Fugue Forgotten
Chapter 7
Disclaimer: S.M. is credited with the Twilight Saga and associated characters.
Thanks to xochina and Megan for the awesome, amazing, fantastic beta work!
To my reviewers - you guys make me cry happy tears, please keep it up. I apologize with lack of responses and the time between updates, RL has literally exploded - small apartment fire, midterm and papers, me being too tired to write. But I'm working on it!
Answers:
1. Bella's condition is an actual psychological condition called dissociative fugue. Previously called Psychogenic Fugue. I've taken a few small liberties with it, but since many people suffer from disorders that don't follow the typical pattern, this shouldn't be a bother.
2. The Cullens ARE vampires. We'll hopefully be seeing Edward soon. I'm also in the process of getting things from their POV as we speak. Fingers crossed.
My sandwich is absolute heaven. After the first bite, I can barely control myself. I finish it in minutes.
Esme watches me with soft eyes. She hasn't said anything yet, but I know she will. There's something about her, a quality I can't identify that lures me in.
The light filtering in from the windows lets me know it's mid-afternoon. I allow myself a small smile as I realize I've missed my earlier dose of meds because I've been with Dr. Cullen. Being able to think slightly more clearly is a feeling that I can only compare to that of stretching unused muscles after they've lain dormant for a long period of time.
"I'm glad you enjoyed your lunch, Bella." Esme speaks softly, like she would to a skittish animal she was trying to soothe.
I clear my throat. I know my voice will never sound as heavenly as theirs, but I want to make an effort to sound decent. I want them to see that I don't belong here. I'm lost, abandoned, weighed down with a disease that seems to be ravishing my mind, but I'm still Bella. Part of me is still normal.
"Thank you," I croak. "It was delicious."
I'm confused as I see both Esme's and Dr. Cullen's faces light up as I speak. My voice makes even me wince, yet they are beaming.
"It was my pleasure, dear. Thank you for allowing me to visit with you."
I'm confused as to why she is thanking me. She's the one who went out of her way to see a patient at a psychiatric institution. She's the one who took the time to make a gourmet sandwich. She shouldn't be thanking me.
"Carlisle tells me you've been here for quite some time. If you don't mind, I'd like to keep you company when I can. I know how lonely it can get when you're cooped up."
Now more clearheaded than I've been in a long time, I can sense something buried deeper in that statement, but by no means do I feel comfortable pursing that train of thought. I simply nod my head.
It is lonely.
It's lonely when you have no one but yourself to keep company, and you're best described as unreliable.
Unreliable. Untrustworthy. Dangerously unstable and unpredictable. How befitting.
I crave… I crave normalcy. I crave the ability to trust, not only others, but myself as well.
"Bella?"
Esme's soft voice breaks through my morose, yet undeniably true, thoughts. It is now that I realize that Dr. Cullen, my stranger has left us and just Esme and I remain alone.
"You remind me of my daughter quite a bit."
I can see a great sadness in her expressive, golden eyes. She seems to be recalling something that troubles her immensely, and for a moment, I wrestle with the urge to cross the room and touch her. But then I think back to my stranger's description of his family and I compare both his and Esme's appearances. How could I, with my limp brown hair, pasty face, and boring brown eyes, remind this woman of a girl who is most likely just as beautiful as her parents?
I urge Esme to continue with a brief glance, although I fear that this will most likely end as a painful jab to my already nonexistent self-esteem.
She gifts me with a pained smile.
"She's a tiny thing. She's really our little pixie and has the personality to match. You see, Bella, Carlisle and I adopted her years ago. We don't know much about her background except that her parents left her institutionalized when she began experiencing… symptoms. Carlisle came upon her, and found out her parents were no longer in the picture. While she may be a bit different, there is nothing wrong with her."
Is that how one could describe me: different, but otherwise healthy? I can assume that unlike the Cullen girl, I faced physical damage with my condition. Unlike the Cullen girl, I didn't have a family to swoop in and save the day with papers and promises of adoption. I just had… myself.
Yet, I crave to know more about this Cullen girl. "What's her name?"
"Alice."
What a simple name. Perfect Alice, meet messed up Bella.
