Ravyn and Edward have finally found peace together with the Cullens. They haven't heard from her dad, and things seem to be looking up. But when Alice sees something potentially dangerous, and Carlisle rushes her to the hospital for x-rays, they realize that their happy ending was never meant to be. And just when it can't get any worse for Ravyn, guess who shows up? This is the sequel to "Restart".
Do you have any idea how many times I've repostes this to get it validated? You don't even wanna know.
3. Chapter 3: Game Over
Rating 3.9/5 Word Count 2708 Review this Chapter
THREE MONTHS LATER
I sat on the couch and pretended to watch the TV. There was something on about how to cook a crème something or other, but I wasn’t interested. I reached up and fingered the strange brown locks that reached past my shoulders. They were bristly and uncomfortable – wigs usually were.
The shade was too light – they didn’t have any donations in the shade I had before…before it all fell out. It was longer than before, but Edward had picked it out, and I guessed that it looked…okay. I thought I looked better with short hair – personally. And now it was curly – not ringlets, curly, but wavy, curly. It was definitely…different.
The inner fibers of the wig irritated my scalp, and I gave up and pulled it off, setting it beside me. I felt even weirder without the wig on, being able to feel my bald scalp, but it was definitely not scratchy. That was a plus.
I didn’t notice Edward enter the room before he leaned down and placed his face beside mine. From behind the couch, he wound his arms around me, and turned his head to kiss my cheek.
“Why aren’t you wearing the wig?” He asked idly, like he didn’t much care either way.
“Too scratchy,” I complained in a broken sentence.
He straightened up, then walked around the couch and sat beside me. He picked the wig up in his hands, holding it so that it sat on his palm and hung down as if a head were there, and not his hand. He tossed it on to the couch beside him, and then scooted closer to me.
He draped his arm around my shoulders and watched the show on TV. It was some guy in a ridiculous white coat and apron – Emril, maybe? It didn’t matter to me.
That’s how it was these days.
No one said much anymore, we just sat around and waited. We watched TV, sat on the porch – something along those lines. We just watched and waited…
Waited for me to die.
I knew it, they knew it. I was going to die. Terminal illness and all that crap. A tumor in some part of my brain, the pons or something or other. Of course we had to go through with the radiation, because they were all under this impression that it could be reversed. I was – had been – studying to be a doctor, and I knew it wasn’t reversible. It wasn’t fixable. Carlisle knew more than me and he still hung onto this unrequited hope.
But I knew better.
I wanted to shout it to the world, just so that they would understand. I’m dying, I know it, and I don’t give a shit! Every one has their time, right? God’s will and all that jazz. Whatever.
More than anyone else – other than me – Alice knew it. Of course she would – she was clairvoyant. She knew the future, and knew I was going to die. She’d seen my funeral a thousand different ways, changing minutely as things were said and their hopes strengthened, while still fastened to the same thin rope. When I finally croaked, the rope would break and it would all come crashing down on them.
My family. The only place where I’d ever felt at home – and I was about to die. That was ironic in a sick sort of way. She finally got what she wanted – a good stable home with caring family -; now let’s mess it up! If there was a God, he had a sick sense of humor.
Edward had become more distant than ever. He barely spoke – less than everyone else – and barely touched me. Like I had become some little soap bubble – with just one touch I would pop. Or maybe, and I just thought this to mess with myself, it was because he didn’t want to get closer to me when he knew that, ultimately, he would just have to say goodbye.
“I’m going to bed,” I announced to no one in particular. I got up from the couch slowly, the predictable fatigue setting in (I used it to my advantage when I didn’t want to do things).
I felt the eyes of my family watch me as I slowly trudged up the stairs and to my room. They’d moved mine closer to the stairs, switched my room with Carlisle and Esme’s – after all, it would only be another three months anyways. Three more months and they could move back in and fill my room with whatever junk they pleased.
I entered the room and plopped down on the bed, allowing the misery and angst flood me. I didn’t cry – I was done crying. Just end it now, I thought desperately.
The headaches, the nausea, the baldness – I was done with it.
Contrary to what you might believe, I was not sad that I was dying.
I was sad because it wouldn’t come fast enough.
