Fic: It's Gonna Bleed Sometimes
Title: It's Gonna Bleed Sometimes
Author: monroeslittle
Genre: Twilight -- J/B
Rating: PG
Summary: AU in New Moon: Bella couldn't stop Charlie from sending her to Florida, even if she convinced him to let her return a few weeks later. But because of that, she never learned to hear Edward through danger, and she never be-friended Jacob. And where did she end up? Hospitalized.
Disclaimer: I own absolutely no rights to the Twilight books or movies.
A/N: Title and lyrics taken from "Sweet Talk" by the Killers, an all time favourite of mine. This is a good old fashioned, past-tense, third-person POV. But it touches a sensitive topic.
i. Lift me up on my honour,/ Take me over this spell,/ Get this weight off my shoulders,/ I've carried it well
Every time she gave up after counting thirty-seven tiles.
She counted in the same order every time, but when she reached number thirty seven, she was distracted. Number thirty seven had been bleached, and it shone brighter than all the others. When she stared at it, she saw how beautiful it was in comparison to all the other tiles, and it made her heart hurt with the reminder.
She would look away, trying to focus on something - anything - else, but her eyes were always drawn to that one tile. She would try to start counting the tiles again, but she would always end up on number thirty seven, and it ached. It ached.
She let her eyes wander to the bathroom door. She stared at it for a moment.
But then her eyes bounced past it and back on to that one shiny tile. She swallowed thickly.
She couldn't escape. Tears gathered in her lashes.
When the nurse arrived, her checks were sticky with old tears hidden under the fresh ones that still poured down. "Why, sweetheart, what's the matter?" the older woman asked.
"Close it," she whispered.
The woman frowned. "What's that, dear?"
"Close it," she repeated. The woman's eyes darted from her to the bathroom door and back again. "Please close it."
"Of course, dear," she replied, and in a few swift steps, the bathroom door was closed. "Is that better?"
She didn't respond. She couldn't see any of the bathroom tiles any more, but she still knew what lay behind the closed door. She looked up at the ceiling, and her eyes caught on a stain. It was as dirty and wrong as tile number thirty seven was bright and right.
She let her eyes flutter shut.
ii. Loose these shackles of pressure,/ Shake me out of these chains,/ Lead me not to temptation
He pulled the car into the closest spot he could, putting it into park. But he couldn't make himself move. He still didn't know how he could have possibly agreed to this. There were a thousand better things he could be doing. God, he would rather be doing anything other than this. But he had said he would, and what other choice did he have? He had no truly valid excuses, except that every single fiber of his being was screaming at him not to walk into that hospital.
He sighed, turning the key and cutting the engine. It was another moment before he could climb out of the car. He slammed the door shut a little too viciously. The hospital entrance was only about twenty feet away. It still took him a good five minutes to make it to the doors.
The last time he had been at a hospital, his mother had died.
What was awaiting him inside was worse than even that memory, though.
He made his way to the information desk eventually, even if it took him over ten minutes to muster the courage. "Can I help you?" The woman behind it was young and pretty, with bright blue eyes and a bright smile. What were the chances she would look anything like that?
"Hi, I'm here to see a - a friend of mine. Her dad called in to say I was coming."
"Her name?" He gave it, and with a few clicks on her computer, she was smiling up at him again. "Are you Jacob Black?" she asked. He only nodded. "Perfect timing, Mr. Black. Just sign in here, and this is your visitor's pass, and please read this sheet here about how to act appropriately with patients."
Five minutes later, his pass was pinned to his shirt and there was no backing out. "Alright, it's on the second floor, room 217. I'll call up to tell them you're on your way. Do you need a map?"
"I'll manage," he murmured. He gave a tight smile and she beamed.
He took the stairs slowly, and when he pushed open the door to the ward, he had to fight the sudden, pulsing urge to hightail it out of the hospital pronto. It took another ten minutes for him to find room 217. It was open, and he shifted from one foot to the other, sighing. "It won't be that bad," he told himself.
And then he was in the doorway, and the breath rushed suddenly out of his lungs.
She was sitting in a chair, wearing hospital pyjamas and a grey knit sweater, one he recognised as made by Sue Clearwater. Her hair was cropped short around her ears, and her face was blank. His mind buzzed with blurry, bright memories of a little girl with long curls down her back chasing him down the beach and then of a pale, unknowingly pretty girl, who's shy eyes lit up at the sight of her own vehicle.
The girl sitting in front of him was nothing like the girl in those memories, and suddenly the very action of swallowing was painful.
"Bella?"
iii. Hold my hand harder,/ Ease my mind,/ Roll down the smoke screen,/ And open the sky
"How about we start today by talking about Charlie."
Bella picked at her nails.
"What's your relationship with Charlie like?"
She wished she hadn't cut off her hair, so that she could still let it fall forward and cover her face, hide her from the world and from the woman in front of her. She glanced out the window. It was closed and locked. All the windows were always closed and locked. She sighed.
"Charlie brought you in here, didn't he? How do you feel about that? Bella?"
Bella shifted uncomfortably. Charlie. Guilt flooded her. He must be feeling so terrible. She hadn't meant to leave him, to hurt him the way she had. He must feel like such a failure. But he wasn't. He wasn't. She shifted again, letting her arm wrap around her middle.
"On Wednesday you told me you weren't very much like your mother, Renee. Do you think you're like Charlie?" She didn't say anything. The woman sighed, slipping her glasses off her nose. "Bella, you need to talk to me. I know you can. You have before."
"I'm sorry," Bella whispered. The woman was disappointed with her again. Who wasn't?
"Don't be sorry," the woman replied. "Talk. Tell me about Charlie. Do you miss living at home with him?"
"I -" She couldn't finish.
"Bella, do you miss talking to Charlie?"
"Yes."
"I bet he misses talking to you, too," she said. "He comes to see you every day, doesn't he?"
"I wish he didn't," she whispered.
"Why not?" It was quiet. "Bella, why do you wish he didn't come see you every day?"
"Because . . . I don't . . . deserve it. It's not his fault I'm so . . . broken."
"It's not your fault either, Bella. And you do deserve your father's love." Bella didn't say anything. "Why do you think it's your fault, Bella? Did you break yourself?" She nodded. "Yes? Yes, you broke yourself?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"It's my fault," she whispered, and she swore she could smell the pine again, smell the heavy, thick scent of dead leaves and old oaks and forest, and her eyes welled up.
"Why, Bella? Why do you think it's your fault?"
"I - I - can I - can I go now?"
"Why don't you keep talking to me for a few more minutes. Is that okay?" Bella didn't reply. The woman sighed. "Okay, Bella. You can go."
iv. Dig me out from this thorn tree,/ Help me bury my shame,/ Keep my eyes from the fire,/ They can't handle the flame
He pressed his face into his palms.
The door behind him opened - hopefully whoever it was would pass him by. But the shuffle of feet was cut short by a sigh, and when he pulled his face from his hands, it was to see that the older woman who'd watched him bolt was now sitting beside him on the top stair. "I'm sorry," he murmured.
"I know. It's hard. Do you know her well?"
He shrugged. "I . . . we used to play together when we were little. Our dads are friends. But she . . . I mean, I never really knew her, but just now she looked so . . . I don't know, so -"
"Hopeless?" she suggested. He nodded wordlessly. "I know. Every day her father comes to see her, and every day she doesn't say a word to him. It never gets any easier seeing it." She sighed.
"I'm actually here for him today," he said. At her curious expression, he explained, "Charlie - her dad - was in a fishing accident. He was too out of it to come today, but he didn't want her to be lonely." He gave a humourless chuckle. "I volunteered to come for him before I knew what I was doing. She was so . . . her eyes were, like, empty."
"I know, dear. It was good of you to come, though," she assured. "But if you don't feel up to talking to her today, that's okay. My name is Sarah Ludlow, by the way. If you'll be visiting again, we ought to have a proper introduction. You can call me Ms. Sarah."
"Jacob Black," he replied, (although he would not be visiting again).
