A/N: Alright, this is Into the Unknown Paranormal, chapter two of The Subject. I'm writing this as we speak (figure of speech) and I hope to have it finished by later tonight. It's 11:47 right now, so maybe it will be finished by 1:00 am? Oh well, who needs sleep? I do it all for you. And you can thank Coco-cola and hot chocolate with extra chocolate for my hype. Laters, Em.
Chapter Two: Into the Unknown Paranormal
Realize
That the broken glass
The caution tape
The cries
Are just parting ties with the times you spent alone
We have been left to make it alone
Running through these flooded hallways
Can we make it out alive
And it's more than just a loss
But it's over
We're not singing mournful thoughts
And it's over
(And I can't wait)
Can't wait
(Until we give it all away)
And we're giving up our lives
For this revolution.
Hang 'em High
I seep into the blackness I only know too well. My head solidly connects with the hard hospital pillow and my eyes flicker restlessly with flashing images of my past.
"Bella? Bella! Bella?" Relentless rhythm. Hypnotic harmony of voices calling my name in an endless symphony. Soft hands connect with my face but I barely feel their tender touch. Their loveliness is slipping away from me... no, you can't leave...
"Dammit, Isabella! You piece of...clean this up!" A slap connects with the flush of my cheek, and I reel back, holding my face. I force back tears. No one will see me cry. Bending over quickly, I pick up the tiny glass shards on the wooden floor and place them in my hand carefully. Renee watches my progress in hate. Her eyes are glued to me and makes it uncomfortable as I'm afraid she'll hit me again for not cleaning up her mess fast enough. I move faster, afraid of another blow, and the shards start to disappear from the floor. A large glass piece lands to hard in my left palm and I get a small cut. Blood pools into my palm and my nose senses the repulsing rust-and-salt smell. I wince a little as Renee scoffs and walks away, bored.
I watch her limp lazily over to the loveseat in our small living room. She grabs the remote resting on the end table and flips through channels on our holographic television mindlessly. Her fluffy baby-blue robe is draped over the couch, and she pulls it on. The television finally rests on the food network. After a few minutes the show and realistic view of gourmet food gets the best -whatever her best is- of her, and she yells at me from across the room.
"Isabella! Make me a sandwich or something. That's all your good for." I flinch at the comment, and place the last piece of the once-was glass cup and throw them all in a trash bin disposal by the edge of the kitchen counter. My cheek begins to smart and I ponder whether or not Renee would get angry if I put an icepack to it. I decide against that thought and start preparing a typical ham and cheese sandwich with mayo and pickles, just the way Renee likes it.
While the bread is toasting, I simmer and explore for a band-aid in the kitchen. Damn Renee and her clumsy fingers. She shouldn't have dropped it and above all I shouldn't have cleaned it up for her like some slave. She might as well owned me that way. Renee knew everything I did, twenty-four/seven. She almost never let me out of our apartment, except for errands, school, or tutoring after school. Which I really didn't do or need, I just wondered around aimlessly in the school neighborhood regretting to go home and regretting not to and disobeying Renee. I guess it didn't really matter, she's always pissed at me anyway for being born.
Renee has always complained about giving birth to me with my father, Charlie. She said I'm never good enough to be called her daughter and she doesn't allow me to live with my dad, even though I know he's not much better.
"Where's my damn sandwich?" Renee shouts from the next room, and I jump out of my revere -and skin, I should say. Crap, I've taken too long, she's going to yell at me. I run over to the toaster and all but rip my hair out and shout at the Gods of Toast. The bread has toasted to an inedible black crisp. The toaster's broken, and you have to manually lift the slider to raise up the toast when it's to your liking. But I've taken to long, and now I don't have any food to give to Renee.
I mayo the toast anyway, and unsuccessfully try to scrape off the menacing black on the bread. I sigh and pile on pickles, American cheese, and ham into the mix. I pour some milk into a glass, place the sandwich on a fancy black plate that Renee keeps in a top cabinet where she keeps important eating-ware and slowly make my way toward the loveseat.
"Here..." I say timidly and set the food and milk on the coffee table by her feet. Renee takes one look at it and glares at me. "What the hell is that? I can't eat shit. Make me another one you stupid whore, and do it right." Icy daggers that are her eyes pierce into my soul, and scare the child inside it. I nod curtly, undeniably grateful that she didn't strike me, and go back into the kitchen. I lean over at the sink and close my eyes. Washing my hands and face to clean off the chilled sweat on the back of my neck, I think of Charlie.
How is he? Back in quite Forks, Washington? I've only been there twice in my life, both of those times I had been too afraid to tell him about Renee and her abusive nature. I liked it in Forks, it's quant and friendly but much too boring for my taste to live there for an extended period. I'd still take Forks over Phoenix any day if it mean't escaping this hell hole Renee calls The Abode.
I turn the faucet off and wave 'bye' to the water as it drains down the sink. I wish I had the freedom the did.
I stick to the simple this time, and set up the ingredients for peanut butter and jelly, when there's a hard knock at the door. My eyes settle on Renee and I ask her silently if I should get the door for her. She waves me off and get up off the couch, groaning. There must be somebody she really likes at the door. Or somebody she doesn't want me to see.
