Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, I just play with them. This story is rated M, and is not suitable for younger readers. Story contains violence, coarse language and sexual "situations". Please do not read if any of these things offends you.

Note: [Beta'ed by: adt216]

Chapter 11 - Awake

Isabella Swan POV

So this was death, huh? I didn't know what I had expected… maybe white fluffy clouds and a rippling river. At least there should have been something resembling the Heaven from all the movies. But no, instead I was stuck in this weird darkness, hearing phantom voices and sounds all around me. I felt like I was underwater, the noises muffled, but if I concentrated I could make out what was said.

"… you'd quit. You promised me! Yesterday when we left Seattle, you promised me, and still I find these in your pocket. Where did you even get those? Did you hide them in the house before you left?"

The voice was low, almost hissing, and most definitely upset. It reminded me of my father.

I wondered how he was reacting to the news about my death. Was he sad? Did he cry? Most likely not, my dad was not the crying kind.

"It's no big deal, you know that… I just took one to relax, okay? Can you blame me, after everything Bella has put us through? This isn't the first time she has pulled a stunt like this… and she almost succeeded in killing herself this time. When will you open your eyes and see that your daughter is not well?"

Okay, I guess I wasn't in heaven, because I could recognize that voice anywhere, and that voice did not belong in Heaven. That voice belonged to my mother, who belonged in Hell.

"Renée, she was hit by a car! It was an accident! She was not trying to kill herself. She is not sick! And we both know that. So don't you dare put any blame on Bella; she's the victim here. All right?"

I wanted to smile at my dad's sad attempt to defend me. Maybe he cared more than he had let on when I was alive. Maybe that was why I was hearing this now… maybe I was supposed to know what they really thought about me, before I moved on to a better place.

"Oh please, Charles, you are so blind. Even before I left, I could tell something was wrong with her. And I tried to help, but instead she made me out to be the bad guy. Open your freaking eyes, honey, your daughter is not well."

Someone cleared their throat.

"Mr. and Mrs. Swan, I'm Dr. Carlisle Cullen. I was the doctor who took care of your daughter when she came in last night…"

I stopped listening after that. My head was starting to hurt, along with other parts of my body. It felt like my whole body was beginning to wake up, piece by piece, inch by inch. First, I got the feeling back in my fingers and toes, then a prickling feeling flowed through my arms, up to my shoulders, and from my toes to my ankles, to my knee, to my… oh my god that hurt!

Was heaven supposed to hurt? I don't think so.

Maybe I wasn't in Heaven. Maybe I went straight to Hell.

Didn't the Bible condemn suicide?

But this wasn't a suicide. It was an accident.

Just because I wanted to die, doesn't make it a suicide…

I guess it was true what they say about God working in mysterious ways. For months I had been wishing I could be brave enough to commit suicide, and here I was, stuck in some kind of limbo because a car accidentally hit me.

But not just any car. It was the shiny, silver Volvo. And it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out who had been behind the wheel. Edward made good on his endless threats about being the end of me, about killing me, removing me from existence.

I wondered if it had been a conscious act on his part, or if it had truly been an accident.

What had I ever done to Edward Cullen anyway? Why did he hate me so much? I couldn't for the life – or death – of me figure it out. I had never done anything to him, and still he acted like I was some kind of bug or something that needed to be killed and made extinct.

The pain was beginning to radiate through my body, and I was squirming in the darkness. The pain seemed to be coming from one part of my body in particular, or rather a couple of parts, in my right leg. It felt like someone was picking on me with burning sticks, and it hurt like hell…

There was fire in Purgatory, right? Maybe that's where I was…

"… gonna wake up? Is she ever going to be okay?"

The voice of my father seemed a lot closer now, and I didn't need to focus to make out the words. I could make out them fairly clearly now, the sound almost wasn't muffled at all.

