XL. Humans get Stitches

The biting cold rippled through me like an electric shock.

I managed one last gasp of air before I was engulfed and ripped away by the violent current. It was pitch black and the current was a thunderous roar in my ears, the frigid temperatures piercing my skin like a thousand barbed needles.

Panic shot through me.

I scrambled to gain control of my body as I was pushed and pulled and plunged by the unforgiving waters, sweeping my arms and kicking my legs and desperately trying to break past the surface. I was blind, the water a crushing pressure against my chest, hysteria clawing up my throat.

I managed to get another breath in, the wind a sharp slap across my face, before I was swallowed once more, still caught within the grasp of the powerful current.

I kicked harder; reached higher.

Until a blinding pain raced across my shoulder. I tried to scream, but ice cold water slammed into my mouth and up my nose, and then I was being swept away again, smaller boulders buffeting against me as I was dragged underneath the surface, choking, drowning―

But then, something colder than stone gripped me and wrenched me down―no, up!

The frigid night air struck me with a sudden sting.

And then I was crashing against a patch of thick moss, limbs heavy, shoulders and arms flaring with agony from a combination of lacerations and bruises. My esophagus burned as river water scraped and gushed out in one coughing fit, until I was gulping up air, rib cage rattling with effort.

"Easy," Carlisle's soothing voice murmured, hands bracing against my trembling shoulders. "You're okay, Isabella."

I sobbed in relief, tears hot against my frozen skin.

"Come, let's get you back home," he murmured, gently cradling me in his arms and lifting me up.

I pressed my damp face against the dry collar of his tux in an effort to escape the buffeting wind threatening to freeze me into a block of ice. By the time we reached the warm-lit house, I was trembling uncontrollably in Carlisle's arms.

Inside, Carlisle carried me upstairs, into a dim room I didn't recognize.

The entirety of the wall across the doorway had ceiling-to-floor length windows, framing a king-sized bed piled high with pillows in colors of cream and navy blue. Carlisle carried me to the right side of the room, where a massive fireplace took up most of the wall, and settled me onto a white velvet settee.

Distantly, I wondered why he would ruin the nice couch. It was now soaked and quickly becoming stained with my blood.

I grew dizzy with nausea, hissing when the pain along my forearm flared to life.

With a blink, I realized Carlisle was kneeling before me, pressing a small towel across my arm to stem the bleeding. Further behind him, Rosalie stood, a fire now blazing at her feet. Involuntarily, a tremor shook my frame as the room began to warm, reminding me of how cold I was.

I wanted to rush closer, until the fire burned me and melted the last of the ice from my skin. But I was bleeding.

So I stayed put, feeling oddly sick and trying to keep my teeth from chattering, wishing I could somehow step out of my wet, clinging dress.

"Isabella."

Rosalie's sharp voice brought me back to the present.

It took me another second to try and remember what she'd been saying, and when the silence dragged, she asked again, "Can I remove your clothes? All of them? We need to warm you up."

It was then that I noticed Carlisle was gone and the door to the bedroom was shut. I glanced down and noticed that it was me who was pressing the towel painfully tight against my arm. When had I been told to do that?

"Go ahead," I rasped, my windpipe rubbed raw from the onslaught of river water, allowing her to tug me to my feet.

She was quick, but efficient. All the while, I tried to dredge up the slightest bit of insecurity. But it was difficult. Sure, I had begun to take ownership of this body, but ultimately, it was hardly mine. My insecurities didn't apply―I no longer had the stretch marks on my spine from when I was young and I'd shot up like a weed; the ugly burn scar on my belly from a bonfire party gone wrong was absent; even my wide hips and pudgy thighs were missing. Watching Rosalie tear apart my soaked dress and undergarments to peel them away didn't bother me. It was almost like it wasn't even me that she was undressing and toweling dry, but some other entity which I could walk away from and abandon.

Instead of dressing me in clothes, Rosalie wrapped me in a warm, fuzzy sleeping robe, carefully pulling the sleeve over my injured arm and rolling up the fabric, so that I could continue to stem the blood flow.

I was sitting again, Rosalie removing my boots and peeling away my drenched socks, when Carlisle hurried back into the room, a medical bag at his side.

"Let's take a look at that, shall we?" he smiled gently, kneeling at my side again and carefully removing the death grip I had over my injured arm.

I nodded, wondering why my stomach suddenly roiled, the sick feeling intensifying as he removed the towel and my nose was hit with a sharp metallic scent.

Right. This body gets sick at the smell of blood.

I was forced to breathe shallowly through my mouth, lest I throw up.

Behind me, I felt Rosalie's hands gently pulling my hair apart from its tangled mess of damp braids, curls, and bobby-pins.

I looked away from the bloody mess just as Carlisle began to rub some sort of cool gel across the ragged skin. My gaze drifted back to the fireplace. Soon, my arm became numb, and the skin being pulled and tugged wasn't painful in the slightest. It made it easier to get lost in the flames.