Jealousy is an ugly beast and mine roars uncontrollably. I allow myself the satisfaction of leaving it rearing, unchecked. I have every right to be jealous. I don't have anything that bares even the slightest resemblance to normal. My father threw me away, my mother is dead and I spend my days sitting in a prison while I hear of how well life turned out for others. Fuck this.
I rub my eyes with the heels of my palms, trying to rid myself of the annoying prickling sensation. I don't want to cry in front of her. She's not my mother. She's some other, girl's, some lucky girl's mother.
But I'm not strong enough to hold back. I pull my hands away from my face and warm liquid runs down both of my cheeks.
"Bella, sweetheart," Esme murmurs. "What's wrong?"
The concern clearly evident in Esme's voice is touching, yet unnecessary. I've gone this long without someone to dry my tears, there's no need to start now.
"Nothing."
I'm surprised, startled, and slightly uncomfortable when she appears in front of me, kneeling at my chair. Her hand, as cold and as hard as her husband's, cups my cheek. It takes all of my willpower to look away.
"You can trust me, sweetheart."
And that is all it takes. The dam breaks, I fold – I'm weak. My sobs are so intense they're almost painful.
I haven't cried or felt emotional pain like this in so long. My chest is tight; I can feel myself heaving with the effort of drawing in breath. My wails are ugly and I'm sure my face is a fucking masterpiece. The thin cushion on the chair does little to protect my ass from the hardness of the chair beneath it, but that doesn't stop my body from shaking against it.
But then that hardness is gone, only to be replaced by another type, a more comforting hardness. I'm in Esme's lap and I'm surprisingly not uncomfortable with that fact. I inhale, and the scent of lilacs and lavender hits me. Jesus, she even smells like a mom.
"Shh. It's going to be okay. I just need you to talk to me sweetheart."
I'm not sure I know how. I've spent the past three years talking to someone about my supposed issues and it's gotten me nowhere. I don't think I know how to have a productive conversation anymore.
"What has you so upset, Bella?"
Her hands are soothing as they slowly rub up and down my arms.
I'm still too upset to answer her question and I don't know if I even have an answer for her. It's too hard to explain what I've been through, to try and make her see what I've seen.
The grief is overwhelming, as is the pain in my heart.
Esme must sense this as she pulls me tighter to her chest and rocks me gently. It's almost like making up for lost time, all the times I yearned for a mother to kiss away my hurts but never had one.
"It's okay to need help, sweetheart. Everyone does occasionally."
Her gentle hands still rub my back. Her comfortable body still rocks my own, and slowly I begin to calm.
The pressure in my chest lessens and I can breathe again. The flow of tears lightens, and my sobs quiet.
Only now do I notice that my right hand is gripping the side of Esme's dress. Such white fingers against such a vibrant, plum-colored fabric.
Purple is my favorite color. I haven't seen a color this vibrant in three years, just gray walls, gray pants, off white scrubs.
The silence between us is comfortable and I hesitate to break it. If I could just pause life, stop the world, and hold on to it a little while longer, things might just become a little more bearable.
"I'm so tired." I whisper. It sounds deafening in the cold and empty room.
"Tired of what, sweetie?' Her voice is gentle, softly probing for an answer, anything. I find it odd that she immediately assumes that it's mental exhaustion. It's clear to me that she's very perceptive. But what mother isn't?
I don't want to have to ruin her perfect world and tell her I'm tired of living. Why burden her with my problems when every day I'm a little closer to ending them? The body can only exist without the mind for so long.
I sigh. No. Now is not the time to bring that up. I want to be able to enjoy this maternal comfort while I can. I even moan a little when Esme's fingers rub against my scalp.
"Would you like me to braid your hair, Bella? I think you'd look very pretty with a braid."
I nod slowly. I don't think anyone has ever braided my hair before. It seems very… motherly.
Esme scoots me forward so that I'm sitting in front of her and I silently enjoy this moment, just me and her. Her hands never leave my hair. I relish the feeling of her fingers weaving in and out, twisting and pulling my hair into something new and different.