"As I told you before, she suffered serious injuries, and we had to spend several hours in surgery to correct her leg. She will need a lot of physical therapy to get back on track. But it's very unlikely that she will ever get back to where she was… she will most likely never get back the full function of her leg."

"What does that mean? Will she become a cripple? Will she need a wheelchair to get around? How is that going to work? This is Forks! We live in the woods! How is she ever going to get around in a wheelchair?" Mom, always with the practical things.

"She has still full use of her other leg, so there is no reason for us to believe that she won't be able to walk again." The doctor had a very soothing voice. "As to when she's going to wake up, it's hard to say. It's all up to her when she's ready. It can be an hour from now, it can be a day, or even a week. But once again, we have no reason to believe she won't wake up within a reasonable time."

I felt pressure on my hand. I wanted to squeeze back, but I couldn't. It was as if I wasn't connected to my body at all. My mind and my body were no longer buddies.

The doctor said it was unclear when I would wake up, and that it was all up to me.

So what if I didn't want to wake up? What if I wanted to stay in this dark bubble forever?

They couldn't make me wake up.

They just couldn't.

I relaxed, as much as I could during these unusual circumstances, and felt myself get lost in my own body. It was an unsettling feeling, but somehow I felt an odd sort of comfort in it.

I felt myself slip into deeper unconsciousness and the dark became impossibly darker.

I had no way of knowing how long I was out for, how long I let myself get lost in the dark. But all good things come to an end, and I was jolted awake – or jolted back to awareness in the darkness – by the piercing pain in my leg.

My entire body tensed from the pain, and I was surprised to find my mind was once again somewhat connected to my body. When I gained enough control I clenched my hands into fists in order to endure the pain.

Ever so slowly, I felt my mind attach itself to my body again, and the last parts to attach were my eyes. I felt my eyes flutter a few times before they opened fully, and I found myself staring into darkness yet again. But this darkness was different because there were small sources of lights in it, the main source being the light from the hallway, pouring in through the small gap between the door that was slightly ajar and the wall.

I guess I wasn't in Heaven after all. In what sick and twisted world would Heaven need hospitals? Because that was where I obviously was at the moment, stuck in a bed in a stinking hospital.

Great.

I turned my head to the window and saw that it was dark outside. I had no idea what time it was and how long I've been here. Was it still Friday?

I was half-sitting in the bed. I tried to adjust the way I sat, and the movement shot fire through my leg, making me groan in pain. The leg was wrapped in a cast, all the way from my knee down to my toes. I tried to wiggle my toes – which only led to even more pain.

My other leg was fine though, and I could wiggle those toes without causing any more pain.

The hospital gown I was wearing had short sleeves. I immediately panicked at the thought of having my arms bare and totally exposed, but my arms turned out to be covered in gauze, for which I was grateful. The gauze hid all my scars from view.

I tried to relax, but it was impossible. The pain radiating from my leg was ever present, and made it impossible for me to think about anything else.

I saw a shadow in the hallway, and then my door was gently pushed open by a man in a white coat. The light flowing into the room from the hall was enough for me to make out his features, and I groaned when I realized who it was. His eyes shot up from the chart he was holding at the sound of my groaning, and he smiled softly at me.

"I assume you've slept enough now," Dr. Cullen said. "Your parents will be very happy to hear that you're awake."

"What time is it?" I asked, my voice hoarse and my throat dry.

"Almost eight thirty," he replied, after glancing at the expensive looking watch on his wrist.

"What… day?" I asked, and he chuckled lightly.

"It's Saturday," he replied.

He went over to the door and flipped the switch for the ceiling light, and I squinted my eyes at the sudden brightness of the room. He walked over to me and began looking me over. He started with shining a small flashlight in my eyes - like he hadn't already blinded me enough by turning on the lights.

"How are you feeling? Do you remember what happened?" he asked, with his serious doctor-voice. I wanted to scoff at that. Did I remember? Of course I did.

I could recall every little detail that led up to me hitting the windshield with such force it knocked me unconscious for twenty four hours.