She nodded, but before she could say anything more, he abruptly turned to her. "What's wrong with her?" he demanded. She looked slightly startled. "I mean, I know she's depressed and everything, but she's been in here for months, so there's gotta be something else, right? I mean, is she - mentally ill or something?"
Ms. Sarah sighed. "Depression is a mental illness, a serious one. She is severely, severely depressed. It's not something to be taken likely. Medication can help a lot of people, but not everyone. Never everyone. There are always a few, who . . . the important thing for you and for her father and for her to remember is not to give up on her." She reached out and squeezed his arm.
She stood to leave, but he wasn't done. "But - so - that's it? The medication isn't working, so she sits in a hospital while everybody just hopes she gets better?"
"Dear, I don't know who you are, but I can see that this is hard for you, and I'm sorry. We're doing everything we can for her. This isn't an easy road, and she needs all the help she can get from the people who care about her. But if you can't handle it, then you shouldn't be here." This time he didn't stop her when she left.
He sat there for a while longer. What reason did she have to be depressed? Her boyfriend broke up with her. That was all he knew. Sure, he was a bloodsucker, but at the end of the day, it was just a high school romance, right? The werewolf in him wondered suddenly if there was more to it than that - if the bloodsucker had somehow had made her sick, but he shook the thought away.
He got up to leave and was halfway down the stairs when he heard the crash. It wasn't too loud, but it was plenty noise enough for his ears to catch, as was the exclamation of pain that followed. Before he could think it through, he climbed back up the stairs two at a time.
He arrived at Bella's room to find Ms. Sarah just starting to pick up an overturned bedside table and a broken lamp. Bella sat on the ground, shock written all over her face. Her arm was battered and a little bloody, but her eyes stared straight at her pointer finger and the drop of blood on its tip.
"What happened?" he breathed.
"She got a card," said Ms. Sarah. "I was trying to help her open it and all of a sudden she lost it, leapt off her bed and knocked over the cabinet." She paused, taking a deep breath. "We should get it bolted down." She sent Jacob a tight smile before pushing aside the collected lamp shards and turning to Bella. "Come on, dear, lets get you back up on the bed." But Bella didn't seem interested in helping.
"Here -" he said, reaching out to grip Bella's tiny, frail body and lift her onto the bed.
"Thank you," Ms. Sarah smiled.
"I - I -" Bella began, frowning.
"What's the matter, honey?" he asked.
Her eyes flickered up to him. "I got a paper cut," she confessed, her voice barely a whisper. Her face pinched and she glanced down at her bloodied arm. Ms. Sarah had already fetched a bandage and was approaching Bella. "I'm sorry," Bella wailed suddenly. "I'm so sorry!"
"It's quite all right, sweetheart," assured Ms. Sarah, but as she reached out, Bella pulled away, half-scrambling across her bed as if frightened. Ms. Sarah sighed.
"Let me try," Jacob offered, and she wordlessly handed over the bandage.
He sat down on the bed and held out a hand to her.
"I'm sorry," she said, her large eyes glistening with tears.
"Nah, don't worry about it. You know how many times I've knocked over my bedside table when the alarm clock was just a little too loud? Happens to the best of us." He grinned, his hand still waiting.
"I'm so sorry," she murmured, looking away.
"What else is there to be sorry for? Bleeding a little?" he joked. But her eyes snapped back to his face. "Bells . . .," he began hesitantly, not believing the words that left his mouth, "are you apologising for bleeding?" She didn't respond, but her face was flushed with guilt as she looked down at her sheets. He swallowed nervously.
She looked so . . . lost.
And the urge to help her find herself again reared up inside him. "Honey, a little blood never hurt anybody." And he curled the finger of his outstretched hand at her again, grinning teasingly. "C'mon."
And slowly, as if she were some sort of frightened animal, she hesitantly rested her arm in his, and he began to bandage it. "You know if you want," he said, aware of her eyes trained attentively on his face, "we can take advantage of this opportunity and become blood siblings. Lasts a lifetime, they say."
"W-what?" she whispered.
"There, puuurfect," he said, placing her unresponsive and newly bandaged arm back in her lap. "And here, let's see. . . ." Ms. Sarah had disappeared with what remained of the lamp, and before she could come back, he grabbed the first thing his eyes landed on: the card. "Bella, Get well soon, Mike. Huh. Heartfelt. Well, if it worked for you -"
Bella gasped aloud, her thin, white fingers reaching out to grab his arms, but she was too late - he had already slit his finger on the edge, and a little drop of blood oozed out. "Okay, give me your finger. . ." He grasped her hand. She had begun breathing heavily, but he pretended not to notice. He wasn't sure what he was really doing, but it was something, and he had to do something. He pressed her finger to his and rubbed them together. "There. Maybe we should make an oath or something. Got any good ideas?"
She didn't respond.
"Okay, um, how about - we swear . . . never to pee in public, and as blood siblings, to prevent each other from peeing in public should one ever try? Sound good?" He grinned and she only stared at him. He released her hand, shifting uncomfortably.
Ms. Sarah returned, and she immediately took in the sight of Bella's bandaged arm. "Oh, good. Looks like he got you all patched up, dear, didn't he?" She smiled at Bella, who gazed down at her hands. "Thank you," Mrs. Sarah murmured to Jacob.
"Sure, sure," he replied, swallowing thickly.
It was quiet, and he found it almost painful.
"Bella, dear, this is Jacob Black. He's a friend of yours. Do you remember Jacob?"
Bella didn't look up. "I, ah, I guess I should go," he told Ms. Sarah.
"Jake," Bella whispered. Large, round, nervous eyes darted to his face. "We used to . . ." Her voice trailed off. He waited for more, but nothing more came. She turned to face the window.
"Bella? Bella, dear? Could you look at me, Bella?" Ms. Sarah asked kindly. Bella turned back to face them. Jacob cringed.
Her eyes were empty again.
v. Grace cut out from my brothers,/ When most of them fell,/ I carry it well
"Good morning, Bella," the woman greeted. Bella didn't reply. "Did you get a good night's sleep last night?" Bella glanced at the window. It was closed again. Her eyes flew to the clock. How much longer? But she had only just arrived. She shifted in her seat.
"You know, everyone one tells me that you show no interest in anything. Nothing bothers you, nothing affects you, and nothing upsets you," the woman said. "But when you come in to see me, you're always very nervous. Do I bother you, Bella?"
It wasn't like that. The blonde woman simply forced her to think about. . . .
"Do you know, Bella, that my secretary saw your bandage - the one on your arm, there - and thought you had tried to slit your wrists, to kill yourself?" She paused. "But I knew that wasn't the case, because I know that you're not going to kill yourself."
Bella let her thumb touch her bandage, thinking of Jacob. Why was he always so happy to see her? When she first came to Forks, and now, here in the hospital. . . . Could a person really be that happy?
"I know you're not going to kill yourself, Bella, because you're waiting for something. Your father brought you in here because you were neglecting your life. He didn't know why, but I think I do. You've stopping living your life, because you're waiting, isn't that right?"
She wondered if Jacob would come back. Probably not. Why would he?
"What are you waiting for, Bella?" The woman sighed. She was growing frustrated again. She always did. "Are you waiting for Edward?"
Bella's eyes flew to her face. The hole within her twisted and shrieked, and she wrapped an arm around her middle, trying to relieve the pressure. "That's it, isn't it? You won't ever tell me anything about Edward. Why not?"
Bella picked at her nails, her uneasiness growing.
"Edward was your boyfriend, wasn't he? That's what your father told me." She paused. "And the nurses on night duty tell me that sometimes at night you have nightmares and you scream for Edward. You ask him to come back. You say you want to become like him. You want him to turn you. What does that mean, Bella?"
"Nothing," Bella murmured. "I don't - I don't wanna talk about it."
"Are you waiting for Edward, Bella?"
"No," Bella breathed.
"You're not waiting for Edward? Why not? You're not hoping he'll come back and -?"
"He's not coming back!" Bella shouted. Couldn't the woman understand that? Couldn't she see it? Bella began to tremble, her breath coming short. "I'm not waiting," she said, "I'm not, I'm not, I'm not. He's not . . . he left me . . . and I - I - I shouldn't have ever thought . . . I'm not. . . ." She rocked back and forth.