She glides past me and clutches the island counter in her drunk stupor, before slamming open the fake wooden door to reveal a tall, menacing man leaning in our doorway.
"Hey, Phil." Renee giggles and waves him into the house. He looks around like he really doesn't give a shit, before his eyes settle on me. A smile plays on the edges of his lips before I duck my head and butter Renee's bread even though I know she won't eat it with company over. "'common, Phil, let's go to my room."
The half-smile she gives him almost causes me to wretch as Phil takes off his baseball cap and sets it on a coat-holder peg along with his beaten brown leather jacket. Phil winks at me and my skin crawls as he follows my mom upstairs to her room. I hear a door slam shut and jump a little. I put jelly on the rest of the sandwich and then fold the pieces together, cutting the break diagonally. Renee never eats anything with a horizontal cut.
I cough and search through a drawer where Renee places all her miscellaneous items and scrounge up a big skin-colored band-aid. I press it softly against the stinging cut on my palm and then make an icepack -ice cubes in a plastic bag wrapped in a dishtowel- and settle it on my burning cheek. I sigh at the sweet chilly relief as I hear a headboard hitting the wall of my mother's bedroom upstairs...
*beep*
*beep*
*beep*
I blink my eyes open and stare up at a white ceiling as I suppress a groan from the pain of a memory. My hand stings and I wonder crazily if it's my cut from the glass shard when I look at my hand it's an IV connected with my wrist. Did Renee put that there? I know she's into some crazy stuff, but what? I huff and groggily place my non-pierced arm over my face. How long have I been out? Not too long, hopefully, Renee would kill me if I slept in again... why can't I hear her shuffling downstairs? She's always up early... Renee never sleeps...
But wait, that was six year ago the day I first lay my eyes on Phil, a few months before it was legal for me to move out...
"Bella! You're awake!" Alice the Pixie dances over to me and giddily squeals like an excited school girl over some mediocre chick-flick vampire movie. "How are you feeling, Hun? Disoriented, most likely," She places a hand on my forehead and then a high-tech temperature stick pertrudes it's way into my mouth.
"Under the tongue," Alice orders and I oblige, even though I know the advanced medical stick could have read my temperature just fine settling in my mouth. Maybe she's old-fashioned...
Alice's beautifully manicured fingernail taps on her two front teeth as she waits for the stick to beep. I scan my surroundings and the first thing I think is Heaven. It's so bright, and white, and there's no pain. Am I still in the hospital? That would explain the IV... But shit, I was just at Renee's house.
The temp stick beeps once and I watch Alice's head bob as she confirms what I guess would be a normal temperature. Alice suddenly huffs and turns toward me.
"You've slept for a full twenty-one hours, Bella. Whatever Carlisle told you must have really thrown you over the edge for you to black out so fast and so strongly!" She sighs and shakes her head as if it's the saddest news she's ever heard. I wonder if it is. She seems too giggly and happy all the time I can't imagine anything ever putting The Pixie down.
"Yes...Doctor Carlisle said that I've been sleeping for ten years, er... yesterday." My stomach does flops and twists into knots. Carlisle lies. How can someone sleep for ten years? It wasn't a coma, I'm sure of that. Besides, I was with Renee... the entire time. I wince and my hand automatically shifts up to my cheek, which is no longer burning. Mmmm. It feels nice.
Alice nods at my answer even though I'm positive Blondie told her earlier. Is she just trying to get a reaction out of me? Or to see if I remember?
Pixie ignores my question and hands me a container of the strange silver metallic liquid. My throat is starting to burn again come to think of it...
I down the glass in a matter of thirty seconds and hand the container back to Alice, who sets it on a counter by my bed, which I notice I'm laying on, covering in white sheets. I take in that I'm not in the same box bed from twenty-one hours ago, I'm in a different room the practically all white and almost blinding. Alice's spiky midnight hair stands out and contrasts with the obscene brightness of the place.
"Can I get you anything?" Alice asks as she ghosts her way to the double gliding doors at the end of the hall on the left side of my bed, about ten feet away. There is real worry in her eyes and I can't put my finger on why. I feel my forehead crease into worried lines as I contemplate this, and then nod to The Pixie.
"Yes, you can get me Dr. Carlisle. I need to speak with him." About this strange hospital. About how I got here and exactly where here was. Maybe even about the peculiar soothing liquid I sucked earlier, or what's in the IV of my arm. What's a subject, and who is his nephew with the velvet voice?
Alice bobs her head 'yes' "Sure thing, Bella." her body is halfway through the exit when I halt her with words.
"Oh, and Alice?"
She sticks her head out from the doorway with the most questionable look on her face. Her brows form a tight V as she looks at me. "Yah, Bella?"
I laugh a little inwardly. "Make it fast."
End of Chapter Two
Saturday, July 31, 2010
ON THE WAY
Okay, I'm at my uncle's house right now, so apparently, I'm unable to work on Chapter Two: Into The Unknown Paranormal (as I have decided to call it.) I'll just be dropping some hints as to what happens.