I recalled the slippery, icy road, the way my breath turned into smoke when I exhaled, the sound of the skidding tires, and how I was blinded by the headlights, but still able to see the Volvo logo on the grille as the car came closer at a frightening speed…

"Yes…" I replied in a shaky whisper.

How was I even alive? Why didn't Edward make good on his promise and kill me?

Dr. Cullen stopped shining me in the eyes, and put the tiny flashlight in his pocket. He was frowning slightly as he looked at me, and I could tell he was silently asking me exactly what I remembered about the night.

"It was Edward," I said, my voice surprisingly strong, yet still a little hoarse. Dr. Cullen didn't say anything, he just kept looking at me with that curious look. "I remember the Volvo. I know it was Edward. Nobody else in this town owns a car like that…"

He sighed and nodded softly, before looking down at the chart again, scribbling something down. I guess it was no surprise to him that it was Edward, and I wondered what kind of bullshit story Edward had told everybody. Maybe he claimed that I jumped right in front of him, that I gave him no time to react and that he didn't mean to hit me.

"Are you in any pain?" Dr. Cullen asked without looking up from the chart this time.

"My leg," I replied. "It feels like someone is poking me with burning sticks."

"That is to be expected," he said. "You broke your right leg in four places…"

Four places? I broke my leg in four places? I grimaced at the mere thought of it; no wonder I was in so much pain.

"Give me the verdict, Doc, what exactly are my injuries?" I asked with a sigh. "Something terminal I hope," I added under my breath, looking away from him and out the window.

"Apart from your leg, your injuries include two broken ribs, a sprained wrist, along with cuts and bruises… mainly on your arms and legs," he said, listing whatever was written on my chart, "… and also you suffered a mild concussion. You came out fairly unscathed, considering the circumstances… I must say."

"Can I get something for the pain?" I asked with a small voice.

"I can ask a nurse to put some morphine in your IV," he agreed, "and maybe something to help you sleep…"

"Can't I get pills or something instead?" I asked, thinking that maybe I could scam the pills I needed this way. If I just pretended to take them, I could save enough up to make a lethal dose. A little pain in my leg was worth it, right?

But of course, Dr. Cullen didn't agree with me on this, as he shook his head.

"No, Isabella, you can't," he sighed, sounding tired. "And I wish you would stop trying to scam pills from me," he added with a sad and amused smile.

I looked at him surprised and he chuckled humorlessly.

"I was not born yesterday," he said. "I may not be a specialist in psychiatry, but I do know when I'm getting played."

Fantastic, and here I thought I had been so clever with the whole thing. What was with the Cullens anyway? Edward did everything in his power to make my life miserable, which ended up with him almost killing me, accident or not, and then Dr. Cullen did everything in his power to keep me alive. In a way, they both lived to torture me.

"I wish your son would have done what he promised… then I wouldn't need to be scamming you right now," I muttered, mostly to myself. "I wish Edward had just done what he said he would and killed me already… but not even his precious car could do the job…" I wouldn't have been able to hide the bitterness in my tone, even if I had wanted too.

Dr. Cullen gaped at me, his mouth open in shock. I had obviously caught him by surprise, and here I was thinking he was always collected and knew everything… I guess I was wrong.

"I'm sad you feel that way," he said finally. "Life is a precious gift, and you shall not waste it."

I smiled humorlessly and looked down at my hands.

Precious gift, my ass.

"I'm going to go call your parents. They will be happy to hear you're awake," he said.

That was when I realized what I had just told him. Did I just admit to him that I wanted to die, that I was scamming pills from him, and that I was mad at Edward for not making good on his promise? I really hoped I had spoken the last part quietly enough for him not to hear it. Oh my God, how hard did I hit my head anyway? I obviously lost a few IQ-points on the way and the inability to keep my freaking mouth shut.

"Are you gonna tell them what I just told you too?" I asked nervously, biting my lip.