"Bella," the woman said softly. "It's okay. It's oka -"
"Please let me go," she pleaded, tears starting to gather. "Please, please . . . please let me go."
"Listen to me, Bella. It wasn't your fault that Edward left. It wasn't your fault. You are a smart, beautiful girl, with parents who love you and friends who care about you, and Edward doesn't matter."
"Please, please . . ."
"Look at me. Bella. Look at me."
Bella pressed her hands to her eyes, trying to make it all go away - she could see Edward in her mind, could see him dancing with her at the prom, could see him sitting across from her while she ate dinner the night he rescued her, could see him telling her that she wasn't good enough, that he needed better. . . .
"It's okay, Bella. It's okay."
"Please let me go," she pleaded, looking up at the woman. "Please."
It was quiet, and Bella's grip around her torso was tight, but it didn't stop the pain.
"Alright. We're done."
vi. Let me fly,/ Man, I need a release from,/ This troublesome mind,/ Fix my feet when they’re stumbling
"Okay, when you said that you weren't gonna meet us after school 'cause you had to do some research in the library, I thought you were joking," Quil said, falling into the seat beside him. But Jacob didn't look away from the computer screen. "Seriously, man, what's going on? When did we decide to actually try in school?"
"This isn't school," Jacob muttered, scrolling down the page of yet another medical webpage.
"Then what are you doing looking up -" he frowned as his eyes scanned the firefox page, "- the effects of cognitive therapy? And, holy shit, are you taking notes?" Quil grabbed the notebook before Jacob could stop him. "Types of antidepressants . . . exogenous depression . . . dude, is this some project for health class? Are you even in health class?"
"It's not for school," Jacob insisted.
"Then what's it for?"
"It's personal," Jacob replied, his teeth gritted.
"Oh, c'mon, man, we share the pack mind. Tonight when we patrol I'll find out anyway. What gives?"
Jacob sighed. "It's for a friend of mine. She's kind of . . . really depressed. I was just - I was curious, okay? I wanted to look up some stuff. Maybe see if I could, I don't know, help her or something."
Quil frowned, as if unconvinced. "Who is it? I don't know anybody who's depressed. Who do you know that I don't?"
"She lives in Forks. Her dad's friends with Billy."
"Wait a minute - wait, wait, wait - is this that girl you were crushing on so hard last year? The one who dated one of the bloodsuckers? You haven't said anything about her in ages, dude. And we killed all the vamps around here, so -"
"Yeah, well, I saw her recently, and she's . . . she's not doing really well."
Quil smirked. "You wanna be her white knight, do ya? I get it, I get it. The girl doesn't give you the time of day, but once you sweep in with all your thorough research -"
"It's not like that -"
"Oh, hell its not! Don't try and deny it, Jake. I get it - you make her feel better and get a little action in return -"
"She's hospitalised, Quil!" Finally, the other boy was silent. Jacob grabbed the notebook from him, trying to control his rage. The tiny school library was not the place to phase. "She's been in the hospital for over three months. She's sick. She's really, really sick. And I don't know why, but I just want to help her, okay?"
"Okay," Quil murmured. "I'm sorry."
Rightfully ashamed, Quil wasn't hard to shake off, and before long, Jacob pulled the rabbit into the parking lot outside the Forks Police Station. "How can I help you, kid?' a large, pot-bellied man asked the moment Jacob entered the building.
"I wanted to talk to Chief Swan for a minute," Jacob said. "Is there any way I could -?"
"Jacob!" Charlie greeted suddenly, saving Jacob an awkward conversation.
"Hey Charlie."
The older man gave a tired smile. "What are you in town for? Everything okay with Billy?"
"Yeah, everything's fine. I just . . . I wanted to talk to you about Bella." The age seemed to sink suddenly into Charlie's face, a kind of thick sorrow burrowed in his eyes, and his shoulders tightened, all in a single instant. "Just for a minute."
"Come on back into my office," Charlie murmured, jerking his head backward. Jacob followed him to the small room silently. "What about her?" the older man asked softly, wearily.
"Well, I went to see her the other day for you," Jacob began. Charlie nodded. "And I . . . I was just doing some research on depression. I thought maybe . . . I could help."
Charlie frowned. "What did you have in mind?"
"Okay, so I'm guessing Bella's been on all the different anti-depressants, right?"
"That was the first thing they did when the admitted her," Charlie said. "Nothing worked." His face seemed to age even more.
"And she's probably going to therapy, too, right?" Charlie nodded. "But after three months, they haven't made any progress yet, right? I mean, if it wasn't going to work, shouldn't they have made some progress?"
Charlie sighed, sinking into the chair behind his desk. "They told me that sort of thing took time," he mumbled sadly. "We just have to wait."
"Yeah, but I was looking some stuff up, and there's this thing called electoconvulsive treatments - ECT. Apparently nobody really knows how it works, but it does, and -" Charlie was shaking his head.
"They need Bella's consent." Charlie seemed so small as he spoke, so unlike a Chief of Police should look. "And she won't give it."
"Well, maybe you could talk to her, you know? I mean, tell her how much it would help?"
Charlie rubbed his eyes. "I've tried. She never responds." He looked up sadly at Jacob. "I know you're trying to help, but I don't think . . . there's nothing you or I can do. I tried to help her myself, and so did her mom, but . . . I can't . . . the best I could do was get her to the hospital. And she barely agreed to that."
"But there's got to be something. I mean, if we both keep talking to her about it - she'll have to agree eventually, right?"
"Charlie?" Jacob whirled around to see an officer standing hesitantly in the doorway. "You busy? We've got a briefing. . . ."
"Oh, right, right," Charlie said, standing. "Be there in a minute, Arthur." As soon as the officer was gone, Charlie turned back to Jacob. "I'm sorry. I appreciate you trying to help but . . ." He looked away. "I'm sorry."
He started to leave, and Jacob could do nothing more than stand there helplessly.
"Son," Charlie said, glancing back from the door. Jacob met his gaze. "It's - it's killing me, too."
vii. I guess you know it hurts sometimes,/ You know it's gonna bleed sometimes
As soon as the nurse left, Bella crossed the small room, unlatched the window lock, and pushed the window open. Chilly spring air immediately swirled around her. Charlie was going to be there soon. He came every day. She didn't know why.
It wasn't fair to him to have to put his life on hold for her.
It would have been better if she hadn't made him bring her back from Florida. He sent her there, hoping her mother could make her feel better, but Florida was so far from . . . what if he couldn't find her in Florida? Her mother had tried to put her on antidepressants and Bella had called her father, begging him to let her come home to Forks.
He had, but only a month later, she'd found herself in a hospital.
She knew she was upsetting them all, she knew, but . . .
"Did you open that window? It's freezing in here!" the older woman exclaimed. Bella didn't respond. The older woman moved to close it, and Bella made a strangled noise. "Do you want me to keep it open?" Bella looked away. "That's fine, dear. We can keep it open."
Two minutes later, Charlie arrived. "Hey," he mumbled. "How are you?"
She let her finger run along the scar on her wrist, the cold reminder that he couldn't take away from her.
"It's pretty cold in here, isn't it?" Charlie asked. "You . . . are you shivering?" He turned away. "Ms. Sarah?" he called. The older woman appeared. "Could we close the window, maybe?"
"I think she likes it open," the woman replied.
"Oh . . . okay." When Charlie turned back to her again, the smile on his face was strained. He started to talk, and she kept her gaze on her lap. Her finger ran back and forth over her scar. Charlie mentioned something about the Newtons and then about a bear and then about Harry Clearwater, but Bella wasn't really listening.
Her gaze flickered to the open bathroom door, and the tiles behind it. She forced her eyes back to her lap.
It grew quiet after Charlie had exhausted his power of speech, which took less than two minutes.
"I, ah, I brought a book," he finally muttered. "Maybe . . . Mrs. Kraninski thought reading might make you feel better. It's - have you ever - she gave me this one that's about a dog . . . well, it's . . . you'll see. I'll just leave it here, okay?" He placed it on her bedside table. Bella didn't say anything. "She said it was really good," he added quietly.