When Emse finishes, her hands grasp my shoulders and she turns me to face her. Her golden eyes are absolutely striking, so wide, so clear, so astute. It's clear this woman has witnessed many things – I see the strength that runs beneath her porcelain skin. I wish I had even a fraction of her strength.
"There. Now we can see your beautiful face."
She moves her hands towards mine and I flinch. I can't help it. It's like I'm programmed now – too many bad experiences with hands. For a moment, I see a flash of hurt in those expressive eyes and I want to kill myself for being the cause of this stunning angel's grief. I shrink away and slide backwards on the floor. I need to get away from this woman before I hurt her even more. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if her world of perfection came to an end because of me.
I chance a glance up at her again and I see her eyes are thick with unshed tears.
I'm such a fuck up.
"I'm sorry," I whisper.
She gasps and I grimace. An ache returns to my chest and I almost crave the sweet oblivion of the sedatives.
Like Esme, tears pool in my eyes, but I don't have her strength and they run freely down my cheeks.
Esme starts to move towards me, but we are both distracted by shouts echoing from down the hall. The angry voices get louder and I can now distinguish them as male.
I'm proven correct when Dr. Smith, followed closely by Dr. Cullen, appears, angry and rushed, outside the room. The dirty glass that separates Esme and me from the hall slightly distorts the two men.
"Dr. Smith!" Dr. Cullen shouts.
I've never heard my stranger raise his voice and while it's still beautiful, it's also scary and intimidating. Even his wife looks a bit stunned.
"You will not stop me, Dr. Cullen." Dr. Smith almost growls at my stranger, and my hair stands on end.
Smith throws open the door and I cringe as it hits the wall of windows that separate it from the hallway. He looks at me with furious brown eyes and if I've never feared for my life before, I do now.
Instinct tells me to run, and I do, well, as best I can. I scramble to get to my feet but I'm still unsteady and can't move fast enough.
Smith grabs me by the wrist and I cry out when a sharp pain spikes down my arm. He's reopening the cuts from the restraints that have finally scabbed over and it's burning.
"Stop. You're hurting her!" Esme is at Smith's side now. Her voice, though unsteady, is commanding. Unfortunately for me, Smith doesn't listen.
"You've missed your morning meds, Isabella."
"Dr. Smith!" Carlisle snarls.
Carlisle's roar echoes through the room. Smith turns to look at him, his grip still tight on my throbbing wrist. He's breathing heavily, his eyes are wild, his salt and pepper hair is in disarray. And I'm at his mercy.
"She does not need the medication. Bella is my patient, my orders will be followed." Dr. Cullen's voice is terse and commanding, and I want nothing more than to run to him.
For a moment, I could've sworn I hear a growl. Carlisle's eyes are an enraged dark ocher that look like they could burn through flesh if he so wished.
"She is not under your care yet, Carlisle."
This time I'm positive I hear a growl, though I'm not certain where it comes from.
Without giving Dr. Cullen a chance to respond, Smith pulls me from the room.
I watch despondently as Dr. Cullen puts out a hand to stop his wife from following. They watch with wide, sorrow-filled eyes.
"Please." I beg.
Please, do something. I don't want to go back to that dark place.
"I'm sorry!" I plead.
I'm never good enough. It's always my fault. Charlie sending me away was my fault – my fault that I couldn't control my own body. Now I'm being taken away because I couldn't control my stupid emotions. I'm a fucking weakling who can't do anything right.
I just needed one more chance, one more chance to prove that I can control myself, that I'm really a good person. I may not be perfect like the Cullens, but I wanted to try and get as close to it as I could.
My hair falls out of its braid as I'm whipped around. My foot catches on a loose tile and I trip, my head connecting with the floor with a sharp smack. Smith never loosens his hold. He simply pulls me up and continues to drag me down the hallway.
A hand to the head tells me I'm bleeding.
I catch one last glimpse of the perfect pair as I'm dragged away. Their faces are oddly tight. They almost look like statues.
There is a last flash of gold, a last glance at my disappearing hope, and then a needle is shoved in my arm and I'm thrust into my room - locked into my metal and cinderblock cage.
Might as well throw away the key.
Please review, you guys are inspiring and motivating. I also get some great ideas. My question for you - how did you find this story?
