Jake's expression. "I gave up everything. Because you were supposed to be the safe choice." I couldn't identify with his words or the anguish behind them.
Hearing his voice, amassed in violent contempt and baseless rage, made me feel uglier than the Jake's careless actions ever could. Just watching him battle the Quileutes made me see him for what he truly was. I'd once lashed out at Billy for his unjust prejudice against the Cullens, but Edward was no better. He wasn't gentle. He wasn't kind. He was just like them, hating without reason, hurting others out of self-righteousness. For no apparent reason, the Cullens and the Quileutes despised each other, and Jake's reckless involvement in my accident provided them all with an excuse to literally go at each other's throats. Edward's blind hatred reminded me of how ugly I was. Ugly for falling in love with someone only capable of hate and uglier still for allowing him to use me now in order to abate his boredom through his sick, twisted means of amusement.
"Stop." The word came out so staggered, so strangled that I wasn't sure if they understood me. "I'm not some pawn in your little game. Just stop."
Edward's shoulders tensed, but he didn't turn to face me. For that I was grateful; it kept him from seeing the ill-timed tears in my lower eye lids and, more importantly, it made walking away that much easier.
"Bells-" Jake extended his arm, reaching out for me. Edward bristled and brought his own arm down in a deliberate chopping motion, smacking against Jake's forearm and causing Jake to jerk his hands back to his sides. Jake winced and shot a purposeful, pleading glance at Sam, who, in response, remained stone-faced and shook his head a mere fraction of an inch.
"I told you that I needed some time." I swallowed. "Stay away from me, Jake. I forgive you. But that doesn't mean you have an open invitation to see me. Stop calling. Don't write. Don't stop by. Just-stay away."
The mild sleet that had begun when I'd first stepped out into the parking lot a half hour earlier had remained weak yet steady, and I shivered as I remembered I wasn't wearing a jacket. I couldn't afford to let the wetness to seep further into my shirt, causing it to cling to the bandages and stitches underneath.
I backed up a step and without turning, found the door handle of my truck with my trembling fingers. I jerked it open, ignoring Alice as she moved from her position at the side of the group toward me, opening her mouth to offer me useless warnings and unsolicited words of comfort. When I turned my back to her, I heard her back up and an engine start. Sam and the others had forced Jacob into the Rabbit, removing him so he couldn't hurt anyone else, or even himself. Climbing inside my truck's cab, my back brushed against the roughness of the upholstery, but it didn't matter; pain was rushing in all forms now, from all angles.
I gunned the engine, but before I could shift into drive, I heard a forceful thump against the glass.
Edward stood at my window, staring right at me for a beat too long with wide-open, beckoning eyes before unhinging his jaw. "This isn't over. You have to listen to me-"
Edward flattened his palm against the window pane, a hollow smacking sound ringing through the silent breadth between us.
He was just as bad as Jake. Neither had scarred me intentionally, but in their own self-righteous blindness, each of them had disfigured me, permanently, recklessly. Jake wanted me too much, so he'd lost his temper and physically torn me to literal shreds; Edward didn't want me enough-at all-and mutilated the optimism from my already cynical heart.
I shut my eyes and clasped my hand over the gearshift. Breathing in, I released my foot from the brake and let myself hiss through the window pane, "You don't want me. I don't want you." I swallowed, fighting the urge to spit. "Stay out of my life."
I shifted into drive and sped away, leaving him standing alone, amidst sleeting rain and words unspoken.