I had always been good at hiding away all my pain. So, good, in fact, that I hid it from myself as well.
See, I was diagnosed with Primary Immunodeficiency shortly after I was born. This changed my family's lives forever.
Originally, my mother wanted to place me within a large plastic bubble, much like you guessed it, the Bubble Boy.
My condition, however, wasn't as extensive as David Phillip Vetter, the original Bubble Boy. Though I was constantly under watch and had to constantly be going to the doctor to check for any new changes within my immune system.
Nothing had really changed until I was seventeen. Just a few weeks short of my eighteenth birthday.
I'll remember that day for the rest of my days, however long that may be from now.
It didn't matter to me anymore. I hardly cared how long I had.
It was on August twenty-fifth when my world finally turned upside down.
It started with what we all thought was a simple cold, that turned into a pulmonary infection that left me practically knocking on death's door.
In all truth, I hardly cared whether I survived or not, my parents would be alright without me, maybe they could finally get that divorce they had been itching to get since I was six and go live their respective lives happily, with someone that does make them happy.
We were all miserable, pretending that everything was alright when in reality, we were all just waiting for me to die to finally have this burden that was me and my condition.
When the doctors told my parents that the infection was far worse than they expected, my mom cried, as did my father.
I, however, stared blankly at the doctor before asking him what the chances of survival were, when he replied less than fifteen percent, I knew then what would happen next.
I was going to die.
Unfortunately, for me that meant my parents and the medical team were going to try to prolong my life for as long as they could.
I was correct in this assessment.
I was immediately admitted to the hospital, and placed under the care of the new head of medicine, Dr. Carlisle Cullen.
He looked to be on the younger side but was meticulous with my daily check-ups, so I ignored it and held back my commentary.
In all honesty, when I met this man, I truly thought that I had already died. Because none of the doctors working in this hospital could hold a candle to how handsome this man was.
Of course, when the nurse giggled after he left and informed me of how old he was, I understood why she was so amused.
I did wonder what his aging secret was, since at thirty, he didn't appear to have any wrinkles, or gray hairs like my dad did when he turned thirty.
Then I debated on whether or not I truly was conscious, or alive because
it had to be my tired mind playing tricks on me. How else could such a handsome man appear here? Maybe in heaven or hell if I can remember all the sins I have ever committed.
Though I doubted it was hell because I hadn't done anything horrible besides cursing my condition on a daily basis.
So, I didn't complain.
It beat being checked by Dr. Greene, who pretended I was a child. Or Dr. Pervelle, who liked dry humor, unless it was directed at him.
Now, as I laid on the stiff hospital bed, a few weeks later, in the same room and bed, I knew I wasn't getting out of this one as I had in the past with other situations.
So, I asked my mom for a few pieces of paper, and a pen, and then began to write letters for every person I was close to.
First, I wrote to my parents.
I thanked my dad profusely, for everything he and mom had done for me. For loving me, for being there for me in my pain, for supporting me when I had my bouts of anger. And finally to remind them that even if I did die I would always love them, and watch over them from wherever I was going or ended up.
Then, I wrote to Angela, and Jessica, two of my closest friends.
Stating to them how much I cared for and appreciated them. and reminding them not to take shit from anyone, especially Lauren Mallory and her croons Mandy and Meghan.
I finished with Dr. Cullen and his wife, and kids.
Dr. Cullen had been in charge of my care, since Dr. Grandy told me what was happening, adjusting the dosage, and medicine to ensure I would be alright. Though the infection did go away, the whole process left me feeling weak and unable to eat a bite of food.
I was on an intravenous feed after the second week of being here.
I could only drink water, and even then, it was only small amounts. My energy seemed to dwindle, as I laid there in that hospital bed. It seemed all I was able to do was sleep. I did just that in hopes of getting enough energy, and maybe leaving the hospital one day soon.
However, it was clear that it was no longer a possibility when I became weaker by the day.
I knew because I saw the pained look my parents gave me whenever they came to visit me.
I could see the tears that didn't fall, but appeared, every time my mother laid her eyes on me.
There were only a few hours remaining before my eighteenth birthday, so, shortly after my parents left, I quietly asked Dr. Cullen to not allow anyone into my room until further notice. Including my parents.
He asked me around five times if I was sure, which I replied I was, each time a bit more forceful. When he realized how serious I was he left the room and went to inform the nurses' desk of my decision.
I'm sure that everyone will wonder why, and honestly, it's purely selfish reasoning. I didn't want to see the pain and pity in their eyes every time they came to visit.
Or be submitted to sitting in uncomfortable silence when I could be uncomfortable on my own.