Bella has just found out that she's been sleeping for ten years, and *SPOILER* it's not been a coma. She'll start to remember a bit more about her reality, and her other reality she calls home. Alice (The Pixie :D) and Bella's friendship starts to grow, as does her relationship with her doctor Carlisle (Blondie :D)and she's anxiously awaiting for the three days and 23 hours to finish up so she can meet other Subjects (which she still doesn't know what that is yet, and frankly, to tell you the truth, neither do I.)
As I bet you all are waiting to hear, yes, Edward is a doctor at the Cullen Project C21-0. :] but what will happen? Who knows? Because guess what. Jacob Black is also on the Cullen Project C21-0, and he'll do anything, to win Bella's heart.
Happy reading,
Emily aka Forbidden Apples
xoxo
Bella has just found out that she's been sleeping for ten years, and *SPOILER* it's not been a coma. She'll start to remember a bit more about her reality, and her other reality she calls home. Alice (The Pixie :D) and Bella's friendship starts to grow, as does her relationship with her doctor Carlisle (Blondie :D)and she's anxiously awaiting for the three days and 23 hours to finish up so she can meet other Subjects (which she still doesn't know what that is yet, and frankly, to tell you the truth, neither do I.)
As I bet you all are waiting to hear, yes, Edward is a doctor at the Cullen Project C21-0. :] but what will happen? Who knows? Because guess what. Jacob Black is also on the Cullen Project C21-0, and he'll do anything, to win Bella's heart.
Happy reading,
Emily aka Forbidden Apples
xoxo
Friday, July 30, 2010
Chapter One- When You Wake
A/N: Well, it's 4:03 in the morning and I'm feeling GREAT. I had a major vision for this fanfiction, and I just had to write it down...It turned into this. I really hope you enjoy! :D
Chapter One: When You Wake
“Your intellect may be confused, but your emotions never lie to you.” –Roger Ebert
The air is dry and medical, burning my throat to crisps. My nose smarts as I suck in a deep breath, coming up with nothing. There’s something cold and hard and plastic running through my nostril. It hurts. I reach up with shaking fingers and rip it out; gagging at it passes my uvula. I let the tube of plastic fall to the ground, which is right under me. I open my eyes but blackness is all I see. Gasping harder and harder for precious air like it’s my lifeline, I clutch the sheet situated carefully under my body, crumpling it up in my small hands. My breaths come in pants, and I start to panic.
Where the hell am I? Why is it so dark?
My throat constricts as I try to scream, can’t somebody help me? Does anyone know I’m here? I’m suffocating. Don’t they know I’m here? I’m suffocating. Help me. I force my hands to release the sheet and I grab my esophagus, clawing at it. I barely notice the pain I’m causing myself, because all I need is oxygen. Why can’t I breathe?
Desperate, I stretch my arms up high into the sky, where it connects with something stiff, and cold. More plastic? I bang on the hard surface, trying to replace the noise my tongue cannot configure. My chest heaves but my lungs are empty, and burning. Fire.
I can hear murmurs outside my grave, and shouting. The voices are muffled, but I can tell one is beautiful. Velvet. Mozart’s symphony. It composes me, and I take a shuddering breath, trying to calm myself. But there’s no air, and it’s dark, and I’m confused. There’s a loud crashing sound and it takes me a minute to notice that it’s me, still banging on the plastic-feeling material above my head. This has to be my grave. So the pills finally worked…
There’s one final shout, and then my ears pick up a beeping noise, soft but intelligible. The grave fills with air. I suck it in greedily, not pausing to release. Oh, it’s heavenly. I will never disrespect such a simple thing ever again in my life. Who dug me out? I’m blinded by an abrupt light that saturates my eyes. I blink, and notice it’s a hanging light fixture. Modern, and blue.
“Dr. Carlisle, her throat!” A perky lady with spiky midnight hair bobs up into my line of vision. The first thing I think of is pixie. Her voice is high-pitched, and not very soothing, not like the other velvet voice I heard earlier.
My eyes focus and another face appears. Light and pale and pretty. All I think of is compassion, which are etching into his features as a hand strokes my now-burning throat and he walks quickly away. Wait, no- I don’t want you to leave me. Stay. Don’t send me back into the grave. Please, God, no.
I feel thick gauze contacting with my neck like they are best friends. I note my hands are wet and hot, so I glance down at them, perplexed. They’re covered in blood. My blood. I unexpectedly feel extremely dizzy, and my head falls bad onto something soft, but firm. A doctor-type pillow you would usually find in a medical examination chair at your local hospital. My dark hair slips off the edge, this bed must be very thin. Am I in a hospital? What happened to me? Does Charlie know? Dad… no. I won’t think about him. He wouldn’t want me to.
“Bella, honey?” the pixie voice attacks me from the right, I move my head lazily in her direction. “You’re awake now, Bella, do you feel nauseous? Can you try to sit up, dear?”
Small hands shift under me, and pull me into a sitting position. Where the hell am I? I’m surrounded in a light-up tunnel, that’s very chilly, and has a medical feel to it. Maybe it’s because of the men and woman in long white coats, carrying small hand-helds? Or it could be the rows upon endless rows of plastic boxes, encasing the walls, looking like a morgue. Dad. No. Don’t think. Doctor’s are all around these boxes, looking at their hand-helds, typing something into a computer on the foot of each box, chatting mindlessly with other doctors and nurses, and glancing every few seconds at a huge digital clock that dominates the west side of the tunnel. The clock is counting down. It reads three days, twenty-three hours, forty-seven minutes, two seconds. It doesn’t take me long to realize that I myself are in one of these strange plastic boxes, and this pixie must be a nurse, or doctor.
