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.