He sighed, rubbing uncomfortably at the back of his neck. "How's your - how's your bandage feeling?" he asked. She paused and then went from touching the scar on one wrist to touching the bandage on the other. "Does it itch?"
Again, she didn't answer. And again, it was quiet. Maybe he would leave soon.
"Bells, I -" There was something in his voice, and she glanced up to see desperation written all over his face, and guilt suddenly clutched at her heart, even as the hole pulsed and she wrapped an arm around it to keep it from ripping open any more.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
He swallowed painfully. "It's okay." He tried to smile, but it didn't really work. She looked back at her lap. It only took another ten minutes for him to grow too frustrated to deal with her anymore, and he stood. "I guess I'll go now." She didn't respond.
He started to walk away.
But she couldn't help herself. "D-dad?"
He spun around. "What's the matter?" he asked.
She squirmed uneasily under his gaze. "Is . . . is Jake going to come see me again?"
viii. Now hold on,/ I’m not looking for sweet talk,/ I’m looking for time
He still couldn't believe it.
She had asked for him. Apparently that was an amazing thing. And once Charlie told him that and nearly begged Jacob to visit her again, he couldn't say no. She was sitting in the chair by her bed just as she had been the first time he'd seen her. He didn't run this time, though.
"Hey Bells," he greeted cheerfully. She didn't look up. Hadn't she wanted him to come? He took a deep breath. He could do this. He could turn into a mythical creature and had torn the heads off vampires - how hard could visiting a girl in the hospital possibly be compared to that? He entered the room and plopped down on her bed across from her.
He could only take the silence for so long. "Can I ask a question?" She didn't respond. He plodded on anyway. "Why'd you cut your hair?"
Her hand was rubbing her wrist.
"I gotta admit, I liked your hair."
She only went on rubbing her wrist.
He reached forward and grabbed her hands. She was so startled she looked up at him, but his eyes focused on her upturned wrist and the the small, half-moon scar. "What's this from?" he asked curiously. She said nothing. He ran his hand over it and nearly dropped her wrist when he realised the scar itself was unnaturally cold.
"He bit you?" he exclaimed, unable to stop himself. "Your bloodsucker bit you?" Bella gasped, trying to tug her hands away. "Bella, did Cullen bite you?"
"No," she cried. "No, no, no, it was - he loved - no," and she began to cry, rocking.
He cursed himself for letting his temper get the better of him. Unable to think of anything else to do - but he had to stop the crying and the rocking, he had to - he pulled her into his arms. It wasn't hard. She gave no resistance, and her thin, tiny body folded into his easily.
"I'm sorry," he murmured into her cropped hair. "I'm sorry."
The Cullens hadn't only caused him to transform into a hairy beast, but they had attracted vampires to Forks and La Push - vampires that Jacob and the pack were responsible for killing. And on top of that, they had done this to Bella. Jacob couldn't get back at them for any of it, but he could help her.
They sat like that for a while as her cries subsided. "You - you . . ." she mumbled into his shirt.
"What?" he asked, leaning down. If he didn't have the ears of a wolf, he wouldn't have been able to hear it.
"You're so warm."
ix. I’m gonna climb that symphony home and make it mine,/ Let his resonance light my way
Charlie stopped coming every day.
But Jacob started.
He would talk about ridiculous things, and ask silly questions, and tell funny stories of the trouble Quil and Embry got up to. One day he started to talk about the legends of his people, and her chest ached, because it reminded her of him, and she clutched at her torso. He frowned.
"What's the matter?" he asked, pausing in his story.
She didn't respond. How could she? She liked having him come everyday. It was something to look forward to. But if he knew how broken she was, he would stop coming.
"Does your stomach hurt?" he questioned, his eyes swirling with concern.
The arm around her stomach tightened.
"Why are you gripping it like that?" he went on. "You do that a lot. . . ."
She looked away from him, wishing he would stop, just stop.
"Are you holding yourself together?" he whispered. She glanced over at him, and she could see understanding in his eyes. But how could he understand? Suddenly he tugged her arms and a moment later she fell into his lap. He pulled her arm from her torso, but before she could protest, he wrapped his strong, warm one around her middle.
"Why don't you take a break?" he suggested softly. "I'll hold it for now."
"Okay," she whispered.
He went back to his stories, and she snuggled into his warmth. She hadn't been warm in a long time.
A few days later he brought her burgers and fries and even a milkshake, and they made a feast of it. As they were eating, he let her curl up in his lap, her favourite place to be. He asked her questions about Phoenix, and it seemed such a long time ago that she began to remember it right then as she slowly murmured the details of her past life to him. He pressed for details about her mother, and at first it was hard - the older woman had been sobbing the last time Bella had seen her.
But she reached back for older memories, for silly, stupid stories of her mother, and Jacob laughed, and his warmth seemed finally to slip past her skin and into her. She didn't want the conversation to end, but the moment she whispered softly, unsure of herself, "What about your mom?" she knew she had made a mistake.
How could she have forgotten?
He didn't shout or yell or leave, though.
His smile faded slightly as he looked down at her. "She died, you know." Bella nodded softly.
"I'm - I'm sorry."
"Yeah, it kind of sucks a lot. But I try not to . . . dwell on it. The past is the past, right?" Bella didn't reply, but as she looked down at her lap, she could feel his eyes on her face. "I loved her a lot. And when she died, I felt like I'd never be whole again. I couldn't talk to anybody for weeks, and I didn't feel like doing anything ever again."
It was quiet. Bella started to move her arm to press to her torso, but his warm one was already there. She let her fingers play across his arm, and the forest was dancing in front of her eyes.
"But one day it just . . . got easier. Sun came out again, you know?" He paused. "It wasn't my fault she left," he whispered into her hair. "Just like it's not your fault he left." She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing herself into him, trying to make the forest disappear. "Even if you thought he never would leave, that doesn't make it your fault," he told her.
She wanted to sink into him, to become him, to be happy like him and smile like him.
"And it's not wrong to want him to come back even though you know he won't," he went on. The tears seeped out. The large, warm hand that wasn't holding her tightly to him wiped them away immediately. "The sun'll come back out eventually, honey," he promised. "And I'll wait with you until it does."
She nodded into his chest, into the warmth, and the forest faded away. "But," she breathed.
"What?"
"But . . . the sun. . . ."
"It'll shine again, Bells, I promise," he assured.
"But," she murmured, desperate to make him understand, "you are the sun."
x. See, all these pessimistic sufferers tend to drag me down,/ So I could use it to shelter what good I’ve found
"Are you sure about this?" he asked her softly.
She nodded.
"And she can come home after this, right?" Charlie piped up, addressing the doctor rather than Jacob or Bella. "Just . . . just to make sure."
The doctor smiled. "If that's what she would like, then yes. She'll have to come back for additional treatments, but ECT works just as well with an outpatient. There may be some short-term memory loss, but I trust that you both, having signed the forms, are well aware of the possible consequences."
Charlie nodded. The doctor looked at Bella. She glanced up at Jacob, who had a secure arm around her shoulders. He grinned down at her reassuringly. "I know," she murmured.
"Also, Dr. Albright would like her to continue to come in twice a week for therapy. She tells me you're finally making progress. That's really great." She smiled brightly at Bella. "So as long as you come for your therapy sessions and the rest of the ECT, you're welcome to live at home." Bella nodded again. "Let's go in, then."
Bella turned to her father. He gave a small smile. "I'll be right out here," he said. She pulled out from Jacob's arm, took a few hesitant steps, and then timidly hugged her father. He was slow to respond, but when he finally did, Jacob pretended not to see the older man's tears.
Charlie had been through a lot.
Jacob remembered suddenly all those months Bella had been a ghost and the way she had gone to do homework in her room when Jacob and Billy had come to have dinner with the Swans on Christmas Eve. He could still recall shaking his head at the thought that she was doing homework on Christmas Eve. But he hadn't tried to stop her. Or to help her.
And the next time he saw her was months later, when she was in the hospital.
She turned to face Jacob. "You'll wait?" she asked.