Even now, as I laid here, crying silently in the dark, I knew this decision was for the best. For everyone, honestly.
My parents didn't need to see me deteriorate before their eyes.
It was enough to have to be here in the hospital.
They didn't need this image ingrained into their brains after I was gone.
No parent should have to see their child slowly lose their life in their child's eyes.
I would give them this, they may feel hurt, but it's for the best.
They'd understand, eventually.
After I woke up the next morning, I asked one of the nurses to help me go to the bathroom to shower and relieve myself.
Doing those two tasks was easier said than done.
When I walked back into the room, a tall guy with penny-colored hair and peculiar-colored eyes stood in the room. Clearly awaiting my return, pacing the length of the room.
"Isabella Swan?" He asked as soon as he felt my presence.
"Who wants to know?" I snarked weakly, as I lowered myself onto the bed slowly with a groan, while the nurse reconnected me to all the machines.
"Uh, right. I haven't introduced myself. Forgive my thoughtlessness, I am Edward, uh, Edward Cullen. Dr. Cullen's youngest son." He introduced himself, before walking over to the chair that was placed next to the bed for visitors.
I nod in acknowledgment before turning towards the nurse calmly, "Can you please get Dr. Cullen in here? I need to ask him something important." I quietly requested as I moved the bed to a sitting position.
"Sure, dear. I'll go get him now." The nurse said before turning, giving Edward a sharp look, "Now, you behave yourself, young man." She told him, before walking out of the room.
"Edward...is it?" I asked, watching him for a moment, before shifting to turn on the TV.
"Yes." He replied, looking towards the door before looking at me.
"What are you doing here?" I asked.
"I need to speak to you." He answers, anxiously.
"Whatever for? How did you even get in here? Last time I checked no visitors are allowed here." I cooly replied, frowning.
I was eighteen, after all, did Dr. Cullen ignore my wishes? Was he allowed to?
"Please, I just came to talk to you for a moment… I'll leave after we speak..." He promised, anxiously.
I stared at him in doubt, slightly narrowing my eyes at him before gesturing for him to proceed. Briefly wondered what he could possibly want to tell me that is so important when we didn't know each other.
He seemed to pause as if he himself doubted what he was about to say, as he opened his mouth to speak, and two others walked in, trailing behind him.
"Edward, what are you doing here?" Carlisle asked, calmly, as he approached him carefully.
I stared blankly at them, waiting for someone to make the first move.
When they all stiffened, and turned to me, I smiled dryly in response at them. "Do I need to call Jerry Springer or perhaps Steve Wilkos? Don't mind me, I am just the patient here." I quipped, staring at them, indifferently.
The large burly guy with dimples and dark curly hair let out a large boisterous laugh, as the other blonde male —who looked like he was constipated— let out a strained laugh.
The tall, lanky one, who had previously told me his name, but I had now forgotten, turned to me confused before turning towards his family and talking. "What —No, why would we — Carlisle, what are you guys even doing here?"
The fine doctor stared at me for a moment before turning to look at his sons, "You all seem to be forgetting that this is a hospital, and that Isabella is a patient here. Please vacate the premises." He ordered sternly, before turning towards me. "Are you feeling alright?" He asked me, before being interrupted.
"Not before I speak to her." Edward replied, firmly.
I rolled my eyes at him, before looking at Carlisle. "Does he honestly think I want to hear anything he has to say?" I asked, almost amused.
Carlisle sighed, "Edward, please, leave. We'll talk when my shift is over."
Edward looked at him defiantly, adamantly shaking his head as he turned to look at me. "You are dying. I cannot allow you to die." He tells me urgently.
I blinked, "Oh? And I suppose you are going to stop death's call?" I retorted.
His expression grew determined as he stared down at me. "If I need to." He replied, stubbornly.
"Oh? How do you plan to do that? Do you know something us peasants don't? Maybe do some magic or voodoo spell?" I retorted.
"No, but I do know—" He began to say, before he could say anything else, his brothers all but dragged him out of the room.
Dr. Cullen turned to give me an apologetic smile. "Please forgive my son. He's a bit too eccentric sometimes." He says before excusing himself.
Later that night, I asked the nurse to give me a sedative when the pain I had been suffering from returned.
"This will allow you to sleep through the night." She told me.
I nodded, as she placed the nasal cannula under my nose, before slowly counting to thirty backward.
I felt the coolness of the saline in my veins followed by the numbing of the heavy sedative for my pain.
Before I knew it my eyelids dropped of their accord.
That night the penny-colored stranger plagued my dreams, as did his words for the following days.