A/N: I know this plot is overdone, but please give it a chance!

teth·er—a line to which someone or something is attached.

They—whoever 'they' are, is beyond me—says it feels as if you're falling asleep. And the 'it' I'm talking of is death. If anyone were to ask me about it—about that night and what happened—I can't say how it happened. I don't remember.

There wasn't a white light that sticks out in my mind; nothing even close to that in my memory. No warmth that surrounded me and comforted me. I didn't see my mother waiting for me; I didn't see anyone.

If I died, even briefly, I hope that it was everything they say. That there is a God and he helps you through the gates, welcomes you with open arms.

Or maybe I was in the in-between. That little bit of limbo Dante described, waiting for my Virgil.

There is absolutely nothing—then, everything.

It's then that I'm...removed, perhaps? Removed from the quiet nothingness and placed into somewhere else. It holds a distant familiarity that I can't pinpoint, not when it feels so wrong. Suddenly, there isn't enough room and...and someone else is here with me. It's so tight and there is not enough space, not for the two of us. The Other One starts struggling, pushing and pulling so they can throw me out but there is no exit, no escape. It hurts, like a bruise being punched over and over again.

I fight back, afraid and confused.

I shove and yank, but it's to no avail. I think the Other One realizes this as well, because, suddenly, they cease their assault, and instead tries to overpower me. Some part of me knows I can't lose here, though; that this struggle between us is important. I throw everything I am into this battle for dominance, driven by the unadulterated will to simply survive.

How I exactly do it, I haven't a clue but, suddenly, the Other One is shrinking, and I'm growing. Absorbing them. There is a scream of horror, far off in the distance that chills me to the bone. I'm not able to pay it any attention though, because the Other One is gone, leaving behind a wave of memories that precedes to hit me like a freight train. Memories and conversations that are not my own filter in and make themselves known in my mind.

I'm alone, though, with time and plenty of space, not to mention nothing else to do. So I organize them, trashing things that don't seem important until a life is laid out in front of me. A girl, with big chocolate eyes and wavy brunette hair; she's startlingly familiar, her face tugging at my own memory. Because her face is my face.

Bella.

Isabella Swan.

Twilight.

Then everything slowly falls into place. I'm dead—I've died and somehow I've been shoved into her mind.

But that's not possible...right? She's a fictional character. She lives in a fictional world full of magic and supernatural entities, and those kinds of things do not simply become reality. The memories are right in front of me, though, detailing the life of a girl I've grown up reading about.

My mind—or is it hers? I can't decipher where Bella ends and I begin. Either way, the gravity of this situation cannot be processed by me, because accepting this means many, many things that I simply can not cope with at the moment. So, I very carefully do not think about the fact that I'm dead, or that I've murdered Bella, who is only seventeen-years-old if my memory is correct.

I suddenly find myself thinking about my sweet mother, who is too good for this world, and my genius little sister that will be going to Stanford in the fall. They'll have to bury me now, and neither deserve that. I'm never going to see them again, and I can't even remember the last thing I said to them. Could they forgive me for leaving them so soon?

And what about Bella, whose soul or mind has simply ceased to exist? Who will grieve for her?

. . . . . . . . . .

At some point, I have to accept the fact that the life I lived is over; this place I've fought for, Bella's body, belongs to me now. She is...gone, just like everything else I've ever known. My friends and family are as good as dead here, and that combined with the fact that, for the first time in my life, I'm truly and completely alone in the world? Well, it's a hard pill to swallow; a truth that I know but am not ready to face quite yet.

So, I don't.

The moment I leave and wake up in her body, everything comes crashing down on me. I can't move, can't make myself speak or do much of anything over the horrifying revelation that is now my reality. So, I cry. I curl myself into a ball on a bed that isn't mine and mourn. I've experienced loss before; went to both of my grandparents' funerals, but it isn't something that can be compared to this. Losing someone is terrible, but I have just lost everyone. All at once.

No matter what happens in life, no matter what trauma you experience, there will always be someone around. It can be a friend, an enemy, a neighbor; the point is, someone is there and that at least can offer some form of reassurance. I have lost more than that simple comfort, the mere acknowledgement of my existence; my body, my things, they're gone as well.

It's like my very being has been wiped away, leaving nothing but my mind to prove that the life I once lived, the experience I went through, are real. That isn't something you can simply bounce back from, and I certainly don't.

I spend three days in bed.

I sob and grieve, but people can only cry for so long, and by the second night my tears dry up. I'm left in a numb state of resignation, a point where I recongize this is rock bottom and that I can do nothing about it.

It's on the morning of the fourth day that I finally tear myself from the bed and attempt to get myself together. Wasting away does nothing for my current situation, and self-preservation will not allow me to continue doing it.

This body has needs just like any other, and I'm starting to feel the effects of my neglect. My stomach twists painfully, my bladder is full and I can smell myself. Sitting up, I shift uncomfortably as the the weight of my needs make themselves known. I don't want to get up, but now that I've taken notice of my unhygienic state, it's starting to bother me.

I stumble a couple of times on the way to the door as I adjust to this body. I dig for any memories that show the layout of this house. They surface, and go through each one as I open the door and skulk down the hall to the bathroom.

I lock the door behind me and turn, steadily avoiding the mirror as I turn the shower on. As the water heats up, I begin to slowly peel away the layers of clothing.

I stand beneath the stream of scalding hot water, letting it pound against my sensitive flesh. I can feel the top layer of skin, the thin sheen of sweat I've collected through the past few nights of restless sleep washing away.

I stay in the shower until the water starts to turn cold. I'm already afraid that if I linger too long, Charlie will come check on me. He's done so many times the last couple of days, and each time he's come, worry is written clear on his face. I feel guilty. I can never bring myself to say anything to him. After all, there isn't much to say.

I'm not his daughter, and he can never know that. I'll carry that secret with me until the day I die. If I'm the only one that grieves for Bella, then so be it. I didn't ask to be dropped into this body, but when push came to shove I made a decision and that's why Bella isn't here.

I've chosen to live.

As awful as it sounds, I don't regret it either.