"Don't worry, Isabella. We can keep this between us for now, but I really wish you would agree to get help. Suicide is not the answer," he said, and gave me a smile – that was probably supposed to be comforting, but only succeeded in making me uneasy – before leaving the room.

I hoped he was going to keep his promise to not tell anyone, and not be like his son, who only talked the talk, but never walked the walk. The last thing I needed was to give my mom another reason to kick me while I was down. If a doctor told Dad that I was suicidal, then even he would be concerned and probably let himself be even more blindsided by Mom and all her lies.

A nurse walked in and gave me a tightlipped smile before she squirted something into my IV.

"This will take the edge off the pain and make you relax," she explained and I nodded.

She didn't linger after she was done, and that was just as well. I wasn't in the mood for company.

It didn't take long for whatever it was that she put into my IV to kick in, and I felt my eyes droop and the pain subside.

I welcomed the darkness like an old friend.

"Bella! Bella! Can you hear me, Bella?"

I was being shaken by someone, and each movement made the pain radiate in my leg in the most excruciating way. My eyes flew open and I clenched my fists in order to endure it. I was hoping the pain would subside, but as long as I was being shaken that was not going to happen…

"Oh, Bella, baby," my mother cooed. I wanted to close my eyes again, but at least she eased up on the shaking. "How are you feeling? What were you thinking jumping in front of that car like that?"

I turned my gaze slowly to her and narrowed my eyes.

"I did not jump in front of it," I said between clenched teeth.

"Oh, baby, you don't need to hide… we know," she said, tucking my hair behind my ear.

"Renée, if she says she didn't jump, then we should believe her," Dad protested weakly. He was standing by the foot of my bed, with a serious expression on his face. Mom threw him a look and shook her head.

"You are so blind, Charles," she chided.

"Bella would never risk someone else's life like that," he replied tightlipped and gave Mom a stern look.

"Excuse me? I'm right here," I said incredulously. "And I didn't jump in front of that stupid car!" Mom kept stroking my hair and her closeness was putting me on edge.

"Oh, baby…" she cooed, and I lost it.

"Don't fucking touch me," I yelled.

She jumped in surprise and took a step back, her hands leaving me as if she had burned herself.

"Don't talk to your mother like that," Dad sighed, but there was not even a hint of authority to his voice. It was like he was just saying it because he thought he had to.

"Maybe Mom should leave…" I said quietly. "I don't want her here."

"But, baby, I can help you! All I always wanted to do was help you… make you feel better, and get better," Mom protested, squeezing my hand. I looked at her and shook my head slowly.

"No, Mom, all you ever wanted was to make yourself feel better. You never think about anyone but yourself…" I replied, too tired to ignore her and too angry to stay quiet.

"Now you listen to me, young lady," my mom said, all the love gone from her voice, and back was that stern and emotionless tone from yesterday, that had been accompanied by a slap to my face. All I could do now was hope she wasn't going to hit me again. "I always wanted what's best for you, and it's not my fault if you're too immature to see it."

"Renée, let her be. I don't think you should get her upset right now," Dad said, giving her a pointed look. "She needs to rest." Mom sighed and stepped up to my father.

"Your daughter is sick," she said quietly to him, probably thinking I couldn't hear her. "Maybe she should go with me tomorrow, back to Seattle. She needs help, Charlie."

Something changed in my dad's eyes just then; there was a fire I've never seen before.

"You are not taking my daughter anywhere, you got that?" he said in a hushed tone that held all the authority of a police chief. Mom frowned and clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

"You were always too blind to see what's right in front of you," she sighed. "One of these days she's gonna hurt someone, and that will be on you." She threw a look over her shoulder at me and I cocked an eyebrow at her, silently daring her to say it to my face and not to my father. She huffed and walked out of the room. Dad gripped the iron frame of the bed and sighed deeply.