"Always," he replied.
And Bella smiled.
Fin.
Author: monroeslittle
Genre: Twilight -- J/B
Rating: PG
Summary: AU in New Moon: Bella couldn't stop Charlie from sending her to Florida, even if she convinced him to let her return a few weeks later. But because of that, she never learned to hear Edward through danger, and she never be-friended Jacob. And where did she end up? Hospitalized.
Disclaimer: I own absolutely no rights to the Twilight books or movies.
A/N: Title and lyrics taken from "Sweet Talk" by the Killers, an all time favourite of mine. This is a good old fashioned, past-tense, third-person POV. But it touches a sensitive topic.
i. Lift me up on my honour,/ Take me over this spell,/ Get this weight off my shoulders,/ I've carried it well
Every time she gave up after counting thirty-seven tiles.
She counted in the same order every time, but when she reached number thirty seven, she was distracted. Number thirty seven had been bleached, and it shone brighter than all the others. When she stared at it, she saw how beautiful it was in comparison to all the other tiles, and it made her heart hurt with the reminder.
She would look away, trying to focus on something - anything - else, but her eyes were always drawn to that one tile. She would try to start counting the tiles again, but she would always end up on number thirty seven, and it ached. It ached.
She let her eyes wander to the bathroom door. She stared at it for a moment.
But then her eyes bounced past it and back on to that one shiny tile. She swallowed thickly.
She couldn't escape. Tears gathered in her lashes.
When the nurse arrived, her checks were sticky with old tears hidden under the fresh ones that still poured down. "Why, sweetheart, what's the matter?" the older woman asked.
"Close it," she whispered.
The woman frowned. "What's that, dear?"
"Close it," she repeated. The woman's eyes darted from her to the bathroom door and back again. "Please close it."
"Of course, dear," she replied, and in a few swift steps, the bathroom door was closed. "Is that better?"
She didn't respond. She couldn't see any of the bathroom tiles any more, but she still knew what lay behind the closed door. She looked up at the ceiling, and her eyes caught on a stain. It was as dirty and wrong as tile number thirty seven was bright and right.
She let her eyes flutter shut.
ii. Loose these shackles of pressure,/ Shake me out of these chains,/ Lead me not to temptation
He pulled the car into the closest spot he could, putting it into park. But he couldn't make himself move. He still didn't know how he could have possibly agreed to this. There were a thousand better things he could be doing. God, he would rather be doing anything other than this. But he had said he would, and what other choice did he have? He had no truly valid excuses, except that every single fiber of his being was screaming at him not to walk into that hospital.
He sighed, turning the key and cutting the engine. It was another moment before he could climb out of the car. He slammed the door shut a little too viciously. The hospital entrance was only about twenty feet away. It still took him a good five minutes to make it to the doors.
The last time he had been at a hospital, his mother had died.
What was awaiting him inside was worse than even that memory, though.
He made his way to the information desk eventually, even if it took him over ten minutes to muster the courage. "Can I help you?" The woman behind it was young and pretty, with bright blue eyes and a bright smile. What were the chances she would look anything like that?
"Hi, I'm here to see a - a friend of mine. Her dad called in to say I was coming."
"Her name?" He gave it, and with a few clicks on her computer, she was smiling up at him again. "Are you Jacob Black?" she asked. He only nodded. "Perfect timing, Mr. Black. Just sign in here, and this is your visitor's pass, and please read this sheet here about how to act appropriately with patients."
Five minutes later, his pass was pinned to his shirt and there was no backing out. "Alright, it's on the second floor, room 217. I'll call up to tell them you're on your way. Do you need a map?"
"I'll manage," he murmured. He gave a tight smile and she beamed.
He took the stairs slowly, and when he pushed open the door to the ward, he had to fight the sudden, pulsing urge to hightail it out of the hospital pronto. It took another ten minutes for him to find room 217. It was open, and he shifted from one foot to the other, sighing. "It won't be that bad," he told himself.
And then he was in the doorway, and the breath rushed suddenly out of his lungs.
She was sitting in a chair, wearing hospital pyjamas and a grey knit sweater, one he recognised as made by Sue Clearwater. Her hair was cropped short around her ears, and her face was blank. His mind buzzed with blurry, bright memories of a little girl with long curls down her back chasing him down the beach and then of a pale, unknowingly pretty girl, who's shy eyes lit up at the sight of her own vehicle.
The girl sitting in front of him was nothing like the girl in those memories, and suddenly the very action of swallowing was painful.
"Bella?"
iii. Hold my hand harder,/ Ease my mind,/ Roll down the smoke screen,/ And open the sky
"How about we start today by talking about Charlie."
Bella picked at her nails.
"What's your relationship with Charlie like?"
She wished she hadn't cut off her hair, so that she could still let it fall forward and cover her face, hide her from the world and from the woman in front of her. She glanced out the window. It was closed and locked. All the windows were always closed and locked. She sighed.
"Charlie brought you in here, didn't he? How do you feel about that? Bella?"
Bella shifted uncomfortably. Charlie. Guilt flooded her. He must be feeling so terrible. She hadn't meant to leave him, to hurt him the way she had. He must feel like such a failure. But he wasn't. He wasn't. She shifted again, letting her arm wrap around her middle.
"On Wednesday you told me you weren't very much like your mother, Renee. Do you think you're like Charlie?" She didn't say anything. The woman sighed, slipping her glasses off her nose. "Bella, you need to talk to me. I know you can. You have before."
"I'm sorry," Bella whispered. The woman was disappointed with her again. Who wasn't?
"Don't be sorry," the woman replied. "Talk. Tell me about Charlie. Do you miss living at home with him?"
"I -" She couldn't finish.
"Bella, do you miss talking to Charlie?"
"Yes."
"I bet he misses talking to you, too," she said. "He comes to see you every day, doesn't he?"
"I wish he didn't," she whispered.
"Why not?" It was quiet. "Bella, why do you wish he didn't come see you every day?"
"Because . . . I don't . . . deserve it. It's not his fault I'm so . . . broken."
"It's not your fault either, Bella. And you do deserve your father's love." Bella didn't say anything. "Why do you think it's your fault, Bella? Did you break yourself?" She nodded. "Yes? Yes, you broke yourself?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"It's my fault," she whispered, and she swore she could smell the pine again, smell the heavy, thick scent of dead leaves and old oaks and forest, and her eyes welled up.
"Why, Bella? Why do you think it's your fault?"
"I - I - can I - can I go now?"
"Why don't you keep talking to me for a few more minutes. Is that okay?" Bella didn't reply. The woman sighed. "Okay, Bella. You can go."
iv. Dig me out from this thorn tree,/ Help me bury my shame,/ Keep my eyes from the fire,/ They can't handle the flame
He pressed his face into his palms.
The door behind him opened - hopefully whoever it was would pass him by. But the shuffle of feet was cut short by a sigh, and when he pulled his face from his hands, it was to see that the older woman who'd watched him bolt was now sitting beside him on the top stair. "I'm sorry," he murmured.
"I know. It's hard. Do you know her well?"
He shrugged. "I . . . we used to play together when we were little. Our dads are friends. But she . . . I mean, I never really knew her, but just now she looked so . . . I don't know, so -"
"Hopeless?" she suggested. He nodded wordlessly. "I know. Every day her father comes to see her, and every day she doesn't say a word to him. It never gets any easier seeing it." She sighed.
"I'm actually here for him today," he said. At her curious expression, he explained, "Charlie - her dad - was in a fishing accident. He was too out of it to come today, but he didn't want her to be lonely." He gave a humourless chuckle. "I volunteered to come for him before I knew what I was doing. She was so . . . her eyes were, like, empty."
"I know, dear. It was good of you to come, though," she assured. "But if you don't feel up to talking to her today, that's okay. My name is Sarah Ludlow, by the way. If you'll be visiting again, we ought to have a proper introduction. You can call me Ms. Sarah."
"Jacob Black," he replied, (although he would not be visiting again).
She nodded, but before she could say anything more, he abruptly turned to her. "What's wrong with her?" he demanded. She looked slightly startled. "I mean, I know she's depressed and everything, but she's been in here for months, so there's gotta be something else, right? I mean, is she - mentally ill or something?"