“Carlisle!” the Pixie calls out into the tunnel, which is gray with sharp neon-blue lights elongating the walls. It strangely reminds me of a bee’s nest, with the entire bee’s army smarming around protecting their babies and bringing food to the Queen. It even has the same kind of shape. Round. But as I study closer it’s more octagonal than circular. “I need you to see if her pupils dilate, I’m not sure if she’s conscious.”
A medium-height, average build blonde man from before ghosts over to my box with unbelievable grace. Glasses are situated high on his head, holding back some thick locks, but he pulls them down to stare straight into my face. He generates a small, silver pen that magically transforms into a light and blinds me in my left eye. The Pixie twills on, “Carlisle, she’s seems a bit dazed, but I’m sure she’ll come out of her state any second now,”
The Blondie named Carlisle nods.
The Pixie pats my back and rubs it with soothing circles as Blondie shines the light into my right eye. I flinch automatically and cover my face with a hand. I’d like to shine that thing right back in his electric blue eyes. They didn’t even seem real, they are so blue.
“Yes, she is fully functional, Alice, thank you.” the Pixie named Alice dances away to check on another box. Mine is the only one open. I suck in a lungful of air, tired mentally but really hyped up physically. It felt like a coffee high, or a sugar-rush. My fingers twitch and I tap out a beat-less rhythm with my finger tips onto the cold surface under my behind.
“Hello, Miss Swan, I’m so glad to see you’re awake so early.” Dr. Blondie gives me a very animated smile and touches my arm gently. I resist a scoff, that smile is so fake. Very...Doctor-ish. His fingers remove themselves from me to check his hand-held, and then the small screen at the foot of my box/bed. He routinely presses a few buttons, and then glances at the clock on the far side of the wall. “Well, you’re up very early, Miss Swan. Although, I’m not sure that’s a good or bad thing.” He cocks his head to the side and his glasses slide down the bridge of his nose. Blondie swiftly places them back up to his eyes, and I wonder why he doesn’t wear contacts. He sits down on the edge of my box.
“W-wh-” I stutter, unable to choke out the typical sentence ‘where am I?’. My throat still burns and it teases the insides. I really need water. The doctor seems to understand me, and sits on the bed at the side of my feet. I push them back toward my chin, and tuck them under, like a child.
“Miss Swan, you are in the Cullen Project C21-0 sleep unit.” He made the last number one sound like an ‘oh.’ like he was inside a spaceship, or robot. I dully bear in mind a movie I watched so long ago with my father, Charlie. It’s a classic, he said as he slid the old-fashioned DVD into the player. I saw the movie Star Wars with my dad when I was eleven. There was a yellow robot named C-3P0 that did absolutely nothing the entire film but act as the comedic relief. I don’t know why Anakin built him.
“This might not be too fresh in your memory, this place.” Dr. Carlisle continued and waved his hand through the air, showing off his beehive. “It’s been a long time.”
Long time…?...What?
Before I had woken up to my grave only to land on the Cullen Project C21-OH! , I had been crumbling in on myself in the bedroom of my apartment. Depressed. Giving up with a bottle of pills in my hand and drool pooling onto my pillow. I squeezed my eyes shut as I blocked out my last memory.
“H-h-how.” I stammer and it aggravates me that my throat is so coarse. I want to speak. “H-how. Did. I. G-get. H-heeeeee.” I falter, and bite my tongue. I wince as disgusting rust-and-salt fluid pools into my mouth. “Here.” I finally spat, and hug myself. I’m shaking violently. Am I here because I took to many pills? How much damage did they do? Am I even alive.
Carlisle ignores my question and stands up, smoothing out his doctor’s coat. “Bella, I’m going to leave for only a couple minutes, to get you some water and some medicine to stop your shaking. Is that okay?”
Yes, I think that’s okay. There are other people around. I won’t be alone again. I nod my head and sit up straighter, fingers still twitching. I have so much energy I could bounce around the walls of this beehive sleep unit. He pats my head gently and turns to leave. I’m sitting alone in this box-bed with no initiative where I could possibly be, or how I got here. But for some odd reason, I’m calm. Serene, almost. I finally escaped the hell I had been living in for roughly ten years, and I’m ecstatic. So my pill plan worked. Well, maybe not the way I originally wanted, but I got away, didn’t I? My hair glides down my shoulder, and I stare at it in disbelief. It’s longer than the last time I combed through it. How is this possible?
I don’t dwell on it for long as a nurse comes up to me with a huge smile plastered on her face.
“Hi, Miss- er…” She glances at the computer screen at the foot of the bed. “Swan. I’m Jessica, your personal nurse. Well, actually assistant to your personal nurse, but it’s sort of the same thing, I can do all the stuff Mrs. Hale does, so I’m kinda the same, right? I guess so. Sometimes I have to fetch her a bagel or something, but it’s not too bad, right? You’re up early, huh? That’s a little weird, but Carlisle said it might happen with you, because you were thrashing around sometimes, unlike the other subjects. He and his nephew were debating whether or not you would just stop, like last time, or if they should decompress you. But here you are!”
