Fresh Start (a Twilight fan-fiction)

CHAPTER 20:

Two days. Forty eight hours. Two thousand eight hundred and eighty minutes. One hundred seventy two thousand eight hundred seconds. Two days. My transition took two days. And I felt every hour, every minute, and every second. Agony. Torture. Pain. Not subsiding, but remaining strong for two solid days. Those two days I will never get back. And I will never forget them.
I feel like I'm being sucked down by gravity, but pushed up at the same time. The pressure in my head makes me want to groan. The pain has finally stopped, and I'm so happy I could cry. I grip whatever is under me in shaky fists. Fabric. Rough, but a slight soft touch. The smells in the room are so strong. Medicines, and flowers, and I can even smell what's outside. Lush, green forest, wet soil. I attempt to open my eyelids, but they feel like they're being held down with cinderblocks. Finally I make the effort to flutter my eyelids and finally open them. I look around at Carlisle's doctor room. Everything is so much more brighter, and my eyes can focus on the smallest things. Before I was on the verge of needing glasses, but now everything is so clear. I start to lift my arms to help me sit up, but realize they're held down by simple leather straps. I grimace and easily rip them free. Shocked at my strength, I look down at myself. I'm in a light grey flowing dress, and my skin is so smooth, so perfect, so pale. Like porcelain. I pull myself to a sitting position carefully. I feel my hair lightly and it's so much more softer, like silk. As I start to make another attempt to move, the door opens with a rather loud sounding click. I turn to look at Carlisle, and just like a wave crashing against a cliff, it all comes back. I got bit. I'm a vampire. I suddenly feel like crying with horror and fear, but then realize I can't. Why can't I cry? I blink hard, and then realize, blinking doesn't seem like a necessity. Neither does breathing. I look down at my stomach, breathing in and trying to hold my breath to see. Nothing. I don't need air.
"Eve?" Carlisle asks very gently as my head spins. I dart my eyes up at him.
"Yes?" I gasp at my voice. It's softer.. More alluring. Like a melody. I grip my hair roughly, trying to make sense of it all.
"You should take things slowly." He asks, even gentler. He then takes a careful step towards me. I stand up slowly, and feel my strong legs beneath me.
"Do you have a mirror?" He hesitates.
"I don't think that's a good idea, it might.. Upset you." I spot his handheld mirror, and start to run to it, but everything blurs and I reach the counter across the room in less than a second.
"Woah.." I murmur and grip the mirror tightly before looking into it. I almost do a double take. My lips look more fuller, and have a natural rosy pink tinge to them. My eyelashes are darker and thicker, and when I see my eyes I can't help but drop the mirror, the shattering sounding louder than it usually would in my ears. My irises looked like two round shiny rubies, but most of all, like fresh blood. Blood. I feel my stomach turn. Then I feel Carlisle's hand on my shoulder. For once in my life, his skin didn't feel cold. It felt the same as mine. That means mine must be ice cold. I flinch at his touch but he pulls me into a firm embrace. I start to let out strangled noises, frustrated and confused as to why I can't cry.
"Shhh it's okay. It'll be okay." He strokes my hair. I swallow before whispering weakly,
"Please kill me." Into his sweater. He stiffens and I feel a burning craving in my throat, like fire. I know what would satisfy the craving. I groan and clutch his sweater, weakly leaning on him as his hands gently support me under my back and elbow.
"It seems hard, but it's not." His voice soothes me but at the same time worries me.
"Please." I look up at him. My voice is no longer beautiful, it's weak. Cracked. Small. "Please. Just kill me. I don't want this. I never wanted this." Carlisle shakes his head slowly.
"You'll get used to it," He says softly, insistingly. "Just give it a chance."
I groan again at his words and turn away from him. Suddenly I sense it. No, I smell it. Warm, inviting, comforting. Then he walks in. I take notice of his thick black spiky hair, shining brown eyes, muscular stature. I feel a sudden longing, a need. The stubble on his face makes my knees feel weak. He's Jacob. And he's mine. I startle at this thought, but then I find my legs carrying myself towards him. An uncontrollable grin comes across my mouth as he walks in cautiously. I don't even glance at Carlisle leaving the room and closing the door behind him gently. I finally reach him and look up to see a grimace. But the overwhelming relieved and happy feeling is so immense, I don't take note. I wrap my arms around him, careful not to squeeze too hard, due to my strength. I feel his hot skin under mine, feel his blood flowing through his veins. I involuntarily lick my lips. He pauses, before stepping back slowly. Dread hits me like a train as I look up at him through my eyelashes. He stares at me, eyes wide in an almost disbelieving manner.
"What's wrong?" I whisper, worried as I self-consciously push my hair out of my face.
"You're.." He bites his lip and I see his eyes are watering slightly. I take a step forward instinctively to comfort him but he takes two back. Ouch. I falter.
"I'm what." I say, scared now.
"Eve." He gasps air in and out as if he just ran a mile. "You're so cold."
"I know." I whisper, looking down.
"And lifeless." I flinch at his choice of words. "And your eyes.." I continue to look down, feeling my legs start to shake. "I just.." I glance up once to see him shaking his head slowly.
"I'm still me." I say, holding out my arms pleadingly.
"No." He says, suddenly sounding harsh. But the touch of broken is still in his voice. His next words make my jaw drop in disbelief. "My Eve is dead."
"Jacob." My voice is weak. Hurt.
"You're not even alive." He starts stepping backwards, and I see one tear slip out of his eyes.
"I-"
"Please just stay away from me." His words are dark as he walks out of the room, closing the door behind him as if to get as much between us as he can. The warm, tempting smell disappears as I hear the front door click open before being slammed closed downstairs. He starts his motorcycle and drives out of the driveway. Out of my life.