What if Bella had no Jacob Black? Instead she was really sent to a mental institution, but for a different reason. She literally forgot everything about her past. But, of course, for Bella, the dangers never seize...
This is set during New Moon, a week after the night in Port Angeles with Jessica... or something like that. Bella finds the bikes in suitable conditions so she learns how to ride them herself. No Jacob Black in this story, sorry to disappoint for you Jacob lovers. Hopefully Bella isn't too OOC, instead of her numb state (because she eventually forgets everything), she's bitter and sarcastic.
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"When you've forgotten all you have known,
That is when you'll truly be alone,
Do not hide in the darkness, bring out the light,
Do not give up, keep trying to fight..."
There was a boy walking away, his shoulders were rigid, his head held high in a defiant and confident sort of way, but his shoulders betrayed them for they drooped in slight vulnerability.
All he did was walk, he did not look back, but he seemed to be walking away from something reluctantly, like he was walking towards problems instead of away from them.
I followed this boy, calling out to him, asking him questions, pleading and begging for unknown reasons. He did not seem to hear, but for every word I said his shoulders drooped lower.
His strange bronze coloured hair blew in the gentle breeze, messing it up more than it was. He was deathly pale, so much so he seemed to glow, as if all light was radiating out of his skin. An angel within my own personal Hell. How ironic.
I tried to race forward, to reach out for him, to make him stop, but I felt my feet growing heavier every second. Soon I stopped completely as the beautiful boy walked on. I looked down at my feet and to my horror they had been encased within stone blocks, holding my feet down with brutal force, and I could not move them for the life of me. My weakness, my pathetic human weakness.
And then the boy vanished with the rustling of wind and leaves, leaving me, and everything, behind.
I woke up gasping for air desperately, violently trembling, and my starchy sheets were drenched with sweat, wrapped around me, restraining me like a straight jacket. I had a sharp pain where my heart was supposed to be, growing bigger each second. And I craved something, something that seemingly was extremely important to me, even more so than air. Nothing abnormal in the least.
I had been having this dream – or nightmare – every night since I was put in this place, a mental institution. I sighed heavily and fixed my gaze on the vacant, white-washed walls, as if seeing if they could tell me every answer to the questions my mind was asking.
Apparently I had gotten into a motorcycle accident a couple months ago, I had been driving on the wrong side of the road and a van hit me. I had lost all my memory of my past, everything. For some reason that was a big word for me– not just because everything literally is everything –but because I felt as if I had something huge, some mysterious and deadly secret happen in my past. But I was just Isabella Marie Swan, klutz and plain Jane maximum, of the world. Nothing terribly exciting about that.
But whenever I woke up from that dreamish-nightmare, I always felt as if something happened, something more. Like I needed something desperately… I just didn’t know what. I never saw that boy’s face, just his back (an incredibly good-looking back by the way).
I was woken from my inner musings by the nurse’s sickly-sweet sugar-coated voice, “Time to wake up sweety!” she called shrilly. I felt like lobbing my pillow at her head.
I ignored her, hoping she’d take the hint and leave me alone. No such luck, it never worked. I heard her cautiously approach me on her tip-toes, as if I would lash out at any moment. Smart girl.
“Come on!” She hollered in my ear, having trouble to keep her sap-happy tone in check.
I whipped around extremely fast and bared my teeth at her; a menacing inhuman sounding growl escaping my throat, my chest throbbed painfully. She jumped back in shock, I could see the fear in her eyes, and I thrived on it.
She glared at me, rather unimpressively. “Normal people do not growl and act like animals!” she replied haughtily, completely dropping her cheerful demeanor.
I scoffed openly. I was in a mental institution, who the Hell said anything about being ‘normal’?
She narrowed her eyes more; it looked like she was squinting. It kind of reminded me of cheesy western movies. “Get up now!” She ripped my covers off me, balled them, and threw them at the floor. Then she proceeded to stomp back out of the room, making her look like a spoiled, temper mental toddler.
I groaned and rolled out of bed, clumsily making my way to the bathroom. I looked in the mirror dejectedly, seeing my sunken cheeks, paler than normal skin, purple shadows, and hallow, empty eyes. I looked like a girl who had lost everything, which was true, but I didn’t know what exactly.
I mean, I did have Charlie, true, and occasionally my High School friends would drop by (mainly Angela, Mike kind of gave up when I purposely kept forgetting his name, although I only had to learn it again once).
I was assured that me and Charlie were quite close, seeing as how I had been living with him for around a year, but he sure damn well didn’t show it. He barely came to see me for God’s sakes!
I had done a lot of thinking on that issue. I mean, Charlie seems like a nice guy, someone I could easily get along with, so why didn’t he come see me more often? Either: A) He got tired with me and my ‘I’m mental, run away from me!’ attitude, or, B) He thought that him being near me would remind me of something from my past, something he desperately didn’t want me to remember. My guess was B, but A was probably a small part of it too.
