Author's note: Yes, I know this has been changed. I've been going through a lot of editing, including some structure changes. Bear with me.
Part One
Prologue
“I’m not insane. I’m not. Go away.” My voice was strangled, lost among the many voices around me.
The doctors dressed in green smocks and masks poked and prodded me, stabbing needles into my arm and listening to my heart. I was a bug under a microscope. They muttered words to each other, too quiet for me to hear. Everyone was in a panic.
My eyelids felt heavy. One of the syringes must have had something to make me tired.
No.
What were they doing? Staring at the grey tiles above me, I refused to let the drugs take me under. Footsteps echoed around me and it looked like the ceiling tiles were moving. Hands were pressing down on me, attempting to force me to stay still. I stared up at the square tiles and concentrated on the specks on each one, on the pristine shape. The sharp prick of the needle made me yelp, and my eyes started to close.
Maybe if I counted to myself, I’d be able to fight off the sleepiness that was about to consume me.
One, two, three...stay awake.
Four, five, six…don’t close your eyes.
Seven, eight, nine...stay awake…stay awake…
My hair was a tangled mess around me as I blinked away sleep from my eyes. The paper on the bed crinkled below me as I shifted my weight, stretching my muscles. A pillow had been placed under my head, but it felt like it was filled with rocks. How long had I been out? Where was I?
A needle had been jabbed into my arm, an IV slowly dripping liquid into a tube. A white hospital gown hung on my skinny frame and judging by the breeze, I wasn’t wearing any pants. My feet were freezing, too. I slowly sat up, silently removing the needle from my arm and wincing as I tried to rub some feeling back into my feet. My hands were like ice, so it didn’t help much. Large tremors rolled through my body; goosebumps had risen on my skin. My stomach made a noise that was only comparable to a dying whale; it felt very hollow. When was the last time I had eaten? The trays of cold mush they brought me from the cafeteria every day was not even worth forcing down. Each day, I had refused the sludge they called a meal.
My throat itched. I was very dehydrated and silently wondered if there was any water nearby. My eyes were suddenly drawn to the window; it was snowing like crazy.
Crazy.
“I’m not crazy,” I whispered to nobody in particular.
“You’re not,” A voice said from the doorway, as soft and gentle as velvet. My head snapped towards the voice immediately. A doctor was standing there, dressed in a green smock and mask like the rest of them.
“Go away.” I turned away from him. He was just like the rest of them. He was probably here to stab more needles into my arm or force feed me something gross.
“You’re not crazy,” he said to me. He strode to my bed and I realized how huge he was. Tall, with big slabs of muscle up and down his arms, with a wide, strong chest and back. Even under the smock, I could tell he was built. His dark eyes held such warmth that I couldn’t look away. “What’s your name?” he pulled his mask down, so I could see his smile. My cheeks heated immediately.
“Bella,” I rasped.
“Would you like some water, Bella?”
I stared at him, raising an eyebrow. Searching his face, I realized he was different than the other doctors. There was a kindness to him. Warmth.
He held out a tiny paper cup and I refused. I knew better; he was probably trying to find a sneaky way to give me more medicine. Even if he was handsome, I still couldn’t trust him. I shuddered, turning away.
Curiosity got the better of me and I turned my head to look at him. His eyes were such a deep brown that I couldn’t look away and I felt my hand reach for the cup. My eyes never left his as I gulped down the cup of water.
“Better?” He asked when I handed it back to him.
“I’d feel better if I wasn’t here,” I mumbled miserably. “I hate this place.”
He smiled and then effortlessly picked me up from the hospital bed, cradling me in both his arms.
“What are you doing?!” I squealed, kicking and beating my fists against his chest. It was like punching a brick wall. Tears poured out of my eyes as I tried to twist around and escape his grip.
“Shhh…Bella…calm down. I’m not going to hurt you.” His voice was as soothing as a warm bath. He waited a few moments for me to stop fighting him, and then wiped away my tears with his gloved hand. I could feel the warmth of his skin through his glove. His eyes held such sincerity that I couldn’t help but weep. My tears stained the shoulder of his smock as I cried. Softly stroking my cheek, he waited until I was calm and set me down into a wheelchair I hadn’t noticed before.
“I’m tired,” I said suddenly, defeated.
“I know. You were out for a long time and the drugs haven’t completely worn off yet.” he nodded, pushing me down the hall.
“Where are we going, doctor?”
“Don’t worry,” he chuckled. I relaxed a little, settling back in the chair. He stopped momentarily to wrap a blanket around my shoulders. The corners of my mouth lifted into a smile for the first time in a long time. Maybe the doctor wasn’t such a bad guy after all.
He pushed me down another hallway. I must’ve been hallucinating, because the next thing I knew, we were on the roof of the mental hospital. Snow fell in flakes onto the blue fleece blanket covering me and I shivered, looking around. How did we get on the roof?
“Bella, I’m going to help you,” he said gently, kneeling in front of me.
but seriously does Dylan believe he's helping Bella?
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