Fugue Forgotten
Chapter 5
Disclaimer: S.M. is credited with the Twilight Saga and associated characters.
Thanks to xochina and Megan for the awesome beta work!
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"Alright, Bells." Charlie's voice is gruff; not a hint of emotion is apparent. How telling of what was to come.
"You're here to get help – I'm doing this to help you." Why does it sound like he's trying to convince himself?
He won't even look at me. Instead he keeps his eyes trained down at the stack of papers on the clipboard he's clutching in his hand.
I'm sitting in a hard plastic chair next to him, yet his presence brings me no comfort. His exterior has become as hard as the chair he sits in.
"We don't need to do this. You don't have to leave me here; just take me home! Please! I'll be good, I promise." God, my voice reveals just how desperate I am.
The tingling and unwanted sensation of anxiety and dread floats in the middle of my stomach. He's the only parent I've ever known, the one stable person in my life and he's getting rid of me.
"You – you just can't, alright? You're not coming home."
Charlie's tone is harsh and I flinch back into the red plastic of my chair.
So this is what it feels like. This is what it feels like to be abandoned, to not have one single person you can rely on.
I'm nauseous.
"Mr. Swan."
An older man with salt and pepper hair, a hooked nose, and worn brown pants with a white shirt tucked in walks towards Charlie and me. The nurse next to him just barely reaches his shoulders. She's heavyset and her beige uniform is too tight. Half of her ashy-blonde hair is pulled back in an unflattering aqua scrunchie that seems to need to be readjusted every few seconds.
Charlie stands, the plastic chair he was previously sitting in groaning as he removes his weight.
"Dr. Smith. It's nice to finally meet you in person." He stiffly waves his arm towards me. "This is my daughter, Isabella."
The Doctor's hand is practically in my face as he holds it out, a motion to show that he wishes to shake hands. I refuse, and instead cross my arms. I'm not here willingly, and he needs to know that.
The tension that hangs heavily in the air is awkward. Dr. Smith doesn't seem to know what to do with his still-extended hand. I stare at him for a few moments before he recoils his hand and shoves it in the pocket of his faded brown pants.
"Isabella!" Charlie snaps at me. He never spoke in the tender and loving town that showed he loved me anymore. It seems all Charlie does now is yell or mumble at me.
"I'm sorry, Dr. Smith. She's not too happy with our current situation." Like he always does when he's uncomfortable, Charlie rubs the back of his neck with his left hand and studies the floor.
"That's quite understandable, Mr. Swan. Did you finish filling out the papers?"
I watch with disgust as Dr. Smith's gaze travels from the papers in Charlie's hand to me. It leaves me feeling unsettled and even more anxious. With his eyes still trained on me, Dr. Smith takes the papers from Charlie and smiles.
"Excellent."
He takes another sheet of paper from the nurse and hands it to Charlie. "If you'll just sign at the bottom."
I watch in abject horror as Charlie signs my life away and shakes hands with the doctor, a grim smile playing on his face.
I'm still sitting in my red, plastic chair when Charlie turns and walks over to me, positioning himself so that he is directly in front of me.
"You're gonna get better, Bells. I'm doing this for your own good. I'll be back for you when you're all better, I promise."
The first of many empty promises.
The doctor, nurse and I watch silently as Charlie exits through the sliding doors out to the main hospital parking lot. The clicking of the doors sliding together is like the sound of my last connection to Charlie snapping in pieces.
"Come along, Isabella." The friendly tone the doctor had before is gone, replaced with a voice that borders on the edge of cruel. Now alone and terrifyingly unsure, I scurry to keep up with him and the nurse as I watch the back of his white doctor's coat flap behind him. They remind me of the wings of a dove, yearning to be free from here.
I'm led into a cold and sterile room. There is a desk with a chair, a clear plastic bin, two cabinets with a counter, and an examination table. As the nurse pulls me over to the table, Dr. Smith takes my lone bag from me and throws it on the desk.