Ms. Sarah sighed. "Depression is a mental illness, a serious one. She is severely, severely depressed. It's not something to be taken likely. Medication can help a lot of people, but not everyone. Never everyone. There are always a few, who . . . the important thing for you and for her father and for her to remember is not to give up on her." She reached out and squeezed his arm.
She stood to leave, but he wasn't done. "But - so - that's it? The medication isn't working, so she sits in a hospital while everybody just hopes she gets better?"
"Dear, I don't know who you are, but I can see that this is hard for you, and I'm sorry. We're doing everything we can for her. This isn't an easy road, and she needs all the help she can get from the people who care about her. But if you can't handle it, then you shouldn't be here." This time he didn't stop her when she left.
He sat there for a while longer. What reason did she have to be depressed? Her boyfriend broke up with her. That was all he knew. Sure, he was a bloodsucker, but at the end of the day, it was just a high school romance, right? The werewolf in him wondered suddenly if there was more to it than that - if the bloodsucker had somehow had made her sick, but he shook the thought away.
He got up to leave and was halfway down the stairs when he heard the crash. It wasn't too loud, but it was plenty noise enough for his ears to catch, as was the exclamation of pain that followed. Before he could think it through, he climbed back up the stairs two at a time.
He arrived at Bella's room to find Ms. Sarah just starting to pick up an overturned bedside table and a broken lamp. Bella sat on the ground, shock written all over her face. Her arm was battered and a little bloody, but her eyes stared straight at her pointer finger and the drop of blood on its tip.
"What happened?" he breathed.
"She got a card," said Ms. Sarah. "I was trying to help her open it and all of a sudden she lost it, leapt off her bed and knocked over the cabinet." She paused, taking a deep breath. "We should get it bolted down." She sent Jacob a tight smile before pushing aside the collected lamp shards and turning to Bella. "Come on, dear, lets get you back up on the bed." But Bella didn't seem interested in helping.
"Here -" he said, reaching out to grip Bella's tiny, frail body and lift her onto the bed.
"Thank you," Ms. Sarah smiled.
"I - I -" Bella began, frowning.
"What's the matter, honey?" he asked.
Her eyes flickered up to him. "I got a paper cut," she confessed, her voice barely a whisper. Her face pinched and she glanced down at her bloodied arm. Ms. Sarah had already fetched a bandage and was approaching Bella. "I'm sorry," Bella wailed suddenly. "I'm so sorry!"
"It's quite all right, sweetheart," assured Ms. Sarah, but as she reached out, Bella pulled away, half-scrambling across her bed as if frightened. Ms. Sarah sighed.
"Let me try," Jacob offered, and she wordlessly handed over the bandage.
He sat down on the bed and held out a hand to her.
"I'm sorry," she said, her large eyes glistening with tears.
"Nah, don't worry about it. You know how many times I've knocked over my bedside table when the alarm clock was just a little too loud? Happens to the best of us." He grinned, his hand still waiting.
"I'm so sorry," she murmured, looking away.
"What else is there to be sorry for? Bleeding a little?" he joked. But her eyes snapped back to his face. "Bells . . .," he began hesitantly, not believing the words that left his mouth, "are you apologising for bleeding?" She didn't respond, but her face was flushed with guilt as she looked down at her sheets. He swallowed nervously.
She looked so . . . lost.
And the urge to help her find herself again reared up inside him. "Honey, a little blood never hurt anybody." And he curled the finger of his outstretched hand at her again, grinning teasingly. "C'mon."
And slowly, as if she were some sort of frightened animal, she hesitantly rested her arm in his, and he began to bandage it. "You know if you want," he said, aware of her eyes trained attentively on his face, "we can take advantage of this opportunity and become blood siblings. Lasts a lifetime, they say."
"W-what?" she whispered.
"There, puuurfect," he said, placing her unresponsive and newly bandaged arm back in her lap. "And here, let's see. . . ." Ms. Sarah had disappeared with what remained of the lamp, and before she could come back, he grabbed the first thing his eyes landed on: the card. "Bella, Get well soon, Mike. Huh. Heartfelt. Well, if it worked for you -"
Bella gasped aloud, her thin, white fingers reaching out to grab his arms, but she was too late - he had already slit his finger on the edge, and a little drop of blood oozed out. "Okay, give me your finger. . ." He grasped her hand. She had begun breathing heavily, but he pretended not to notice. He wasn't sure what he was really doing, but it was something, and he had to do something. He pressed her finger to his and rubbed them together. "There. Maybe we should make an oath or something. Got any good ideas?"
She didn't respond.
"Okay, um, how about - we swear . . . never to pee in public, and as blood siblings, to prevent each other from peeing in public should one ever try? Sound good?" He grinned and she only stared at him. He released her hand, shifting uncomfortably.
Ms. Sarah returned, and she immediately took in the sight of Bella's bandaged arm. "Oh, good. Looks like he got you all patched up, dear, didn't he?" She smiled at Bella, who gazed down at her hands. "Thank you," Mrs. Sarah murmured to Jacob.
"Sure, sure," he replied, swallowing thickly.
It was quiet, and he found it almost painful.
"Bella, dear, this is Jacob Black. He's a friend of yours. Do you remember Jacob?"
Bella didn't look up. "I, ah, I guess I should go," he told Ms. Sarah.
"Jake," Bella whispered. Large, round, nervous eyes darted to his face. "We used to . . ." Her voice trailed off. He waited for more, but nothing more came. She turned to face the window.
"Bella? Bella, dear? Could you look at me, Bella?" Ms. Sarah asked kindly. Bella turned back to face them. Jacob cringed.
Her eyes were empty again.
v. Grace cut out from my brothers,/ When most of them fell,/ I carry it well
"Good morning, Bella," the woman greeted. Bella didn't reply. "Did you get a good night's sleep last night?" Bella glanced at the window. It was closed again. Her eyes flew to the clock. How much longer? But she had only just arrived. She shifted in her seat.
"You know, everyone one tells me that you show no interest in anything. Nothing bothers you, nothing affects you, and nothing upsets you," the woman said. "But when you come in to see me, you're always very nervous. Do I bother you, Bella?"
It wasn't like that. The blonde woman simply forced her to think about. . . .
"Do you know, Bella, that my secretary saw your bandage - the one on your arm, there - and thought you had tried to slit your wrists, to kill yourself?" She paused. "But I knew that wasn't the case, because I know that you're not going to kill yourself."
Bella let her thumb touch her bandage, thinking of Jacob. Why was he always so happy to see her? When she first came to Forks, and now, here in the hospital. . . . Could a person really be that happy?
"I know you're not going to kill yourself, Bella, because you're waiting for something. Your father brought you in here because you were neglecting your life. He didn't know why, but I think I do. You've stopping living your life, because you're waiting, isn't that right?"
She wondered if Jacob would come back. Probably not. Why would he?
"What are you waiting for, Bella?" The woman sighed. She was growing frustrated again. She always did. "Are you waiting for Edward?"
Bella's eyes flew to her face. The hole within her twisted and shrieked, and she wrapped an arm around her middle, trying to relieve the pressure. "That's it, isn't it? You won't ever tell me anything about Edward. Why not?"
Bella picked at her nails, her uneasiness growing.
"Edward was your boyfriend, wasn't he? That's what your father told me." She paused. "And the nurses on night duty tell me that sometimes at night you have nightmares and you scream for Edward. You ask him to come back. You say you want to become like him. You want him to turn you. What does that mean, Bella?"
"Nothing," Bella murmured. "I don't - I don't wanna talk about it."
"Are you waiting for Edward, Bella?"
"No," Bella breathed.
"You're not waiting for Edward? Why not? You're not hoping he'll come back and -?"
"He's not coming back!" Bella shouted. Couldn't the woman understand that? Couldn't she see it? Bella began to tremble, her breath coming short. "I'm not waiting," she said, "I'm not, I'm not, I'm not. He's not . . . he left me . . . and I - I - I shouldn't have ever thought . . . I'm not. . . ." She rocked back and forth.