Does this woman have no lungs? She was like a steam engine with no rest stops. Mrs. Hale, is that Alice the Pixie? Subject? Doctor Blondie has a nephew? Was he the harsh velvet voice I heard inside my grave, well, -bed... Why do beds have plastic tops?
“Wh-why do these b-beds h-h-have t-tops?” I ask, because it’s the first question that pops out of my scorching mouth.
Jessica smiles and pats my hair, “So pretty!” She gushes as I lift up my arm to grab her hand, and tell her through my action I don’t like to be touched by annoying people. She takes her hand away instantly, and presents me another animated smile. She’s sort of pretty, in a way, but too fake. She wears way too much make-up, and her hair is an un-natural shade of brown. It’s smoothed out with hairspray to a mop on her head, and her eyes flash at me dully. Fake eyelashes are everywhere, and her eyebrows are penciled in with a yellow-ish brown liner that doesn’t match her hair.
“These beds have tops, to keep the oxygen from the sleep unit out.” She says to me slowly, like I’m stupid. I want to smack her loaded face for being naïve. Why wouldn’t somebody need air? I cross my arms angrily, but uncross them when they start to shake my body. I hold them out in front of me, and watch them quiver.
“W-why are my arms-s-s doing this-s-s?” I show her my limbs, and she sighs almost theatrically, and takes a few feet back and slightly turns, as if she’s about to leave. Bitch.
“Shaking is natural, you’ve been asleep for a really long time, and your muscles are reacting to movement,” When I look at her questionably she continues and sighs, like she’s bored and has said this over a million times. I wonder if she has. “Dr. Carlisle will explain everything to you, since you’re obviously not smart enough to remember.” She huffs and struts away. Okay, maybe she doesn’t say that part to everybody in these strange boxes, but who knows? She’s a bitch.
I take some pride back by watching Jessica trip on her eight inch stilettos and bump into another nurse, who immediately tells her off. Jessica blushes and ducks her head, keeping a fast pace and her heels clicking against the metal floor before disappearing through a door settled between to box beds.
What’s taking Doctor Carlisle so long? I want meds to stop this shaking. Or maybe some anti-anxiety, like the ones back home. I know I’m messed up, and I’d need those sooner rather than later before my memories assault me. Again. God, I’m thirsty.
As if on cue, Blondie materializes four yards away from me. Probably came from a door set in the wall. I sigh with relief when I see that he’s carrying a small bottle of pills, and a big glass of ice cold liquid. I could tell from the condensation leaking on the glass.
“Miss Swan, please chew these pills before you drink anything.” He hands me three medium-sized pills. One I recognize as anti-anxiety, and the other two I can’t identify. I chew, because I trust this doctor, however strange he or my surroundings are. I feel the chemical relief sliding over me and I lean back on the wall. This bed has no headboard. My limbs slowly stop convulsing and my teeth relinquish chattering. “Here, have some of this, for your throat.” He hands me the big glass of water, which isn’t water at all. I take it in between my fingers and gawk at the sliver metallic liquid swirling inside.
What.
I cough a little, from my mouth being dry as a bone and then having to chew the pills. I cover my lips so I wouldn’t get germs anywhere. This is some sort of hospital, after all. Blondie softly pats my back until my little fit is over with.
“Why is the water silver?” I ask of him. Wow, I can speak now. Finally. It sucks not being heard. I would know, from past experience…
Carlisle chuckles, “It’s not water, it’s better. Please, drink, your throat must be raw.” I nod and drink the liquid. It’s cold and delicious against my lips, tongue, mouth, and throat. I down the entire glass in five gulps and then toss the glass over to Blondie, who catches it reflexively.
The gauge on my neck scratches and I reach up to rip it off, but Carlisle places a hand on my forearm, silently telling me no. I huff and I’m able to cross my arms now.
“You scratched your neck as you woke, and you were having a panic attack, Miss Swan. Scratched yourself up quite a bit, I should say. Please keep that bandage on; we don’t want you to bleed on anything.” He presses his fingertips against some medical tape just under my chin, and forces it back to its original state. “I bet you have some questions, don’t you Bella?”
“Jessica the bi-” I stop myself. “I mean, er…Jessica my assistant nurse said you’d tell me all the answers, and trust me, I’m so confused.” I gape at the beehive around me. It’s insane and so full of life, unlike back home.
“Wait, Bella, you don’t remember anything? Anything at all, about your former life before you came here?” Blondie cocks his head to the side. Of course I know where I’ve been. Hell.
“The last thing I remember is sitting around in my apartment, about to go to sleep.” I say, not wanting to tell him the truth. If I reminded myself about what happened, the demons inside would unleash and hold me prisoner.
“Oh, Bella, you must have been dreaming. The last memory you should have is walking into this very room, the sleep unit, to lay in this exact console.” His eyes squint a little, as if he’s trying to squeeze answers right out of me.