"We'll deal with that in a moment. First, Jane and I will conduct the physical part of the personal inspection first. On the table, please."
I can feel my heart pound in my chest. I can hear my blood rushing through my veins. I can feel legs l as if they are glued to the brown tile floor on which I stand.
A hand yanks me towards the unwelcoming metal table, and I yelp in pain as my right hip connects with it.
"Up."
Dr. Smith practically hoists me up onto the table as he would a small child. My legs are hanging over the edge, and I shiver from the cold of the metal that is absorbed through my jeans.
Moments later, I'm repositioned so that I'm lying down, with Dr. Smith at my head and Jane at my feet. I'm shivering harder now, not just from the cold, but from the fear. I've never been manhandled like this before. I'm in danger and there's nothing I can do about it.
My jeans and sweater are carelessly pulled from my body. A clammy hand pries my mouth open, making me gag. Another hand moves up my legs. I feel violated, dirty, and ashamed. No part of me is left unscathed. Despite please to stop. I try to kick and push the hands away but they are strong, too strong for me to fight back. I won't be surprised if there are bruises on my jaw and ankles later tonight.
I squeeze my eyes shut so tightly that bright exotic patterns of aquas, fuchsias and limes scamper across the back of my eyelids. I try to pretend I'm elsewhere. I try to concentrate on following the fleeting patterns as they dance in my vision.
I'm harshly thrust back into reality as I'm yanked back onto the floor and tossed a pile of dingy, gray, clothing, a simple pair of thin cotton pants and an even thinner cotton shirt.
I'm shaky as I hurry to cover myself. I barely comprehend what is occurring around me as my mind struggles to process the day's events.
As I follow the nurse, Jane I think, out of the room and down the hall, my eyes dart around wildly. It's so gloomy here. The hallways are dark, even though they're lit with large florescent bulbs. They are painted an ugly off-white color that seems to have taken on a brown tinge, further emphasizing the sad state of the tiled floor.
What has my life become?
"You'll be in here, Isabella. Someone will be checking on you in a few hours."
The nurse gives me a no-so-gentle nudge into my new room, and with the locking of the heavy door behind me, I'm alone.
Alone.
I wake, still alone. From my throbbing head, I can tell the drug of choice this time was a benzodiazepine. It would also explain the godforsaken nightmare I had just endured for what looks to be most of the night. I'm not sure, but it looks to be daytime from what I can see through my tiny window.
Coming here was like a rude awakening to all the evils of the world. Coming here made innocent Isabella Swan grow up. Fast.
If only daddy dearest knew what his precious little girl had to endure within five minutes of entering this hellhole, a world so surreal it must be an alternate universe.
Grumbling in my stomach pulls me from my morbid thoughts. My ability to feel my hunger means the drugs must be wearing off. I doubt it will last long. The nurses are like bloodhounds when it comes to knowing when a next dose of 'the good stuff' is needed.
The good stuff indeed. More like the easy way out, the quick fix for lazy nurses.
A knock on my door has me bolting upright in my bed, swaying with the dizziness and headache that still plague my abused body. My heart rate increases tenfold. A knock on the door only means one thing – a doctor or nurse who's come to torture me. It's fucking white coat syndrome, except I have a legitimate reason to panic.
I hear the creaking of the old hinges as the door slowly swings open.
And then a melodious voice calls out and everything changes.
"Bella?"
My stranger, Dr. Cullen, peeks his perfect face around the side of the door, his beautiful smile almost blinding. Granted, I'm experienced enough to know the drugs are probably heightening whatever "experience" I'm having right now, but I don't care.
His smile widens as he sees I'm awake. "How are you feeling today?"
As pleased as I am to see him, I can't quite bring myself to show that in an vocalized response. Something in the back of my mind still ticks – something is still telling me there is something not quite right with this man.
