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Breathe for Mercy

No one knows her real name. But everyone calls her Mercy. And she's running from a world of pain and fear, desperately searching for a place to hide from the monsters that haunt her footsteps. But she's found again-this time by Dr. Carlisle Cullen, who takes her under his wing even though he's vampire and she's human, and takes her home to live with the rest of his family, unaware of the wicked web she's caught in. But they don't know who she is, what she's done, what she's capable of. And the voices just won't go away. This is my story. My nightmare. And now I'm putting you through it. *Rated for some graphic violence* What the heck, why is no one reviewing? Is my story that bad?

Her real name is unknown. But everyone calls her Mercy. She's running from a world where there is nothing but pain but she is looking for a new life, a new way. That's when she runs into the Cullen family and they bring her in and take her under their wing, even though she is human. But they don't really know who she is, what she's done. And the voices just won't go away. This is my story. My nightmare.And now I'm putting you through it.

10. I Am a Monster

Rating 5/5   Word Count 4334   Review this Chapter

Freedom is taken so much for granted when you don't appreciate the small things that you have.

I didn't kill anybody. I didn't perform a crime. Hell, I've never drank a drop of liquor, nor smoked a cigarette, never looked twice at drugs. Never took what wasn't mine. I'm what Aimee called a hundred-percent straight shooter, but I'm here, this hell hole, my personal 4-wall prison. All because of me-this thing within me-this demon that I must care for and nurture for this is why I'm here. It's amazing how something that seemed to so simple can destroy so much.

It's horrible here. So isolated, so lonely. Except for the occasional doctor or scientist. I've forgotten how to feel. This numbness has taken over-this sense of surreal ness. I no longer feel the prickling sense of fear when I see them coming for me nor the slice of pain when they slide in yet another needle. Just this hollowness-this emptiness eating away at me, turning me inside out. It's amazing how much a human will endure just to survive.

It's always the same here. Always. I have a tendency to feel sorry for myself but I'm constantly remained of all those innocent children who have been mercilessly murdered-stripped of their future...their life. All because of what they could do. Those people. They were only young. They, too, have committed no crime. They're just innocent.

I go through the ‘day in, day out' routine. It's a punishment I must face as part of my sentence. I hate it. The only thing I have to go by is that it's all for my own good.

I suppose it's my fault I'm here. For years I've spent toying with fate. Maybe fate has chosen to toy with me. In which case, fate has served this purpose well. For such a little time I was so free with Aimee. The world: my playground; the soil: my arena.

Fate has pushed so far as to see my life teeter on the edge of a building or a knife to my wrists. But I would never jump-never push the blade in. I live for my parents. For Aimee. For the people that I still loved despite everything they had done to me. For when I die, it is not me who will be affected. It's the ones I leave behind.

This will probably be the only goddamn prison that leaves its doors unlocked. There were no escaping vampires whose senses were unparalleled and speed was impossible. It's the torture I must face as part of my sentence. But I dare not leave...not even for freedom.

The worst part about being here is how time ticks by incessantly...so slowly. Being caged doesn't mean that times stops, for we all live our lives by the clock. And so, too, do I live mine. But much slower. Seconds feel like minutes, minutes like hours, hours like days, days like months. It's like chasing a rainbow to no resolve...you just chase it.

I've found the best way to past time is to sleep, because when I sleep-I dream. And when I dream, I can rise above the walls of the prison.

I dream of waking up among lilies and getting that feeling in your body that only comes when you're by yourself.

I dream of simple things that posses so much beauty for even the most unfortunate person.

I dream of listening to the whispering of my breathing. Paying attention to the function more so than any routine moment.

I dream of seeing things so beautiful that it hurts to watch them.

Freedom is taken so much for granted when you don't appreciate the small things that you have.

You know, the hardest part about dreaming, is having to wake up.

Because when I wake...I'm still here...


"I know you're here."