"Bella," the woman said softly. "It's okay. It's oka -"
"Please let me go," she pleaded, tears starting to gather. "Please, please . . . please let me go."
"Listen to me, Bella. It wasn't your fault that Edward left. It wasn't your fault. You are a smart, beautiful girl, with parents who love you and friends who care about you, and Edward doesn't matter."
"Please, please . . ."
"Look at me. Bella. Look at me."
Bella pressed her hands to her eyes, trying to make it all go away - she could see Edward in her mind, could see him dancing with her at the prom, could see him sitting across from her while she ate dinner the night he rescued her, could see him telling her that she wasn't good enough, that he needed better. . . .
"It's okay, Bella. It's okay."
"Please let me go," she pleaded, looking up at the woman. "Please."
It was quiet, and Bella's grip around her torso was tight, but it didn't stop the pain.
"Alright. We're done."
vi. Let me fly,/ Man, I need a release from,/ This troublesome mind,/ Fix my feet when they’re stumbling
"Okay, when you said that you weren't gonna meet us after school 'cause you had to do some research in the library, I thought you were joking," Quil said, falling into the seat beside him. But Jacob didn't look away from the computer screen. "Seriously, man, what's going on? When did we decide to actually try in school?"
"This isn't school," Jacob muttered, scrolling down the page of yet another medical webpage.
"Then what are you doing looking up -" he frowned as his eyes scanned the firefox page, "- the effects of cognitive therapy? And, holy shit, are you taking notes?" Quil grabbed the notebook before Jacob could stop him. "Types of antidepressants . . . exogenous depression . . . dude, is this some project for health class? Are you even in health class?"
"It's not for school," Jacob insisted.
"Then what's it for?"
"It's personal," Jacob replied, his teeth gritted.
"Oh, c'mon, man, we share the pack mind. Tonight when we patrol I'll find out anyway. What gives?"
Jacob sighed. "It's for a friend of mine. She's kind of . . . really depressed. I was just - I was curious, okay? I wanted to look up some stuff. Maybe see if I could, I don't know, help her or something."
Quil frowned, as if unconvinced. "Who is it? I don't know anybody who's depressed. Who do you know that I don't?"
"She lives in Forks. Her dad's friends with Billy."
"Wait a minute - wait, wait, wait - is this that girl you were crushing on so hard last year? The one who dated one of the bloodsuckers? You haven't said anything about her in ages, dude. And we killed all the vamps around here, so -"
"Yeah, well, I saw her recently, and she's . . . she's not doing really well."
Quil smirked. "You wanna be her white knight, do ya? I get it, I get it. The girl doesn't give you the time of day, but once you sweep in with all your thorough research -"
"It's not like that -"
"Oh, hell its not! Don't try and deny it, Jake. I get it - you make her feel better and get a little action in return -"
"She's hospitalised, Quil!" Finally, the other boy was silent. Jacob grabbed the notebook from him, trying to control his rage. The tiny school library was not the place to phase. "She's been in the hospital for over three months. She's sick. She's really, really sick. And I don't know why, but I just want to help her, okay?"
"Okay," Quil murmured. "I'm sorry."
Rightfully ashamed, Quil wasn't hard to shake off, and before long, Jacob pulled the rabbit into the parking lot outside the Forks Police Station. "How can I help you, kid?' a large, pot-bellied man asked the moment Jacob entered the building.
"I wanted to talk to Chief Swan for a minute," Jacob said. "Is there any way I could -?"
"Jacob!" Charlie greeted suddenly, saving Jacob an awkward conversation.
"Hey Charlie."
The older man gave a tired smile. "What are you in town for? Everything okay with Billy?"
"Yeah, everything's fine. I just . . . I wanted to talk to you about Bella." The age seemed to sink suddenly into Charlie's face, a kind of thick sorrow burrowed in his eyes, and his shoulders tightened, all in a single instant. "Just for a minute."
"Come on back into my office," Charlie murmured, jerking his head backward. Jacob followed him to the small room silently. "What about her?" the older man asked softly, wearily.
"Well, I went to see her the other day for you," Jacob began. Charlie nodded. "And I . . . I was just doing some research on depression. I thought maybe . . . I could help."
Charlie frowned. "What did you have in mind?"
"Okay, so I'm guessing Bella's been on all the different anti-depressants, right?"
"That was the first thing they did when the admitted her," Charlie said. "Nothing worked." His face seemed to age even more.
"And she's probably going to therapy, too, right?" Charlie nodded. "But after three months, they haven't made any progress yet, right? I mean, if it wasn't going to work, shouldn't they have made some progress?"
Charlie sighed, sinking into the chair behind his desk. "They told me that sort of thing took time," he mumbled sadly. "We just have to wait."
"Yeah, but I was looking some stuff up, and there's this thing called electoconvulsive treatments - ECT. Apparently nobody really knows how it works, but it does, and -" Charlie was shaking his head.
"They need Bella's consent." Charlie seemed so small as he spoke, so unlike a Chief of Police should look. "And she won't give it."
"Well, maybe you could talk to her, you know? I mean, tell her how much it would help?"
Charlie rubbed his eyes. "I've tried. She never responds." He looked up sadly at Jacob. "I know you're trying to help, but I don't think . . . there's nothing you or I can do. I tried to help her myself, and so did her mom, but . . . I can't . . . the best I could do was get her to the hospital. And she barely agreed to that."
"But there's got to be something. I mean, if we both keep talking to her about it - she'll have to agree eventually, right?"
"Charlie?" Jacob whirled around to see an officer standing hesitantly in the doorway. "You busy? We've got a briefing. . . ."
"Oh, right, right," Charlie said, standing. "Be there in a minute, Arthur." As soon as the officer was gone, Charlie turned back to Jacob. "I'm sorry. I appreciate you trying to help but . . ." He looked away. "I'm sorry."
He started to leave, and Jacob could do nothing more than stand there helplessly.
"Son," Charlie said, glancing back from the door. Jacob met his gaze. "It's - it's killing me, too."
vii. I guess you know it hurts sometimes,/ You know it's gonna bleed sometimes
As soon as the nurse left, Bella crossed the small room, unlatched the window lock, and pushed the window open. Chilly spring air immediately swirled around her. Charlie was going to be there soon. He came every day. She didn't know why.
It wasn't fair to him to have to put his life on hold for her.
It would have been better if she hadn't made him bring her back from Florida. He sent her there, hoping her mother could make her feel better, but Florida was so far from . . . what if he couldn't find her in Florida? Her mother had tried to put her on antidepressants and Bella had called her father, begging him to let her come home to Forks.
He had, but only a month later, she'd found herself in a hospital.
She knew she was upsetting them all, she knew, but . . .
"Did you open that window? It's freezing in here!" the older woman exclaimed. Bella didn't respond. The older woman moved to close it, and Bella made a strangled noise. "Do you want me to keep it open?" Bella looked away. "That's fine, dear. We can keep it open."
Two minutes later, Charlie arrived. "Hey," he mumbled. "How are you?"
She let her finger run along the scar on her wrist, the cold reminder that he couldn't take away from her.
"It's pretty cold in here, isn't it?" Charlie asked. "You . . . are you shivering?" He turned away. "Ms. Sarah?" he called. The older woman appeared. "Could we close the window, maybe?"
"I think she likes it open," the woman replied.
"Oh . . . okay." When Charlie turned back to her again, the smile on his face was strained. He started to talk, and she kept her gaze on her lap. Her finger ran back and forth over her scar. Charlie mentioned something about the Newtons and then about a bear and then about Harry Clearwater, but Bella wasn't really listening.
Her gaze flickered to the open bathroom door, and the tiles behind it. She forced her eyes back to her lap.
It grew quiet after Charlie had exhausted his power of speech, which took less than two minutes.
"I, ah, I brought a book," he finally muttered. "Maybe . . . Mrs. Kraninski thought reading might make you feel better. It's - have you ever - she gave me this one that's about a dog . . . well, it's . . . you'll see. I'll just leave it here, okay?" He placed it on her bedside table. Bella didn't say anything. "She said it was really good," he added quietly.