"Isabella?"

I blinked. Carlisle was gone and Rosalie stood in his place. My arm was no longer bloodied and cut open, but stitched close and taped up in strips of gauze.

I couldn't help but stare at the red spilled across the white fabric of the couch. Perhaps if it was washed right away, there was hope of removing the stain? Then again, it might be different for those with enhanced eyesight. What I believed to be salvageable, might not be so for the Cullens.

"Let's get you cleaned up," Rosalie suggested, drawing my attention as she offered me her hand.

Though I dreaded leaving the warmth of the fire, I allowed her cold fingers to curl around my palm and pull me to my feet. She lead me across the room, to the opposite side, and through the doorway of a bathroom.

I made the mistake of making eye contact with the girl in the mirror. Her hair was a half-dried frizzy mess framing a face streaked with black mascara. I didn't have much time to dwell on my wrecked appearance, before Rosalie was pulling me towards a porcelain bathtub already filled with fragrant, soapy water.

"Easy," she murmured as she helped me step into the warm water, once my borrowed robe had been removed. "Don't get your bandages wet."

I rested my injured arm across the lid of the bathtub, wondering how I would bathe with only one hand, when I felt cool fingers threading through my hair and pulling it back from my face.

I sat, a frozen statue in the warm water, as Rosalie gently washed my hair.

Eventually, my astonishment waned, and I was able to lean into her touch without fearing that she would make a snide remark.

Distantly, I wondered what I could have done to earn Rosalie's kindness. Wouldn't it have made more sense for Esme or Alice to assist me? I was hardly her favorite person.

But as she continued to rinse and lather my hair, I couldn't help but relax the slightest bit.

I was startled back into awareness when Rosalie broke the silence. She was facing me now, gently rubbing a liquid product across my face; probably some sort of cleanser.

"It's alright to cry, Isabella. I imagine you're still rather shaken."

It was touching, if a bit confusing. She'd never shown so much concern for me before.

Regardless, I didn't want her to think I was ignoring her so I nodded faintly, even though I didn't really want to cry again. I was tired of crying.

Rosalie sighed. "You're dissociating."

What?

"It's a trauma response," she added, when I stared blankly at her.

I dropped my gaze. "Oh."

Although I had heard of the word before, it was never something I recalled experiencing. I wasn't sure what to say.

"Close your eyes and mouth," she suddenly instructed. Once I did as told, she gently rinsed my face, washing away the last of the makeup product caked across my skin. "All done."

"Thanks," I whispered hoarsely, blinking away the drops of water clinging to my lashes. "Why…why are you doing this?"

Rosalie leaned back, her face lit with curiosity. "Doing what?"

I lowered my eyes and shrugged, wincing when the movement pulled at the bruises across my shoulders. "Taking care of me."

"Trust me, Esme would be here in a heartbeat, if she were not so frightened of further endangering you," she smiled. "But I'm the only one with enough control to help you through this."

"Right," I agreed, feeling stupid for not having already made the connection myself. Of course no one but Rosalie had enough control to help undress me while I was spilling blood everywhere.

Belatedly, she tacked on, "And because you're my sister."

My head snapped up and I gaped at her.

She scoffed. "Don't look so surprised. Just because I don't agree with any of it, doesn't mean I don't understand. I won't make this any harder for you than it has to be. You've been through enough."

I swallowed past the lump in my throat. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

"…And I'm sorry," I added. "I know I haven't been kind to you in the past, and I might've said some harsh things that I had no business saying."

To my surprise, Rosalie rolled her eyes. "Don't bother. I'm not angry, and I expect that you'll continue to be brutally honest with me, no matter how much we disagree. I'd be embarrassed to call you my sister otherwise."

My lips twisted into a weak smile. "Are you sure? I can be rather mean."

"I can assure you, you'll never be as unpleasant as I'm capable of being. Although I'm sure you're already aware."

"I guess," I conceded with a small, rough laugh. "You're a good sister."

"Yes, I know," she waved me off and began to pull me to my feet to help me rinse and dry off. Regardless, she was unable to keep the swell of pride from coloring her expression.

Once I'd stepped out of the drained tub and she'd toweled me off, Rosalie helped me dress into a pair of soft sweatpants, a sweater, and thick socks.

I focused on Rosalie's reflection as she combed through my wet tangles, and asked, "What's going on out there?"

My conversation with Rosalie had helped clear the fog that had settled along my mind. Suddenly, everything didn't feel so distant, and fear curled in my chest when I began to consider the very real consequences that might result from tonight's altercation.

Behind me, Rosalie hummed. "They're cleaning up. Edward is infuriated, as you can imagine."

"He's not causing any trouble, is he?" I asked weakly. Despite the image of Charlotte's wild, red eyes imprinted in my memory, I knew I didn't want him going to war on my behalf. Not when the future was still so obscure. We already had an invisible entity blocking Alice's visions. Making an enemy of Jasper's family on top of that…it could only serve to make things worse.