“Doctor- I don’t remember coming here at all. Where am I exactly? How long have I been…er- sleeping, as you said I was…?”
No way had that been a dream. I can still clearly see the orange see-through bottle of pills in my thin hands. I remember slipping away, leaving my body, mind, and soul. I remember- …stop. I will force myself never to remember anything that had happened in my life. I liked it here, in a way, anything and everything is better than the hell hole I called home. It’s a new start for me.
“Bella,” Blondie placed a hand on my right shoulder, concern on every etch of his face. This worried me immediately. Doctors aren’t supposed to do that. They need to be calm and collected in front of you. “Bella,” He repeats again, almost like he doesn’t want to say what he’s thinking aloud.
“…What?” I ask, shaking his shoulder a little with my right arm, compelling the answer out of this man.
“Bella, you’ve been sleeping for ten years.”
End of chapter one.
Chapter One: When You Wake
“Your intellect may be confused, but your emotions never lie to you.” –Roger Ebert
The air is dry and medical, burning my throat to crisps. My nose smarts as I suck in a deep breath, coming up with nothing. There’s something cold and hard and plastic running through my nostril. It hurts. I reach up with shaking fingers and rip it out; gagging at it passes my uvula. I let the tube of plastic fall to the ground, which is right under me. I open my eyes but blackness is all I see. Gasping harder and harder for precious air like it’s my lifeline, I clutch the sheet situated carefully under my body, crumpling it up in my small hands. My breaths come in pants, and I start to panic.
Where the hell am I? Why is it so dark?
My throat constricts as I try to scream, can’t somebody help me? Does anyone know I’m here? I’m suffocating. Don’t they know I’m here? I’m suffocating. Help me. I force my hands to release the sheet and I grab my esophagus, clawing at it. I barely notice the pain I’m causing myself, because all I need is oxygen. Why can’t I breathe?
Desperate, I stretch my arms up high into the sky, where it connects with something stiff, and cold. More plastic? I bang on the hard surface, trying to replace the noise my tongue cannot configure. My chest heaves but my lungs are empty, and burning. Fire.
I can hear murmurs outside my grave, and shouting. The voices are muffled, but I can tell one is beautiful. Velvet. Mozart’s symphony. It composes me, and I take a shuddering breath, trying to calm myself. But there’s no air, and it’s dark, and I’m confused. There’s a loud crashing sound and it takes me a minute to notice that it’s me, still banging on the plastic-feeling material above my head. This has to be my grave. So the pills finally worked…
There’s one final shout, and then my ears pick up a beeping noise, soft but intelligible. The grave fills with air. I suck it in greedily, not pausing to release. Oh, it’s heavenly. I will never disrespect such a simple thing ever again in my life. Who dug me out? I’m blinded by an abrupt light that saturates my eyes. I blink, and notice it’s a hanging light fixture. Modern, and blue.
“Dr. Carlisle, her throat!” A perky lady with spiky midnight hair bobs up into my line of vision. The first thing I think of is pixie. Her voice is high-pitched, and not very soothing, not like the other velvet voice I heard earlier.
My eyes focus and another face appears. Light and pale and pretty. All I think of is compassion, which are etching into his features as a hand strokes my now-burning throat and he walks quickly away. Wait, no- I don’t want you to leave me. Stay. Don’t send me back into the grave. Please, God, no.
I feel thick gauze contacting with my neck like they are best friends. I note my hands are wet and hot, so I glance down at them, perplexed. They’re covered in blood. My blood. I unexpectedly feel extremely dizzy, and my head falls bad onto something soft, but firm. A doctor-type pillow you would usually find in a medical examination chair at your local hospital. My dark hair slips off the edge, this bed must be very thin. Am I in a hospital? What happened to me? Does Charlie know? Dad… no. I won’t think about him. He wouldn’t want me to.
“Bella, honey?” the pixie voice attacks me from the right, I move my head lazily in her direction. “You’re awake now, Bella, do you feel nauseous? Can you try to sit up, dear?”
Small hands shift under me, and pull me into a sitting position. Where the hell am I? I’m surrounded in a light-up tunnel, that’s very chilly, and has a medical feel to it. Maybe it’s because of the men and woman in long white coats, carrying small hand-helds? Or it could be the rows upon endless rows of plastic boxes, encasing the walls, looking like a morgue. Dad. No. Don’t think. Doctor’s are all around these boxes, looking at their hand-helds, typing something into a computer on the foot of each box, chatting mindlessly with other doctors and nurses, and glancing every few seconds at a huge digital clock that dominates the west side of the tunnel. The clock is counting down. It reads three days, twenty-three hours, forty-seven minutes, two seconds. It doesn’t take me long to realize that I myself are in one of these strange plastic boxes, and this pixie must be a nurse, or doctor.
“Carlisle!” the Pixie calls out into the tunnel, which is gray with sharp neon-blue lights elongating the walls. It strangely reminds me of a bee’s nest, with the entire bee’s army smarming around protecting their babies and bringing food to the Queen. It even has the same kind of shape. Round. But as I study closer it’s more octagonal than circular. “I need you to see if her pupils dilate, I’m not sure if she’s conscious.”