I shrug my shoulders. It's the least I can do. I'm instantly reminded of yesterday, the memories somewhat hazy, and I feel bad. He didn't deserve to be treated like that. I shouldn't have gotten so angry with him. He just – he just has everything that I want.
I feel the anger start to boil up within me again, the edge slightly numbed by the remnants of my medication. I take in a slow breath and release it just as slowly.
"Are you hungry?"
His shimmering golden eyes, almost the color of a sunrise, lock onto my plain brown ones. I feel like he can see straight through to my soul. I feel naked before him and quickly glance away to break the contact.
My stomach rumbles slightly, the first time in what feels like weeks, and I can feel the heat of a blush rise in my neck and cheeks. I hear my stranger's soft chuckle, alerting me to the fact that he has heard it too.
"I'll take that as a yes. There's someone else here who would like to visit you, with lunch."
He looks nervous, but hopeful. I can't hurt him, as jealous as I am of him and his perfect life. He's one of the only friendly – actually he is the only friendly person I've encountered here. He's the only one who hasn't come to my room with the intentions of hurting me. He's the only one who's kept his hands to himself and treats me like I'm – well – I'm normal. I can't lose that.
So I do the only thing I can. I nod my head in agreement. I'll let whoever wants to put up with me do so, for my stranger's sake.
I'm rewarded with a warm smile, and just moments later Dr. Cullen is gently leading me down the hall to the room typically used for family visits. Before we even enter, I see an equally stunning woman sitting in a chair in the center of the room. Her hair is the color of melted caramel and it looks just as smooth. Her skin is free of any impurities; her eyes are the same brilliant and warm gold. She's dressed in a plum wrap dress and holding a brown paper bag. Lunch, I'm assuming.
"Hello, Bella." The smoothness of her voice is unexpected, though I guess I should've realized she'd be perfect in every aspect as well.
I know it's rude to stare, but that's all I can manage until I force myself to concentrate on choosing the seat that's the farthest from everyone else while my stranger seats himself on the edge of the woman's chair. I can feel the woman's eyes on me as I pull my legs underneath me in the chair. It makes me uncomfortable, but not necessarily in a bad way.
The crinkling of the paper bag unfolding is the only sound as I continue to avert my gaze.
"Bella, this is my wife, Esme. She wanted to meet you and bring you lunch. She knows as well as I do that hospital food can be quite unappetizing."
The soothing quality of his voice is still there and I watch, slightly uncomfortable, as he places a hand on the woman's shoulder and squeezes.
My stranger and his wife chuckle at his comment, but I do not.
I watch out of the corner of my eye as she pulls a sandwich from the bag. It looks homemade on thick slices of bread with bright green lettuce peeking out from beneath. With a graceful hand the color of snow she holds it out to me.
Seeing something so fresh and appetizing in front of me only sharpens the pangs of hunger that run through my stomach. It's an internal battle. I don't want to take the sandwich from her, this perfect woman I should be jealous of, but hunger is a powerful drive, and I find myself gingerly leaning forward and accepting the edible offering from her with a shaky hand. I don't even know how long it's been since I last ate.
"Bella is a beautiful name. Very befitting."
I don't answer her. I'm too busy shoving bites of the sandwich in my mouth. Nothing has ever tasted this good before. Than again, nothing would taste good in a place like this.
"You should slow down, Bella. You're going to make yourself sick if you continue to eat that quickly."
I immediately feel guilty for my gluttonous behavior.
"Hush, Carlisle. The poor girl is hungry. Let her enjoy her sandwich."
I stare up at her with a full mouth, surprised that she would speak back to her husband and allow me to continue to scarf down my food. She gives me a quick wink and that's when I feel it for the first time since I've wandered down this scary road of mental instability:
Hope.
Please review, I'll send you a sneak peek of the next chapter. I might be late posting next week because I'll be away, but I'll do my best to be on time. Either way, you'll get a preview so review!!