"Your mother is doing the best she can under the circumstances. It's an adjustment for her to be back home, even if it's just for the weekend," he said to me, but it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself of something.

"She doesn't belong here, Dad. I don't understand what she's doing home or why they let her out anyway," I replied.

"Your mom was not involuntarily committed to the… place. She went there on her own free will, and she can leave at any time. The only reason she hasn't come home earlier is because I've asked her not to. I figured you weren't ready for that yet, and the doctors have agreed with me. But when I visited her on Thursday, they thought she had gotten well enough to come home for the weekend, to test the waters… They thought that since it's been three months, maybe you would be okay too…" he mumbled, avoiding my gaze. He was uncomfortable with this conversation, I could tell.

"And what does that mean?" I asked. "Will she be home permanently now?"

"No, I will drive her back tomorrow. We discussed it last night, after you stormed out, and we agreed you were not ready for that just yet. She agreed she would stay in Seattle to complete her treatment," he said, and forced himself to look at me. "And she really does want what's best for you, but she just don't know how to show it," he added. "And I do too."

"Is that why she hit me last night?" I asked, my lip trembling. "And is that why you didn't do anything to keep her from doing it? Because you thought it was for the best?"

"Oh sweetie…" he said, his tired voice laced with pain. "I never thought she would do that. I was just as shocked as you were…"

"That doesn't excuse that you didn't do anything… You didn't even say anything about it, you just let me have it… just like last time…" My voice trailed off, I was simply not ready to open that can of worms again. Not yet. My lip was trembling even more now, and I bit down harder on it.

"Bella, let's not talk about that right now. I wish you would get over it and move on. It's never a good idea to be stuck in the past… it will only end up eating you alive," he sighed.

I snorted and leaned my head back and stared at the ceiling.

"You have got to be kidding me," I muttered. "Move on?"

If it were that easy, then I would have done it a long time ago.

"Did Dr. Cullen say anything about how long I will be stuck here?" I asked, changing the subject.

"He wants you to stay for the remainder of the weekend, and depending on how you feel on Monday, you might come home then," he replied. "And you don't need to worry about school. You will get the next week off, so you can get used to the cast and everything…"

"And how the hell am I even supposed to get around with this thing on my leg? I could barely walk without tripping on air before!" I complained.

"I will drive you to and from school, and you can get a wheelchair if you wan-"

"A wheelchair? Sorry, Dad, no deal," I cut him off. I was not about to be the cripple in the wheelchair in school; it was bad enough I was going to have the giant cast on my leg. I would get enough negative attention as it was.

"Well, then you will have to learn to get around with crutches," he replied, "but it would be easier for you and less painful with the wheelchair…" I shook my head no, and he sighed. "I guess it's your choice."

"Where's my truck anyway?" I asked.

"It was towed to the car shop in Port Angeles… along with the… yeah," he said, trailing off and turned to look out the window.

"Along with the Volvo, yeah," I said, nodding. "You don't need to walk on eggshells around me, Dad. I know what happened, and I know who did it."

"That damn boy, I have a good desire to put his sorry ass in jail," he muttered. "Careless driver… and he had the audacity to blame the road…"

"What? You talked to him?" I asked surprised.

"Yeah, he was here last night when you were in surgery…. He had gotten a nasty cut on his forehead. The bastard tried to apologize… like an apology would make it all better," he snorted.

I silently wondered what exactly he was apologizing for – for not killing me or for hitting me in the first place? Either way, Dad was right. An apology wasn't worth much, especially not from him.

Dad shuffled his feet and looked towards the door.

"I should go find your mother, I think you upset her," he said with a deep sigh.

"Yeah, you go do that. Go console the crazy lady, don't mind me," I muttered under my breath.

He gave me a bleak smile and left the room, leaving me to myself and my thoughts.