I got dressed into my ugly, baggy hospital clothes and proceeded out into the ‘living’ room. The reason living was in quotation marks? Well, most insane people aren’t exactly what you’d call party-houses.
I sat down in my usual chair and gazed out the window with deep intensity at the street below, searching… always searching…
After a while Miss Bitch came with my disgusting breakfast… if you could call it that. She placed it on the small, rickety table in front of me. I paid her, nor it, any bit of the slightest attention, still searching…
“ARGH!” Ms. B shrieked, temporarily popping my eardrums.
I inclined my head slightly in her direction and raised a questioning eyebrow.
“You never eat! You never do anything! You just sit there looking out the window! My God, I can’t take this anymore!”
“You call this food?” I questioned, raising my other eyebrow. “Oh, and you are inclined to leave, good day,” I waved a lazy hand dismissively.
She raised her hand, as if to slap me, but the only response she got from me was an amused smirk, clearly not what she was hoping for. She stalked back out of the room, huffing profanities under her breath the whole way. I continued my searching.
A couple minutes later she returned, for whatever reason I did not know. But the moment I saw her expression, the fake sorrowful look but clear smugness in her eyes, I was instantly wary.
“I am so sorry!” She gushed.
“And may I ask as to why? Or were you simply apologizing for your disgustingly immature actions minutes prior to this?”
“No!” She shrieked, “I was just simply apologizing for the terrible actions to your family members!”
The instant she said ‘family’ I instantly felt like an anvil was placed in my abdomen.
“And what has happened?” I hedged, my tone threatening
She giggled, “I can’t tell you! But you’ll have to follow me.”
If she got pleasure out of my family members lives that obviously meant something bad had happened to them, and by the level of joy coming off her I’d say it was bad, real bad.
I followed her, tense as if to bolt like a bat out of Hell if need be. She showed me to a room, it looked like an office. I cautiously stepped in and studied my surroundings. There were many thick books that looked as if they were rarely read, but other than that the office was completely plain and boring.
There was an old, balding man in a suit sitting behind the desk, alongside a man in a cheap leather jacket that held the tangy smell of tobacco and alcohol. He had a really awful looking comb-over and many wrinkles and sun damage to his skin. This did nothing to ease my worries in the least.
I sat down, perched on the edge of my chair, and my eyes flickered edgily between the two men.
The older of the men, the one in the suit, took a deep breath and released it. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, as if to push down something unpleasant and keep it at bay. He slowly opened his eyes again and gazed intently at my forehead, completely avoiding my eyes. Now I was completely immobile as stone.
“Miss Swan… I have very unfortunate news for you…”
I quirked an eyebrow, “Yes?”
He sighed deeply, “Oh, I’m not sure how to tell you this…” he mumbled, “I’m not sure if your mental state could handle this either…”
Ms. Bitch barked a laugh and I threw her a dark look that she flinched back from. “I assure you I am fine. If I am apparently mental I do not see how I could get much worse.” No need to tell them that I’m probably even saner than them.
“Yes… well, are you sure?” He clearly wanted to skip this conversation.
“Damnit, just tell me! The suspense is really what’s making me insane!”
The guy who looked vaguely like a cop in those corny Las Vegas movies laughed, but was silenced with a look by suit guy.
“I am truly very sorry to say this, but…” he wasn’t in the least bit sympathetic, “your parents and step-father have all been… murdered.”
I gazed at him blankly, uncomprehending. “Murdered?” I repeated flatly.
He chewed on his bottom lip nervously, “Yes… we have pictures of the bodies…”
The cop guy (who turned out to be a detective) pulled a folder out of his briefcase and placed it on the table in front of me.
“Um… maybe we can skip this part. I’m sure she doesn’t want to see these…”
Before he could finish I had grabbed the folder and opened it. I inhaled sharply at the first picture. My mother, beautiful sweet Renee, was completely mangled and bloody, but also a deathly, chalky pale. It looked like she had no blood left in her system. Her large, glassy eyes gazed unseeingly at the rest of the world. Charlie and Phil looked almost exactly the same.
I closed my eyes tightly and wished I was dead instead of them, they all had so much to live for, I had nothing… and now I have even less than nothing.
I closed the folder and shoved it back on the table; I did not want to see anymore. I couldn’t handle any more…
“We haven’t caught the killer yet,” murmured the detective, “there were no fingerprints, weapon wounds… nothing…”
I got up abruptly, knocking over my chair, which made a deafening crash in the ominous silence that had drifted over the room. “I… I got to go… I think I’ll have a nap…”
I ran out of the room, not bothering to wait for Ms. Bitch and completely ignoring her protests. I ran back into my room, barricaded the door, and slammed myself down on my bed.