The trees, the leafs, seemed to tremble from the whisper of my voice, their branches creaking and groaning. I touch the rough bark of one, graying in its age, feeling the texture beneath my figure tips, the bite against my skin, the moisture clinging to the curve of my palm. I waited for an answer for any sound of movement. I waited for him to speak; I knew he wouldn't leave me out here alone in the woods, with twilight creeping over the horizon and silver clouds promising more icy rain. A sliver of the moon peeked from behind one, the only light in the blackening sky. The stormy clouds pulsed with the colors of a fresh bruise as they hung over the dim, setting sun. He wouldn't leave me alone.

I waited.

He moved like a ghost, silent, without a sound. But I could feel him behind me, approaching me swiftly and the sweet scent of cinnamon and honey wafted up my nose.

And he was there when I turned around. He was standing in the middle of the dense clearing, his chest heaving, beads of dew clinging to the tips of his white-blond hair; it curled from the humidity, making him look more boyish than normal. His eyes were dark, wary, unsure and he half- circled me and our eyes never left each other. His face held no other hint of expression, though, making me feel slightly on edge.

I was the first to look away, finding that his piercing gaze was too much to handle.

"I'm sorry." I muttered, feeling the prickling of tears in my eyes. I didn't know why I was tearing up though.


"For everything," I answered with a break in my voice, tracing the erratic patterns carved into the tree. But when one pattern began to look like a haunting face I stopped and looked away. So I looked at him instead, my eyes begging for there to be no anger or disgust. "For what I did. For the danger I put you and your family in."

I waited for Carlisle to contradict me. He didn't.

The sound of my breathing rang loudly in my ears...in...out...I pulled each breath in with a loud sucking noise, tearing my lungs wide open. . The voices were back and I could hear them whispering in my head, at the base of my skull, sending tremors, like electric shocks, down the length of my spine. A feeling of pins and needles.

I hadn't known I was clutching my head until Carlisle spoke again.

"Why do you do that?"
"Because it hurts."

"Your head?"

"No. My mind."

"Is there a difference?"


There was a silence. Raw and loud. Though the rain had ceased a while ago, mist still hung in there air, wrapping its cold fingers around me, dampening my clothes and beading on my skin. Should I tell him about the voices in my head? Should I tell him the things that they whisper to me, seductive and dangerous?

"I am afraid."

"I know." Carlisle tightened his eyes, his face deepening into a look of distress.

Another silence.

"Why are you so afraid?"

And then I was running, sprinting, hurtling my way through the thickets, feeling the whip of the branches on my face and the fear clawing my soul. And the animosity boiling in my blood. I couldn't really control my impulsive actions. It was them who told me to do it. It was them who made me run.

Trust no one. They whisper, their voices like nails hammering into my skull. He only wants to use you. He only wants to own you.

Turn around and kill him.

I didn't realize that it was my scream that was echoing in the forest, my cries that were haunting the tree tops.

Animosity is like blood. It gushes from a wound cut deep with carelessness. It darkly stains everything it touches and splatters garishly on the people, the earth, around it. When dried, it's hard to clean off; the stains remain where the blood had soaked. Like a rushing river, it spills where it wants to, carving into fragile earth, uncontrollable, unstoppable. Animosity is beyond anger, beyond hate. It's a searing feeling, ripping through the stomach, hissing and steaming. It settles just below the surface, like a deadly, unpredictable volcano, broiling, waiting for its chance to erupt, to lash out, to attack. It is a monster, hidden, unknown, waiting, seeking for its prey, longing for the split-second moment when it darts in for the kill.

I felt it within my bones. My blood. My eyes go red with rage. And for a moment, I wanted to do what they told me. I wanted to make someone suffer as much as I have. I wanted to make Carlisle feel just a tiny bit of the horror I feel inside. The thirst to kill seethed dangerously within me.

But no! A voice of reason screamed within me. I couldn't! I kept my feet moving forward lest the darker side won. No, no, no, no. I chanted in desperation.

I ran like I was being pursued by a demon from hell. In an ironic way, I was.

I knew Carlisle wasn't far behind-though his footsteps were soundless, but I knew he was there, shadowing me like a ghost, haunting each footstep as I frantically tried to run away. It was stupid, I know, for it was impossible to escape the clutches of vampires-or it is supposed to be. But I knew that in this case, it was hopeless. But I still ran, the animosity pulsing hotly through my blood.