A medium-height, average build blonde man from before ghosts over to my box with unbelievable grace. Glasses are situated high on his head, holding back some thick locks, but he pulls them down to stare straight into my face. He generates a small, silver pen that magically transforms into a light and blinds me in my left eye. The Pixie twills on, “Carlisle, she’s seems a bit dazed, but I’m sure she’ll come out of her state any second now,”
The Blondie named Carlisle nods.
The Pixie pats my back and rubs it with soothing circles as Blondie shines the light into my right eye. I flinch automatically and cover my face with a hand. I’d like to shine that thing right back in his electric blue eyes. They didn’t even seem real, they are so blue.
“Yes, she is fully functional, Alice, thank you.” the Pixie named Alice dances away to check on another box. Mine is the only one open. I suck in a lungful of air, tired mentally but really hyped up physically. It felt like a coffee high, or a sugar-rush. My fingers twitch and I tap out a beat-less rhythm with my finger tips onto the cold surface under my behind.
“Hello, Miss Swan, I’m so glad to see you’re awake so early.” Dr. Blondie gives me a very animated smile and touches my arm gently. I resist a scoff, that smile is so fake. Very...Doctor-ish. His fingers remove themselves from me to check his hand-held, and then the small screen at the foot of my box/bed. He routinely presses a few buttons, and then glances at the clock on the far side of the wall. “Well, you’re up very early, Miss Swan. Although, I’m not sure that’s a good or bad thing.” He cocks his head to the side and his glasses slide down the bridge of his nose. Blondie swiftly places them back up to his eyes, and I wonder why he doesn’t wear contacts. He sits down on the edge of my box.
“W-wh-” I stutter, unable to choke out the typical sentence ‘where am I?’. My throat still burns and it teases the insides. I really need water. The doctor seems to understand me, and sits on the bed at the side of my feet. I push them back toward my chin, and tuck them under, like a child.
“Miss Swan, you are in the Cullen Project C21-0 sleep unit.” He made the last number one sound like an ‘oh.’ like he was inside a spaceship, or robot. I dully bear in mind a movie I watched so long ago with my father, Charlie. It’s a classic, he said as he slid the old-fashioned DVD into the player. I saw the movie Star Wars with my dad when I was eleven. There was a yellow robot named C-3P0 that did absolutely nothing the entire film but act as the comedic relief. I don’t know why Anakin built him.
“This might not be too fresh in your memory, this place.” Dr. Carlisle continued and waved his hand through the air, showing off his beehive. “It’s been a long time.”
Long time…?...What?
Before I had woken up to my grave only to land on the Cullen Project C21-OH! , I had been crumbling in on myself in the bedroom of my apartment. Depressed. Giving up with a bottle of pills in my hand and drool pooling onto my pillow. I squeezed my eyes shut as I blocked out my last memory.
“H-h-how.” I stammer and it aggravates me that my throat is so coarse. I want to speak. “H-how. Did. I. G-get. H-heeeeee.” I falter, and bite my tongue. I wince as disgusting rust-and-salt fluid pools into my mouth. “Here.” I finally spat, and hug myself. I’m shaking violently. Am I here because I took to many pills? How much damage did they do? Am I even alive.
Carlisle ignores my question and stands up, smoothing out his doctor’s coat. “Bella, I’m going to leave for only a couple minutes, to get you some water and some medicine to stop your shaking. Is that okay?”
Yes, I think that’s okay. There are other people around. I won’t be alone again. I nod my head and sit up straighter, fingers still twitching. I have so much energy I could bounce around the walls of this beehive sleep unit. He pats my head gently and turns to leave. I’m sitting alone in this box-bed with no initiative where I could possibly be, or how I got here. But for some odd reason, I’m calm. Serene, almost. I finally escaped the hell I had been living in for roughly ten years, and I’m ecstatic. So my pill plan worked. Well, maybe not the way I originally wanted, but I got away, didn’t I? My hair glides down my shoulder, and I stare at it in disbelief. It’s longer than the last time I combed through it. How is this possible?
I don’t dwell on it for long as a nurse comes up to me with a huge smile plastered on her face.
“Hi, Miss- er…” She glances at the computer screen at the foot of the bed. “Swan. I’m Jessica, your personal nurse. Well, actually assistant to your personal nurse, but it’s sort of the same thing, I can do all the stuff Mrs. Hale does, so I’m kinda the same, right? I guess so. Sometimes I have to fetch her a bagel or something, but it’s not too bad, right? You’re up early, huh? That’s a little weird, but Carlisle said it might happen with you, because you were thrashing around sometimes, unlike the other subjects. He and his nephew were debating whether or not you would just stop, like last time, or if they should decompress you. But here you are!”
Does this woman have no lungs? She was like a steam engine with no rest stops. Mrs. Hale, is that Alice the Pixie? Subject? Doctor Blondie has a nephew? Was he the harsh velvet voice I heard inside my grave, well, -bed... Why do beds have plastic tops?
“Wh-why do these b-beds h-h-have t-tops?” I ask, because it’s the first question that pops out of my scorching mouth.