He sighed, rubbing uncomfortably at the back of his neck. "How's your - how's your bandage feeling?" he asked. She paused and then went from touching the scar on one wrist to touching the bandage on the other. "Does it itch?"
Again, she didn't answer. And again, it was quiet. Maybe he would leave soon.
"Bells, I -" There was something in his voice, and she glanced up to see desperation written all over his face, and guilt suddenly clutched at her heart, even as the hole pulsed and she wrapped an arm around it to keep it from ripping open any more.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
He swallowed painfully. "It's okay." He tried to smile, but it didn't really work. She looked back at her lap. It only took another ten minutes for him to grow too frustrated to deal with her anymore, and he stood. "I guess I'll go now." She didn't respond.
He started to walk away.
But she couldn't help herself. "D-dad?"
He spun around. "What's the matter?" he asked.
She squirmed uneasily under his gaze. "Is . . . is Jake going to come see me again?"
viii. Now hold on,/ I’m not looking for sweet talk,/ I’m looking for time
He still couldn't believe it.
She had asked for him. Apparently that was an amazing thing. And once Charlie told him that and nearly begged Jacob to visit her again, he couldn't say no. She was sitting in the chair by her bed just as she had been the first time he'd seen her. He didn't run this time, though.
"Hey Bells," he greeted cheerfully. She didn't look up. Hadn't she wanted him to come? He took a deep breath. He could do this. He could turn into a mythical creature and had torn the heads off vampires - how hard could visiting a girl in the hospital possibly be compared to that? He entered the room and plopped down on her bed across from her.
He could only take the silence for so long. "Can I ask a question?" She didn't respond. He plodded on anyway. "Why'd you cut your hair?"
Her hand was rubbing her wrist.
"I gotta admit, I liked your hair."
She only went on rubbing her wrist.
He reached forward and grabbed her hands. She was so startled she looked up at him, but his eyes focused on her upturned wrist and the the small, half-moon scar. "What's this from?" he asked curiously. She said nothing. He ran his hand over it and nearly dropped her wrist when he realised the scar itself was unnaturally cold.
"He bit you?" he exclaimed, unable to stop himself. "Your bloodsucker bit you?" Bella gasped, trying to tug her hands away. "Bella, did Cullen bite you?"
"No," she cried. "No, no, no, it was - he loved - no," and she began to cry, rocking.
He cursed himself for letting his temper get the better of him. Unable to think of anything else to do - but he had to stop the crying and the rocking, he had to - he pulled her into his arms. It wasn't hard. She gave no resistance, and her thin, tiny body folded into his easily.
"I'm sorry," he murmured into her cropped hair. "I'm sorry."
The Cullens hadn't only caused him to transform into a hairy beast, but they had attracted vampires to Forks and La Push - vampires that Jacob and the pack were responsible for killing. And on top of that, they had done this to Bella. Jacob couldn't get back at them for any of it, but he could help her.
They sat like that for a while as her cries subsided. "You - you . . ." she mumbled into his shirt.
"What?" he asked, leaning down. If he didn't have the ears of a wolf, he wouldn't have been able to hear it.
"You're so warm."
ix. I’m gonna climb that symphony home and make it mine,/ Let his resonance light my way
Charlie stopped coming every day.
But Jacob started.
He would talk about ridiculous things, and ask silly questions, and tell funny stories of the trouble Quil and Embry got up to. One day he started to talk about the legends of his people, and her chest ached, because it reminded her of him, and she clutched at her torso. He frowned.
"What's the matter?" he asked, pausing in his story.
She didn't respond. How could she? She liked having him come everyday. It was something to look forward to. But if he knew how broken she was, he would stop coming.
"Does your stomach hurt?" he questioned, his eyes swirling with concern.
The arm around her stomach tightened.
"Why are you gripping it like that?" he went on. "You do that a lot. . . ."
She looked away from him, wishing he would stop, just stop.
"Are you holding yourself together?" he whispered. She glanced over at him, and she could see understanding in his eyes. But how could he understand? Suddenly he tugged her arms and a moment later she fell into his lap. He pulled her arm from her torso, but before she could protest, he wrapped his strong, warm one around her middle.
"Why don't you take a break?" he suggested softly. "I'll hold it for now."
"Okay," she whispered.
He went back to his stories, and she snuggled into his warmth. She hadn't been warm in a long time.
A few days later he brought her burgers and fries and even a milkshake, and they made a feast of it. As they were eating, he let her curl up in his lap, her favourite place to be. He asked her questions about Phoenix, and it seemed such a long time ago that she began to remember it right then as she slowly murmured the details of her past life to him. He pressed for details about her mother, and at first it was hard - the older woman had been sobbing the last time Bella had seen her.
But she reached back for older memories, for silly, stupid stories of her mother, and Jacob laughed, and his warmth seemed finally to slip past her skin and into her. She didn't want the conversation to end, but the moment she whispered softly, unsure of herself, "What about your mom?" she knew she had made a mistake.
How could she have forgotten?
He didn't shout or yell or leave, though.
His smile faded slightly as he looked down at her. "She died, you know." Bella nodded softly.
"I'm - I'm sorry."
"Yeah, it kind of sucks a lot. But I try not to . . . dwell on it. The past is the past, right?" Bella didn't reply, but as she looked down at her lap, she could feel his eyes on her face. "I loved her a lot. And when she died, I felt like I'd never be whole again. I couldn't talk to anybody for weeks, and I didn't feel like doing anything ever again."
It was quiet. Bella started to move her arm to press to her torso, but his warm one was already there. She let her fingers play across his arm, and the forest was dancing in front of her eyes.
"But one day it just . . . got easier. Sun came out again, you know?" He paused. "It wasn't my fault she left," he whispered into her hair. "Just like it's not your fault he left." She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing herself into him, trying to make the forest disappear. "Even if you thought he never would leave, that doesn't make it your fault," he told her.
She wanted to sink into him, to become him, to be happy like him and smile like him.
"And it's not wrong to want him to come back even though you know he won't," he went on. The tears seeped out. The large, warm hand that wasn't holding her tightly to him wiped them away immediately. "The sun'll come back out eventually, honey," he promised. "And I'll wait with you until it does."
She nodded into his chest, into the warmth, and the forest faded away. "But," she breathed.
"What?"
"But . . . the sun. . . ."
"It'll shine again, Bells, I promise," he assured.
"But," she murmured, desperate to make him understand, "you are the sun."
x. See, all these pessimistic sufferers tend to drag me down,/ So I could use it to shelter what good I’ve found
"Are you sure about this?" he asked her softly.
She nodded.
"And she can come home after this, right?" Charlie piped up, addressing the doctor rather than Jacob or Bella. "Just . . . just to make sure."
The doctor smiled. "If that's what she would like, then yes. She'll have to come back for additional treatments, but ECT works just as well with an outpatient. There may be some short-term memory loss, but I trust that you both, having signed the forms, are well aware of the possible consequences."
Charlie nodded. The doctor looked at Bella. She glanced up at Jacob, who had a secure arm around her shoulders. He grinned down at her reassuringly. "I know," she murmured.
"Also, Dr. Albright would like her to continue to come in twice a week for therapy. She tells me you're finally making progress. That's really great." She smiled brightly at Bella. "So as long as you come for your therapy sessions and the rest of the ECT, you're welcome to live at home." Bella nodded again. "Let's go in, then."
Bella turned to her father. He gave a small smile. "I'll be right out here," he said. She pulled out from Jacob's arm, took a few hesitant steps, and then timidly hugged her father. He was slow to respond, but when he finally did, Jacob pretended not to see the older man's tears.
Charlie had been through a lot.
Jacob remembered suddenly all those months Bella had been a ghost and the way she had gone to do homework in her room when Jacob and Billy had come to have dinner with the Swans on Christmas Eve. He could still recall shaking his head at the thought that she was doing homework on Christmas Eve. But he hadn't tried to stop her. Or to help her.
And the next time he saw her was months later, when she was in the hospital.
She turned to face Jacob. "You'll wait?" she asked.
"Always," he replied.
And Bella smiled.
Fin.