Hadn’t they ever heard of youthenization? Putting someone out of their misery? Some called it murder. Others called it mercy. I called it relief.
I’d been keeping a journal as of late – just a little composition notebook that I wrote my boring life in and my angst-ridden thoughts. I held onto the faint hope – much like my family did on the hope that I would miraculously recover – that someone might miss me when I was gone. Maybe someone would find my diary and read it, thinking “Poor, sad, dead girl.”
I think I’d once heard of an old woman – who had allegedly been on her deathbed – say as her last words, “I’m not afraid of death. Oh no – I’m afraid of being forgotten.” I was afraid of being forgotten.
Not like I was anything special to remember, but I’m sure everyone feels the same. “Don’t forget me,” they’d say; but then someone would. Who can remember every person that they meet or that they’ve known? Unless you don’t know many people, that’s impossible.
I opened my diary and flipped to the next empty page. It had minute creases in it from the writing on the previous page that had scratched through. I ran my finger along the page, waiting to think of something to write. But I couldn’t think of anything.
How sad, I thought grimly, I can’t even make any good out of what time I have left. I haven’t been to exotic places, I haven’t had sex, I haven’t been married – all these things I imagined doing, I haven’t and would never do. It was over for me.
With an angry sigh, I threw my book halfway across the room and collapsed back onto the pillows to let drug induced sleep overcome me.
I woke up sometime the next morning, and almost though about staying there. The muted light of one of those rare sunny days streamed through the window, but it was not cheerful. It made me sick.
Eventually I got up, dragging my miserable feet as I rubbed the lump on the back of my neck and headed to the bathroom. My bald, shiny head gleamed at me, as if it were one of those kids at school, poking fun at my sickness. I tried not to look in the mirror as I brushed my teeth – I wasn’t hungry, so eating first didn’t matter – and washed my face. My fingers rested on my hairbrush, longing to have the feeling of it running through my hair again. I wanted to feel hair on my head, period.
I turned and entered the hallway, slowly heading downstairs. My family was already there, and they glanced up briefly to acknowledge my existence. Wasn’t it supposed to be different when you were dying? Weren’t you supposed to be surrounded by your family, all hugging you and crying? This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.
Feeling low and miserable, I headed out into the backyard, walking around in aimless paths, feeling the sunlight glinting off my bald head. The world around me was teeming with life, happy and warm. But I felt colder than ever – hollow inside.
I slumped down on the grass and watched as a rabbit hopped cautiously across the lawn. His ears pricked up and he turned his head to stare at me. Oh, so now even animals have to pity me?
I fell back into the grass and stared up at the sun, hoping that it might burn my eyeballs out of my head and I would finally die. It didn’t work, and I closed my eyes wearily.
For a long time, I laid just like that, never moving. It was like slipping into a coma, but I could still think, and I could still feel. My chest felt empty and hollow, just a shell. I remembered emotions like love and happiness, but I hadn’t felt them in what seemed like forever.
Edward hadn’t kissed me in nearly two months.
Alice hadn’t tried to drag me to the mall in nearly two months.
Carlisle hadn’t tried to help me with my medical studies in nearly two months.
Esme hadn’t hugged me in that reassuring mom hug in nearly two months.
Emmett hadn’t asked me to play him in Guitar Hero in nearly two months.
Rosalie hadn’t tried to give me a makeover in nearly two months.
Jasper hadn’t tried to get me to read any interesting books in nearly two months.
I wasn’t sure which was worse – feeling abandoned by my family, or knowing that I was abandoning them. I felt horrible for leaving them, which I knew I would. But I felt worse because I knew they were giving me space because they wanted to soften the blow on themselves.
What was the point of living three more months if there was nothing to live for?
I wondered why they didn’t turn me into a vampire like them – then I could live forever, stay with them forever. I wouldn’t have to worry about cancer or dying or radiation on anything like that.
But they thought I was going to live.
More like, they deluded themselves into believing I was going to live. Deep down, they all knew that I was dying – that I was going to die. But they didn’t do anything to try to save me.
What kind of family doesn’t try to save their dying daughter any way they can?
I sat on the porch and watched the sun set. How many sunsets did I have left? Approximately ninety? Thirty days in a month; three months; ninety days. Ninety sunsets.