It wasn't hard for me to keep up with her. I didn't want to frighten her-though I knew that I had already. But I didn't understand fully exactly why she was running from me. Something I must had said, something I must had done to somehow trigger her instinctive feeling of flight.

She was surprisingly fast for a human and her agility promised a track star-if she had had the chance to pursue the dream. I watch the wind tug and twist her black curls; I watched the muscles within her pale legs quiver from exertion and the blood pumping madly through them.

"Mercy," I call, desperately wanting for her to stop but fearing to scare her even more if I forcefully stopped her myself.

To my utmost surprise, she stopped.

Well, she more liked jerked and spun around, a look of dangerous acrimony darkening her face.

"Stop!" she screamed, hurtling a rock in my direction; I watch it land among leafy foliage. "Just stop following me!"

"I can't,' I groaned softly and I didn't think she had caught it. I wanted to take her into my arms and just hold her tight. I wanted to protect her for the world. But at this moment I wasn't looking at Mercy. This girl that stood stiffly in front of me was someone else. Someone who had the potential to be deadly. And the voice that came out grating and hateful was not hers either.

"I want-" she grabbed her head, her fingers twist her hair. "To be-" she slumped to her knees, doubled over at the waist, her hands pulling on her hair so hard I feared she would rip it out. "Left-" Her fists hit the earth with a smack! "ALONE!"

The earth beneath me groaned and split. The trees creaked and a wild rush of leafs whipped around me like a storm of greenery. I fall to my knees in a twinge of panic, willing myself to not move, hoping that Mercy would soon calm down.

"It's not fair!" she screamed to no one in particular. She digs her fingers into the earth and the sky above rumbled, its clouds roiling and blackening.

The ground shifted again and I lose my balance, falling to my hands, fear pitting my stomach. A brilliant vein of lightening split the sky, echoed by a boom of thunder, followed by a gust of wind and a rush of rain.

But her scream wasn't lost amidst the howling wind. It was distinct, feral-a bone-chilling cry that sent shivers snaking down my spine. She was now flat on the ground, her hands limp, her clothes streaked with mud, the rain water creating small puddles in the clawed earth.

"Mercy," I whisper uselessly, knowing she would never hear me above the noise, above her anguish.

She didn't move as the driving rain pounded down around us at a slanted angle. I swipe at the hair falling in my eyes. I watch as her fingers slowly flexed; the mud oozed around her wrists. I pull myself into a sitting position, knowing that she could get sick in weather like this but afraid to touch her. I hear her heart beat slowing to a steady thump and with each gentle beat, the rain slowed to a misty drizzle than to nothing but cold air.

"I'm so sorry," I heard her broken whisper all the way to the depths of my being.

Her fingers dragged through the mud. Her back heaves. The muscles in the back of her neck constrict.

"Just leave me alone," she quietly pleads. "Let me die here."


"Mercy..." his voice came as a whisper-a ghostly hum that raised the hairs on the back of my neck. "I can't do that."

"I'm a monster," I sobbed. My heart splintered and cracked, the pain was devastating. "I killed Aimee...I killed her! I caused the earthquakes! I'm the one the Volturi wants. They want me as a weapon! A weapon that human and vampire will fear! Something devastating and evil and..." I couldn't finish. I feel myself sinking deeper into the overwhelming pit of despair. I feel the waves cover my head and the hands of anguish pull me deeper within their dark depths.

Lying on my stomach, with the taste of salt and earth in my mouth and feel of anguish in my gut, I wanted to die. I wanted Carlisle to kill me. I knew he could do it with just a simple twist of a hand. The rain picks up again, icy and sharp. Like needles falling from the bruised sky, meant only for me as they pierced bare flesh and drove deeper than bone.

"I don't think I could have come this far without you as my friend. Will you stay with me tonight? One last time?"

