I Write Sins, Not Tragedies [An Emmett Cullen Love Story]

Chapter Two

I Write Sins, Not Tragedies 

Chapter Two: Strange Places, Stranger People

I should have heard sirens. No. Erase that. I shouldn't have heard anything. I should have been dead. I was starting to gain back some awareness as to my surroundings, and unfortunately my condition as well. My entire body felt like one huge bruise; everything killed. This was another thing that told me I was still alive. Heaven shouldn't feel like this, not by any "survivor" accounts anyway. Unless I was in hell, but I couldn't think of anything I had really done to deserve that either. 

There were some muffled voices below me, as if they were traveling up from some other room. There were no sounds of medical equipment as to alert me that I may have been in a hospital. It was fairly quiet. I tried to strain my ears to listen to what the voices were saying, but it only made my head throb and a ringing noise take center stage in my eardrums. 

After a moment the voices broke off suddenly, and footsteps could barely be heard as they came closer to wherever I was. It made me nervous, not knowing where I was or what was going on. I could hear the noise of a door moving, I didn't know if that meant it was opening or closing because I still hadn't dared to open my eyes, I wasn't even sure that I was able to for that matter. 

I had felt a sharply cold hand grab gently onto my wrist, as if they were searching for a pulse. My eyes shot open with a gasp at the sudden and drastic change of temperature. 

Before me was a tall blond man dressed in a light blue shirt and a lab coat, which brought me to the conclusion that he was a doctor, although he appeared to be entirely too young for the title. He was no darker than the white walls around him and his eyes were a unique shade of yellow. His face was absolutely perfect in structure. It was like I had stepped into an episode of one of those hospital drama shoes like Grey's Anatomy. The man smiled apologetically and when he spoke to soothe me, his voice matched his beautiful appearance. "Sorry about that. I know they are very cold." 

I wanted to open to speak, but my throat was way too dry are sore. 

"My name is Dr. Carlisle Cullen." The man continued, monetizing the conversation understandingly; answering any questions I may have had. "You were in a car accident on Monday morning, just north of here." He paused to check a few more of my vitals. "You were brought here to mine and my family's home in Portland soon after and we have been taking care of you these last few days." 

This frightened me. There has been an accident, he said. A few days. All of his words continued to replay in my mind and I felt a constricting in my chest. I looked around for another bed, searching for my mother. When I didn't see one panic started to sink in. The words hurt not only my throat, but my heart. "My mother. Where is my mother?" 

The doctors face darkened and he look downward. I knew before he had even said anything what his answer was going to be. "Your mother, I'm sorry. Your mother was too badly injured in the accident. She was dead when we found the wreckage." He didn't meet my eyes, for which I was glad. The sympathy in them, by which I knew by his voice, would have made the grief all the more unbearable. 

The doctor carefully and silently replaced a few of my bandages and tidied my bed before he spoke again, his voice still soft and compassionate. "There is a bell on that table right there." He pointed to an end table on the right side of me, "If you need anything at all, just ring it. Someone will come in and take care of you." 

As soon as the doctor closed the door tight behind him, I cried. 

I didn't keep track of time. I couldn't tell you whether it had been days, or weeks. I slipped in and out of a sleep and in and out of fits of grief for what felt like forever. All the while I kept thinking that my mother was going to show up at some point, right out of the rainclouds that constantly covered the sky. But I was a logical person, and I was well aware that death was final; and when we die we simply cease to exist. Except for the loved ones that we leave behind to remember us. 

The doctor came in once or twice a day to check on me and clean me up. He would fill me in on my recovery progress and I would listen halfheartedly. Sometimes he would bring in food, and he would tell me that his wife prepared it out of worry. I wouldn't eat it, though. I would only nod and wait for him to leave the room before rolling over and trying to sleep for some temporary escape. 

If only the drugs he were giving me were stronger. 

It was a while before anyone knew came in. I didn't know what day it was, as I didn't even bother to keep up with the days of the week. All I knew was that the pain of the aftermath was starting to subside, even if the relief were only physical. It was a woman that came in to check on me. She was just as pale as the doctor had been, and she bore the same strange yellow eyes as he. Her hair was shoulder length and caramel in color, like silky waves. 

It was she that carried in a meal this time. Perhaps it was to give me a break from the same old, same old. "Hello." When she smiled at me, I could tell it was with a genuine friendliness and concern. It reminded me of the way my mother smiled at me. That made me sick and I cursed myself a little for even thinking of the comparison. "I thought you might be hungry. You haven't eaten at all since you've been here." 

I didn't answer, I just followed her with my eyes as she came to set the plate down on the table. 

"I don't know what you like, so I have just made a little bit of everything." She looked at me, and it was a pleading in her eyes, and a real maternal concern for my health. It was as if she were waiting for me to try it, just to take a bite. Something about her made me feel guilty, so I turned my attention to the plate. 

It was, indeed, a little bit of everything. There was some roasted chicken, some pasta, a baked potato, some green bean casserole. It was only a bite or two per option, but it was clear that she was really putting in an effort to keep me pleased. It smelt absolutely mouthwatering, and it looked like it had taken her all day. That thought made me sad; sad that I had been rudely sending back food untouched all this time. I picked up a fork and grabbed a bite of green beans.  

Once I had chewed and swallowed she spoke again. "I know this must all be so much to deal with, especially the loss." I continued eating while she was talking; the food was so good that I couldn't stop myself. I didn't realize how hungry I really was. She seemed satisfied. "I just want you to know, that you are safe here; and you can stay for however long it takes you." 

She stayed with me while I ate. I didn't speak to her, but I liked to listen to her talk; her voice was musical. She never got into deep matters, it was all small talk. Oddly, I liked the company. 

"You know, I would love to know your name." She finally got around to asking questions. Questions made me nervous. "That way we could at least make you feel more welcome." 

I thought about it before I answered. I was hoping this was going to be all I would have to reveal. I didn't want to dive into my life story for this stranger. "Mary." 

The lady smiled then, as if she had won a war getting it out of me. "Hello, Mary." She smiled again, but stood up this time, reaching for the empty plate. "Welcome to our home, you can come out whenever you are ready to meet everyone else. Carlisle says you are ready to start walking around on your own again." Just before she walked out of the doorway, she turned and spoke one final time. "I'm Esme, by the way." And with that, the door closed and I was alone again. 

Everyone else? Geez, how many more of these strange pretty people were there? All I knew was that I wasn't exactly ready to find out. I pulled the blankets back over my head, and with a full belly, fell right back asleep.