Edward sat on the porch swing beside me, eyes distant. He was the only one who really interacted with me anymore – if you called sitting-beside-and-making-occasional-small-talk-with interaction.
The sun had just set beyond the trees when I heard a weird rumbling approaching. I craned my neck to hear the sound, so out of place in the uncharacteristic silence. Edward noticed it too, and abruptly stood, arm smacking into me uncaringly on accident. He didn’t apologize, though he glanced down at the spot where his arm hit mine.
Behind me, I could hear the rustling of the curtains on the window. I heard several voices scream, “Bella,” in excited voices. Bella? I’d heard the name somewhere before…but who was it? Some girl that they used to know…
The rumbling got louder, and an ancient red truck pulled into the driveway. In the front seat, I saw a girl, whose image was distorted by the dirt flecked windshield.
Beside me, Edward stopped breathing. I looked up at him anxiously, but his eyes were focused on the girl in the car. I grabbed his arm and shook it fiercely, trying to break him from this trance. He shrugged my hands away, ignoring me completely.
The driver’s side door of the car opened, and the girl stepped out.
“Go inside,” Edward ordered, pushing me towards the door. Although my curiosity swelled inside me – the first real emotion in a while – I obeyed. As I entered the house, I saw the transfixed gazes of my family – all six of the others – trained on the car outside. Their faces were all the same frozen shock, and I could not get the attention of any of them.
I moved to the window on the opposite side of the door and peered out through the curtains. The girl approached the house slowly, locking gazes with Edward.
She was beautiful, slim and pale, with long, wavy brown hair that reached down her back. Her eyes were a deep brown, nestled in her heart shaped face above a small nose and plump lips. Her lips were uneven, the lower one larger than the top.
My mouth fell open in awe as I watched Edward slowly descend the steps and move towards her. He stood away from her, and she was the first to speak.
At the other window, Alice pried the window open so that we could make out the conversation.
“Edward,” the girl began in a soft whisper, breathing his name.
“Bella,” he acknowledged in the same whisper.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, a single tear streaming down her face. “I shouldn’t have left like that.”
“Why did you come back?” He asked curiously.
“Well, I was with Jacob,” Jacob, who? “Like I said before and…he imprinted.” Imprinted? “I knew it would happen, but I tried to hope otherwise. But then we were on our honeymoon in San Francisco and he met this girl…” her speech choked off in a gurgled sob.
“I’m so sorry, Bella,” Edward said out of pity.
“I feel so bad for what I did before – that wasn’t fair. But…will you take me back?” Her eyes shot up to meet his.
“Of course, love.” Love? What was going on? Who was this girl? And why was he calling her love?
He stepped towards her, and I felt my gut twist as he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. The knife of betrayal stabbed me through my back, piercing my flesh and wounding me. It came repeatedly, over and over again. I had to use the windowsill to support myself.
At the other window, my family all had smiles stretched across their faces as they regarded the scene. Alice threw the door open and they all piled out onto the porch to greet her. They pulled her into their arms, showering her with kisses and hugs.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
This girl was here to replace me. She looked just like me – or rather, I looked just like her. The wig was made of the same shade of hair as hers, the same length. My face was shaped the same, with the same nose and similar lips – however, mine weren’t quite as out of proportion as hers – just different eyes. Mine were green, hers were brown.
But Edward had always said I’d look good with brown eyes.
I rushed up the stairs, fueled by my anger and betrayal. I collapsed onto my bed, allowing the heaving sobs to rack my frame.
I’m being replaced, I realized with horrifying clarity. I had only been a temporary replacement for their real sister, and now that I was dying, they’d brought her back. Now there was no reason to keep me alive anymore.
Even worse was the betrayal from Edward. I thought he loved me. I loved him with every bone in my body – more than I’d loved anyone else. He’d always been there for me when I was sad or needed a crying shoulder. He’d kissed me like I’d never been kissed before, treated me with respect and cared for me.
But as soon as that girl showed up to replace me, he turned his full attention to her. He kissed her like he used to kiss me, but more than that. With real passion and love. The love for me was fake, just something to hold him until she came back.