I let out a scream, in truth, more of a howl. Angrily I slammed my fists into the soft ground. Mud splattered. Gut wrenching sobs shook my entire body as I futilely beat the ground, feeling the rain pounding my back and wind rushing through my hair and slapping me in the face. Never-racking pain tore violently through my battered body, a pain so unreal that every last synapse and cell revolted. In my blinded rage I hit something hard, a rock perhaps, and my hand ached. I sobbed so hard I gagged. I kept punching. The memories weren't that far away now. I didn't want to remember but I didn't want to forget. Blood and soil became one and I cursed myself into the night.

Darkness. Voices whispering in my head.

Can't. Breathe.

I couldn't outmatch the strength of whoever had me; I couldn't fight my way free.

The voices grew louder until they were screaming as loud as me. I groaned, pounding my fists on the linoleum until they were numb.

I grabbed at whatever I could, flailing, screaming: bedposts...a table leg...the back of the chair...and finally the brass door knob which was ripped away from my fingers...

"I'm so sorry sweetheart." Her voice was anything but comforting. Her eyes were like ice and her voice made my blood run cold. "It's for the best really."

It hadn't sunk it yet, the reality of the moment I mean.

Dad stands off to the side, his arms crossed over his bulking chest. He wasn't even looking at me.

I see the men enter the room, see their inhumanly beauty, awe-striking yet frightening at the same time.

"We just want you to get better, sweetheart."

"No..." my voice is weak at first and I grip the sheets that I had been using to cover hold up to my chest as something to anchor to now.

"Just know that we'll always love you. You can call us anytime."

The closest man grabs my foot to drag me to him and the screams ripping from my throat were inhuman, blood-curdling. My hands whip wildly around. In my terror I grabbed the blinds of my window. They instantly give; the sound of cracking plastic fills the air as I tried to hold on.

My father was the one who pried me away, allowed the men to lift me up as I continued to scream, kicking savagely, tearing at clothes, hair, skin of marble.

Skin of marble...?

I was suddenly dropped and I landed on my stomach; my chin cracks against the floor of the old kitchen which was now my remodeled bedroom. Voices exploded in my head-voices that had never been there before. Whispering, shrieking, wailing-my head bursts from it, bringing my vision into momentary darkness.

I groan, pounding my fists weakly on the linoleum until they were numb, trying to escape the pain that was bisecting my skull.

They lift me by my waist this time. I grabbed at whatever I could, flailing, screaming: bedposts...a table leg...the back of the chair...and finally the brass door knob which was ripped away from my fingers.

The hallway was harder for there was nothing to grab onto. My sweaty palms are slick against the plaster walls. I tried to dig my nails into it but they only scrapped the paint away as I was carried to the staircase.

"Mommy, please!" I shrieked, sobbing, my voice past hysterical. "Mommy please don't let them take me!"

I flail for the wood hand railing of the staircase. Splinters of wood tore into the soft flesh of my palms. My blood smears the soft white of the walls.

I catch my last glimpse of my father standing on stop of the staircase, his face expressionless, his face expressionless. I cry out for him, begging, pleading.

"I'll be good! I'll do whatever you want me to do! I love you, Daddy! I need you to let mE stay. Tell me you love me! Tell me you love me!"

He disappears around the corner and I seize the rounded edge, desperate to hold back from the hands that held me. "DADDY!"

Somehow my mother had beaten us to the door. She IS holding it open, her face etched with misery.

She didn't expect me to grab at her, her shirt, her hair, her arms...

"Mommy don't leave me! Don't let them take me away! I want to stay with you!"

The door slams in my face and, in a last desperate move, I grabbed the silver doorknob, feel it rattle as my mother struggles to lock it, feel the hammer of agony beating upon me with damaging blows that rocked me to the core...

Pain sears my side as they stuff me into the back of the van, felt the crunch of metal as the doors were slammed shut and bolted. All light went out...

I felt his presence behind me before I actually felt his arms wrap around me and draw me to his chest, pinning my arms against me, tucking my head against his shoulder. I feel his cold marble skin against me but this time it brought no comfort.

"You are not a monster," he whispers in my ear.

"I feel like one," I muttered in response, hiding my face in his chest.

"I know."