Jessica smiles and pats my hair, “So pretty!” She gushes as I lift up my arm to grab her hand, and tell her through my action I don’t like to be touched by annoying people. She takes her hand away instantly, and presents me another animated smile. She’s sort of pretty, in a way, but too fake. She wears way too much make-up, and her hair is an un-natural shade of brown. It’s smoothed out with hairspray to a mop on her head, and her eyes flash at me dully. Fake eyelashes are everywhere, and her eyebrows are penciled in with a yellow-ish brown liner that doesn’t match her hair.
“These beds have tops, to keep the oxygen from the sleep unit out.” She says to me slowly, like I’m stupid. I want to smack her loaded face for being naïve. Why wouldn’t somebody need air? I cross my arms angrily, but uncross them when they start to shake my body. I hold them out in front of me, and watch them quiver.
“W-why are my arms-s-s doing this-s-s?” I show her my limbs, and she sighs almost theatrically, and takes a few feet back and slightly turns, as if she’s about to leave. Bitch.
“Shaking is natural, you’ve been asleep for a really long time, and your muscles are reacting to movement,” When I look at her questionably she continues and sighs, like she’s bored and has said this over a million times. I wonder if she has. “Dr. Carlisle will explain everything to you, since you’re obviously not smart enough to remember.” She huffs and struts away. Okay, maybe she doesn’t say that part to everybody in these strange boxes, but who knows? She’s a bitch.
I take some pride back by watching Jessica trip on her eight inch stilettos and bump into another nurse, who immediately tells her off. Jessica blushes and ducks her head, keeping a fast pace and her heels clicking against the metal floor before disappearing through a door settled between to box beds.
What’s taking Doctor Carlisle so long? I want meds to stop this shaking. Or maybe some anti-anxiety, like the ones back home. I know I’m messed up, and I’d need those sooner rather than later before my memories assault me. Again. God, I’m thirsty.
As if on cue, Blondie materializes four yards away from me. Probably came from a door set in the wall. I sigh with relief when I see that he’s carrying a small bottle of pills, and a big glass of ice cold liquid. I could tell from the condensation leaking on the glass.
“Miss Swan, please chew these pills before you drink anything.” He hands me three medium-sized pills. One I recognize as anti-anxiety, and the other two I can’t identify. I chew, because I trust this doctor, however strange he or my surroundings are. I feel the chemical relief sliding over me and I lean back on the wall. This bed has no headboard. My limbs slowly stop convulsing and my teeth relinquish chattering. “Here, have some of this, for your throat.” He hands me the big glass of water, which isn’t water at all. I take it in between my fingers and gawk at the sliver metallic liquid swirling inside.
What.
I cough a little, from my mouth being dry as a bone and then having to chew the pills. I cover my lips so I wouldn’t get germs anywhere. This is some sort of hospital, after all. Blondie softly pats my back until my little fit is over with.
“Why is the water silver?” I ask of him. Wow, I can speak now. Finally. It sucks not being heard. I would know, from past experience…
Carlisle chuckles, “It’s not water, it’s better. Please, drink, your throat must be raw.” I nod and drink the liquid. It’s cold and delicious against my lips, tongue, mouth, and throat. I down the entire glass in five gulps and then toss the glass over to Blondie, who catches it reflexively.
The gauge on my neck scratches and I reach up to rip it off, but Carlisle places a hand on my forearm, silently telling me no. I huff and I’m able to cross my arms now.
“You scratched your neck as you woke, and you were having a panic attack, Miss Swan. Scratched yourself up quite a bit, I should say. Please keep that bandage on; we don’t want you to bleed on anything.” He presses his fingertips against some medical tape just under my chin, and forces it back to its original state. “I bet you have some questions, don’t you Bella?”
“Jessica the bi-” I stop myself. “I mean, er…Jessica my assistant nurse said you’d tell me all the answers, and trust me, I’m so confused.” I gape at the beehive around me. It’s insane and so full of life, unlike back home.
“Wait, Bella, you don’t remember anything? Anything at all, about your former life before you came here?” Blondie cocks his head to the side. Of course I know where I’ve been. Hell.
“The last thing I remember is sitting around in my apartment, about to go to sleep.” I say, not wanting to tell him the truth. If I reminded myself about what happened, the demons inside would unleash and hold me prisoner.
“Oh, Bella, you must have been dreaming. The last memory you should have is walking into this very room, the sleep unit, to lay in this exact console.” His eyes squint a little, as if he’s trying to squeeze answers right out of me.
“Doctor- I don’t remember coming here at all. Where am I exactly? How long have I been…er- sleeping, as you said I was…?”
No way had that been a dream. I can still clearly see the orange see-through bottle of pills in my thin hands. I remember slipping away, leaving my body, mind, and soul. I remember- …stop. I will force myself never to remember anything that had happened in my life. I liked it here, in a way, anything and everything is better than the hell hole I called home. It’s a new start for me.
“Bella,” Blondie placed a hand on my right shoulder, concern on every etch of his face. This worried me immediately. Doctors aren’t supposed to do that. They need to be calm and collected in front of you. “Bella,” He repeats again, almost like he doesn’t want to say what he’s thinking aloud.
“…What?” I ask, shaking his shoulder a little with my right arm, compelling the answer out of this man.
“Bella, you’ve been sleeping for ten years.”
End of chapter one.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)