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Chapter Two: Dawn

A/N: Second half of the story! :D I’m not entirely sure if I (sh/c)ould continue this, because my knowledge of Twilight canon is not as extensive as that of the average fanfic writer’s, so please be sure to let me know if you believe this fic is worth the studying needed to continue. On the other hand, if anyone would like to write anything based on this Alternate Reality plotshot, feel absolutely free to! Credit for the original idea would be nice, but not necessary. Enjoy! x3

I--I

You could have saved her.

The words echoed through my mind louder than the torrents of those around me, belonging to the horde of worried students and anxious parents idling in the hospital waiting room. I’d been reading them on purpose, of course, for any updates on Bella’s condition. It wasn’t until I caught Carlisle emerging from the hallway when I flipped through his thoughts and discovered the irreversible had already happened.

You could have saved her.

Before I realize it, I’m pacing circles inside an empty hospital chamber, where I’d been clenching my fists so tightly crescents formed on the skin of my palms. Needless to say, the day’s events had made me anxious, yet the thought of allowing myself to linger in such a state of inexplicable distress only unsettled me further.

You could have saved her.

I could have pushed her to the sidewalk and disappeared before she knew what hit her. I could have done something, anything to stop the truck in the middle of the road, or directed it to crash into some stationary object a few feet away. I could have shielded her with my body and played it off as if I’d been there all along, feigning an injury or two to save face. It was almost tormenting how easily I could have taken Bella out of harm’s way, and even more disturbing considering the fact I did nothing. My selfishness led to her loss. My sense of self-preservation caused her misery.

There were too many risks involved, I fiercely tried to convince myself, there was nothing I could do.

Making physical contact with her could have sent me completely over the edge. Her skepticism could have compromised my secrecy. Anyone involved could have sparked an inquiry based on what they saw--or rather, what they didn’t see.

Normally, I wouldn’t even begin to count how many times my ‘sense of self-preservation’ had led to the suffering of others. Why did I feel such guilt over something I chose to place outside of my control? What happened this afternoon was a tragic accident. I was an ordinary human witness standing a hundred yards away; in the eyes of the public, nothing I could have done would have changed what had happened. I wasn’t being suspected of anything. I was in the clear.

I questioned why I couldn’t forget her, even though I had long since realized the answer.

I wanted to protect her.

I tried to deny it. Oh, how I tried to deny it. What made this human girl any different from the thousands I’ve come into contact with during my abnormally extensive lifetime? Reason was supposed to take precedence over intention, actions of rationality were supposed to overrule the objections of conscience. The truth of the matter went against everything I believed in, everything I have worked for, everything I had experienced, but it was still as plain as the thoughts in my head.

A scream echoed down the halls from a voice I recognized all too well. I shut my eyes and growled loudly in frustration.

Maybe, I remembered thinking, Maybe if I let her get hurt just once. Maybe once, and this mistaken slip of composure would go on to correct itself; maybe once, and her well-being would fall from my concern. Yet, this ambitious plan of mine had backfired much worse than I previously anticipated. I’d never felt more wrong about anything I had ever done in the past. There must have been an answer, a solution, some way to reverse what had been done, some way to cure her of this misfortune, some way to relieve myself of this guilt...

...and then it occurred to me.

Her legs were only useless because the rest of her body was still alive.

Hypothetically, it was plausible. The process of becoming a vampire involved a complete metamorphosis of the human body. The venom would spread throughout every nerve and every cell, rebirthing them, transforming them anew. If she survived the process, the problem would be solved.

If she became one of us, she would be able to walk again.

Instantly, I became enraged with myself. What was I thinking? There’s no way anyone in their right mind would subject themselves to a treatment of such nature; it was barbaric to even imagine placing this affliction, this curse onto another human being.

I stepped outside of the abandoned hospital room and walked at a brisk pace, quietly passing by Bella’s open door. Carlisle was already speaking with her, but I could tell from the look on her face she wasn’t paying attention to the brand of medical consolation he had to offer. Realizing the futility of his efforts, Carlisle stood up from his chair and walked away, making sure to give me a foreboding glance before he left the room. I didn’t have to read his mind to know what he was trying to say. Don’t do anything you’ll regret.

It had taken Bella a few moments to realize I’d been standing there. She averted the direction of her glance almost as quickly as she recognized my presence; droplets began trickling down her near-translucent face like raindrops on a pane of glass, her expression still gentle in her suffering.

What was she thinking?

Despite the fact I rejected the proposal with every fibre of my being, I knew what it was I had to do. It was my fault she was like this; therefore, it was her right to be given the choice. Before I could do this, though, it necessitated extreme patience and caution during the execution of my approach. I would have to slowly become acquainted with her in order to learn of her thoughts, and exactly why I couldn’t read them in the first place. I might even be able to present her with the decision somewhere down the line, if I find she was the kind of person who would be willing.

I watch her eyes drift back to focus on mine as her expression twists into repulsion, most likely mirroring the look I unintentionally don whenever I catch the slightest hint of her scent. Realizing my blunder, I quickly turn my gaze towards the floor and plan where I’m moving next: close enough for her to hear my voice, yet far enough so her scent wouldn’t again overwhelm me to the brink of madness.

Throughout all my planning and foresight, there was only one question which rang clear through my mind. Would she take it or would she leave it?

I face the entrance of the room and take a few uncertain steps forward.

There was only one way to find out.

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