"I don't know if I should bow down to you or run from you," Emmett called to me the moment Carlisle carried me through the door.

"Emmett that is enough!" Esme whispered dangerously in a tone I had never heard her use before.

I kept my arms wrapped in a strangle hold around Carlisle's neck and my face buried in his shirt. I was embarrassed and ashamed. What would these vampires think of me now? Would they instantly ship me off to the Volturi and or would they just kick me out the front door.

"Carlisle would never allow it, Mercy," Edward said.

I jerked, startled.

"You heard her thoughts?" Alice asked excitedly.

I clenched Carlisle's shirt in my fists.

"For the moment, yes," Edward said. I didn't want to see his face. "Her mind is the clearest that I've ever beheld so far. But there's something still there, something that clouds everything else."

"What if she has some sort of defense like I did when I was human," Bella suggested.

"No, I don't think so...this is different."

"Why don't we discuss this later," Carlisle spoke up, obviously feeling my tension. "Why don't we give her some space now."

Changed into a pair of warm, dry pajamas, Carlisle gave me a brief tour of the new house, his hand steady on my left arm as I walked stiffly, my dislocated arm in a sling, as he lead me up to my newest room.

The first room was Carlisle's and Esme's. In the center was a four-poster bed with a sheer canopy draped over the top and down the sides. Everything was in red roses and dark cherry wood.

The next room was Jasper's and Alice's, the thick carpet crushing softly under my feet. The room had bright blue morning glories painted in a border trailing up the walls. The blue bedspread, rug, towels, and curtains lent the room a cheery look.

Finally Carlisle led me to mine and I held my breath when I saw it.

It looked like something out of a story book. In the corner, a fire glowed in the fireplace, and against the wall was a white, wrought-iron daybed with a heart in the center of the back, frosted with deliciously thick down comforter. Little bunches of violets were everywhere-violets tied with pink ribbon on the wallpaper; pressed violets in small, narrow frames on the night stand; a soft blanket with embroided violets over the antique trunk at the end of the bed; and even an oval throw rug by the door with a large clump of violets in the center.

But what captured my heart was the window seat beneath the large double windows. It looked too enchanting to be real. I broke free from Carlisle and approached the seat as if it would run away if I went too fast or startled it. Gently touching the narrow, cushioned seat and fingering the lace on the violet-covered throw pillows, I decided it was indeed real and mine for however long we decided to stay.

"Do you like it?" Carlisle asked.

"It's like a fairytale," I murmured, feeling suddenly overwhelmed and exhausted. I climbed clumsily onto the seat and curled up into its soft warmth.

"Are you mad at me?" my voice was muffled by the pillows.

"Now why would you think that?" the man asked, sounding somewhat surprised.

"I ran away."


"I destroyed your house."

"Yes you did."

"I wanted to kill you."

"Is that so?"

"I almost did."

There was a silence then and I raised my eyes to look at Carlisle. He met my eyes with scruntiny and I felt as though he was analyzing my face. A snuffling interrupted us and I saw Duma enter the bedroom, her tail between her legs, her eyes drooping. But she perked up when she saw me and trotted over to rest her head on the window seat. I stroked her velvet head.

Finally: "I'm not mad at you."

I felt a tiny bubble of relief rise up in me which was quickly burst by reality.


"You didn't mean any of it."

"But I hear voices in my head. They tell me what to do. They make me do it."

"Edward thought as much."

"I almost killed you. I wanted to kill you."

"But you didn't; you fought it...and you won."

I had no answer to that. I lowered my head again, hiding my face.

"You are strong Mercy, there is no doubting that. I've never doubted that."

I felt his hand on my back and his other hand stroking my hair. "I love you." He whispers above my head and a tight pain contricts my chest. But it was a good pain this time. As though I had spent a lifetime in winter and had suddenly stepped into a world of spring; filled with warmth, and sunshine, and flowers.

It was only a glimpse though, as the voices in my head stripped me of the beautiful place and shoved me back into a picture of grays, a forever of winter.

"I still wanted to kill you."

To lose one's self is to lose one's semblance of humanity. But it is only human nature not to be able to control our demons.