I hoped that the cut in Edward's forehead was a nasty one, that it ruined his beautiful face, and that he was now so ugly that no girl would ever want him again. The ugliness would force him to rely on his personality; he would realize he had none and then everyone would too. Ever so slowly he would fall into obscurity, and nobody would ever want anything to do with him again… he would become me.

If only.

The cut on his forehead was probably the "good kind", leaving him with a sexy scar that would draw even more girls to him, and even more guys would fight to be his best friend. His life would be even greater than before, and he would have only me to thank for it… but of course, he never would.

He would never thank me, and he would never apologize, because I wasn't even on his map. Not even after being one with his windshield… I bet he was going to ask me to pay for the repairs. He probably blamed the accident on me, saying something like "You were in the middle of the road, not me. So of course it's your fault".

I bet he didn't even know it was me he hit.

I wondered what happened after the accident, after I blacked out, what did he do? Did he try to drive away? Did he call 911? Did he laugh? Did he cry? Did he-

"Hi…"

I looked up and jumped slightly in surprise – making a wave of pain shoot through me, though I scarcely noticed, because of the shock of seeing Edward Cullen himself standing in the doorway.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I asked, annoyance lacing my voice.

He had his hands deep in his pockets, and he awkwardly rocked back and forth on the heels of his feet. He had a small bandage on his forehead, hiding away my mark. Because that was what it was, it was my mark. If it wasn't for me, then he wouldn't have that cut right there, and that made it my mark. I was permanently etched on his forehead.

"I wanted to see… if you were… you know… breathing," he said with an awkward shrug, not leaving the doorway.

"Yes, as you can see, I'm still breathing. No thanks to you," I said, giving him a sarcastic smile.

"It's not like I wanted to hit you," he said, his voice rising slightly in aggravation. "What the hell were you doing in the middle of nowhere anyway?"

"Driving, obviously," I replied icily, "before my car broke down."

"Shouldn't you've been home with your nose in a fucking book or something?" he continued, shuffling his feet as he neared the bed.

"What are you really here for? Are you gonna give me the total on how much it cost to repair your precious car? And you want me to cough up the dough?" I asked him, not even kidding.

Something flickered past his face, shock maybe? No. Annoyance? Yeah, that sounded more likely. Too bad I never got to find out, because at that moment Dr. Cullen walked in. He gave Edward a serious look, and Edward pursed his lips.

"What are you doing here, son? I thought I asked you to leave Miss Swan alone," Dr. Cullen said, giving him a pointed look before looking at me. "Is he bothering you?"

"Nah, he was just going to give me the total on how much it cost to repair his car," I replied coolly. Dr. Cullen immediately shot his eyes to Edward.

"Excuse me, Isabella, but I will need to have a talk with my son," Dr. Cullen said, giving Edward a more than annoyed look, and proceeding to practically drag his son out of the room.

I wanted to smirk at the sight. That's what you get for being an ass, Edward.

Not a moment later, I heard an angry voice from the hallway.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I heard Dr. Cullen hiss. "I asked you to leave her alone and not visit her. You're not doing anyone any favors by coming by here. All right? She's in pain, excruciating pain at that, and you coming here is just rubbing salt in her wounds. What the hell were you thinking? Were you actually asking her for money? Who are you, and what the hell did you do to my son?"

"I was just-"

"I don't care what you 'just'. She could sue you, you know that right? And I would not blame her if she did, and I would actually encourage her to do it. And if she does do it, I can promise you that neither me nor your mother will help you out with it. You will have to get a job and pay it yourself. She will never walk like a normal person and she will never ever run again. Because you crushed her leg. Do you even comprehend what kind of damage you have done?"

"But, Dad, I was-"

"No, there are no 'buts' in this, son, you almost killed her, and it's nothing short of a miracle that you didn't. And if you don't remove yourself from my hospital, and go straight home right now, I promise you that your car will be the very least of your problems."

I didn't hear Edward respond to that, and I guess he did what his dad told him to do, since Dr. Cullen came back into my room alone. His face was a little flushed after the argument.