She snorted. "No. But he's furious with Peter and Charlotte. Jasper and Carlisle are doing their best to mediate, but Edward can hold a grudge like nobody's business. I'm not really sure any of us blame him, in this case."

I frowned, confused. "Is…is Jasper okay?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't he be…?" Rosalie's eyes suddenly lit up with realization. "Isabella, Jasper didn't attack you. He protected you."

I gaped. "…He did?"

"Yes," Rosalie said. "Ever since you shared this possible future with us, Jasper has been extremely cautious. He knew you could be hurt in other ways, so he's been on guard, maintaining control like we've never seen before."

"Oh," I croaked. "That's…wow." I truly didn't know what to say. That Jasper had gone so far for my sake, was…incredibly touching. My heart softened and warmed with affection.

"You're surprised," Rosalie noted curiously. "I suppose that means they haven't told you."

"Told me what?"

"I don't believe it's for me to say," she said with a shrug, and then tilted her head, as though listening to someone outside of the room. "Esme is preparing something warm for you to drink. Would you like some?"

I smiled. "Yes, please."

"I'll grab it for you. Don't get too comfortable though. Someone will need to take you home soon," Rosalie said, setting the comb back onto the counter.

"I'll be sure not to," I assured her, before she disappeared in a blur of white.

My gaze drifted back to my reflection for a moment. I looked like a completely different girl than when I'd first walked in, face and hair freshly washed, dressed in warm comfortable clothes. The lavender sweater did a fine job of concealing the bruises and bandages. If it weren't for the pain pulsing across my skin, I could almost pretend I hadn't been hurt.

I turned and wandered back into the bedroom, drifting back towards the warmth of the fire. This time, I sat on the opposite side of the couch, away from the wet, blood-stained corner, and folded my legs underneath me, sinking against the cushioned back.

Despite Rosalie's reassurance that everything was well in hand, I couldn't help but despair, because of course tonight's celebrations had ended this way. I'd been arrogant to assume that this could only be the result of some hypothetical birthday party.

It made the possibility of newborn vampire armies and the Volturi's involvement that much more real. Although I imagined the timeline of it all was now botched. Alice was sure I would be turned prior to summer. How much of all this plot nonsense could be squeezed in, in the next two months?

No matter which way I wrapped my head around it, the future appeared bleak.

I was still curled up, watching the fire crackle and pop, when I noticed Edward hovering by the door.

I wasn't sure how much damage his tux had sustained, but he'd changed into a pair of jeans and a black hoodie. In one hand, he clutched a torn wreath of sodden red flowers, half of their petals missing, damp ribbons frayed.

I frowned when I noticed he was unable to meet my gaze. Because I recognized the look in his eyes. The way they shifted and burned with unvoiced desperation―they were the same eyes I saw whenever I'd met Bella's reflection in the mirror, back when I was still trying to find my footing in this strange fairytale world.

"You're running again."

I wasn't sure if I'd meant to say the words out loud, but they did a fine job of securing Edward's attention. And finally, he met my gaze.

"No," he disagreed. But the contrite twist of his expression hadn't fallen away.

I kept my eyes steadily on his. "No. Not right now. But you want to. I know, because we're the same. We run, when things get hard; when we're afraid."

Even as guilt colored his features, and his shoulders caved in, and his fingers curled into gray-knuckled fists, splintering my crown in his grip, I kept my gaze steady.

"You have to tell me what you're thinking, Edward," I said, as gently as I could, voice still raspy.

I needed, with every fiber of my being, to understand if this was meant to be our New Moon. Because I was slowly coming to the realization that I had, perhaps, given too much of myself to Edward. I had incorrectly assumed that Alice's vision trumped every other plot point of the story.

It didn't matter that, if Edward did leave, there was a high probability that he would return to me.

I needed him now.

(And what I didn't want to acknowledge, what I was too afraid to confess in this precarious moment, was that I would always need him; forever.)

The longer the silence stretched, the stronger the grip of fear constricted my chest, leaving me near-breathless, as something painful began to swell in my throat.

"I'm not leaving."

With those simple words, I could breathe again, relief hitting me like a tsunami.

"Okay," I exhaled a sharp breath. "Okay."

Finally, he stepped into the room and moved to sit beside me, dropping the broken wreath atop the pile of wet, torn clothes, and gently wrapping an arm around me, pulling me close.

"What do you need?" he murmured into my hair.

"You," I whispered. "I need you."

A/N: Sorry to everyone who predicted that the ending of the previous chapter would end in Isabella's transformation! Trust me when I say, you'll know when we're there.

Also, I've been asked if I have a sequel planned for this story. Officially, no. While I would love to say yes, I would prefer to focus on completing this story before getting ahead of myself. But I appreciate the interest! :)

And thank you for all the best wishes! I am doing better, thank God! :3 Be sure to review and let me know what you all thought of the chapter! :)