"So you want me to sue your son? I don't mind, I could use the money," I said, not able to contain the joke. The corner of his mouth twitched, and I could tell he was fighting a smile.

"You'll have to excuse me. I didn't mean for you to hear that," he replied, grabbing my wrist and looking down at his watch in order to check my pulse.

Once again, I was hit by the irony of it all; Dr. Cullen kept taking care of me and excusing himself and his son, and Edward kept making it all about him and making my existence pure hell. Yet, they were both torturing me, but in two totally different ways. Were they even related? Maybe Edward was adopted after all…

"Dad said I could leave on Monday?" I said, making it a question, and Dr. Cullen nodded.

"Depending on how you're feeling," he replied. "We will need to run more tests and make sure there isn't any infection in the leg from the surgery…"

"What exactly happened to my leg?" I asked, feeling a little doubtful about whether I really wanted to know or not.

"As I told you before, your leg was broken in four places, though it's more like two… since three of the breaks were so closely together the bone was all but shattered," he replied, with a slight frown.

So my leg was shattered? I guess there was no wonder why it hurt like hell then. I could only imagine how it looked on the inside…

"And the surgery did… what?" I asked tentatively, trying to remove the image of a shattered bone in my body from my mind.

"We removed the pieces we could not save, inserted a metal rod in its place, and fastened it to the remaining bones," he explained clinically. "We had to do this in order to save your leg."

I was trying to come up with some funny, sarcastic response to that, but my mind was drawing a blank. All I could think about was the fact that now I had a metal rod in my leg. That wasn't natural. I wasn't supposed to have pieces of metal in me. Was I one of those people who no longer could walk through a metal detector at the airport without making it go off?

"You will have to wear the cast for six to eight weeks; it will depend on how well your bones heal. Depending on the healing, we might put your leg in a cast again after that or simply a brace to keep it steady. But you are young, and from what we could tell, you are in good health. It will help you to heal more quickly."

"And then what? You remove the rod?"

He gave me a sad smile and shook his head.

"Your injury was too severe. If your bone hadn't been as broken as it was, then yes, the rod would have been removed as soon as your body had grown enough bone tissue for the bone to be able to reattach itself and replace the shattered pieces we removed. But we can't promise that that will happen, the amount of bone we had to remove was simply too much…" he replied.

I nodded slowly, and let the information sink in.

"I know it's a lot to take in right now, but with some physical therapy after the cast has been removed, you will be able to walk again without the aid of crutches. It's not that bad…" he said, trying to cheer me up. But it wasn't freaking working, and he couldn't have expected it would.

"But I won't be walking normally, now will I? I will probably have one of those limps that people make fun of… and what did you say to Edward? Oh yeah, that I will never run again… Wow, doc, you're right. It's not that bad at all," I said, my sarcasm loosing its edge by the underlying whimpering in my voice and the trembling of my lip.

"Isabella, I know it's hard, and considering how you were feeling before the accident, I really wish you would agree to talk to someone," he said, almost pleadingly. "We wouldn't want you to do something stupid…"

"No, we wouldn't want me to do that, now would we…" I whispered. My throat was closing up on me, and I was slowly breaking apart from the inside. This was it. How much more pain did a person have to endure before God agreed that 'this was it' and helped to end the misery?

That was all I wanted, to end the misery. Was that too much to ask for?

"Please, Isabella, don't do anything stupid…" he said, giving me what appeared to be a hard look, but the pity and pain in them betrayed him.

"I can't even move without burning with pain, let alone getting out of bed in order to do something stupid… I think you're safe, Doc, I'm not dying today, or any other day for that matter…" I sighed, biting down on my lower lip, surprised that I wasn't piercing the skin, I was biting so hard.

"This isn't the end of the world. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," he said, with a weak chuckle in a sad attempt to cheer me up, and I snorted at his effort.

If that was true, then Edward must have been on the brink of death a million times over.