Update: 11/16/16

Hello! Thanks for giving this story a try, I will be honest, however, I began writing this when I was in middle school and it shows in my writing. Hopefully, though, it improves as you progress so please don't let my cringe worthy scenes put you off. I'd like to believe that after seven years, I've learned a thing or two about my writing style.

Also, the name Izzy will be used but Bella does eventually come about.

All mistakes are mine, forgive me.

Now I will tell you what I've done for you -
50 thousand tears I've cried.
Screaming, deceiving and bleeding for you -
And you still won't hear me.
(Going under)
Don't want your hand this time - I'll save myself.
Maybe I'll wake up for once (wake up for once)
Not tormented daily defeated by you
Just when I thought I'd reached the bottom

I'm going under (going under)
Drowning in you (drowning in you)
I'm falling forever (falling forever)
I've got to break through
I'm going under

Blurring and stirring - the truth and the lies.
(So I don't know what's real) So I don't know what's real and what's not (and what's not)
Always confusing the thoughts in my head
So I can't trust myself anymore

I'm dying again

I'm going under (going under)
Drowning in you (drowning in you)
I'm falling forever (falling forever)
I've got to break through


So go on and scream
Scream at me I'm so far away (so far away)
I won't be broken again (again)
I've got to breathe - I can't keep going under

I'm dying again

I'm going under (going under)
Drowning in you (drowning in you)
I'm falling forever (falling forever)
I've got to break through

I'm dying again

I'm going under (going under)
I'm going under (drowning in you)
I'm going under

The song fades out and I open my eyes slowly. I take a moment to take in my surrounds, a habit I grew into after the first couple of 'sessions', and then turn to Dr. Lopez. His habit after the first few 'sessions' was to look wide- eyed at me and then proceed with a very stupid question.

Clearing his throat, Dr. L says "Very good B-uh Izzy. What was it called?"

I call up years of practice not to roll my eyes at him, and get off the stage I was standing on.
Ever since the new medical plan my parents came up with along with the doctor, the hospital had remodeled an old storage room to act as my room for when I am forced to come in and sing. The stage was hugging against the wall and there was an old table with a cheap music system where I had my

iPod connected to.
I turn my back to my doctor and walk over to it, bending slightly to press the right button. A second later an automatic female voice over comes over and robotically says "Going Under".

I unplug my iPod and grab my backpack, giving Dr. Lopez a pointed look. I was always moodier after a 'session'.

"Appropriate title." He mutters writing something down on my file, which honestly I just wanted to burn.

"Well that was very good, Izzy, your vocal chords are holding strong." The immature brat in me went "Woo" but I just nodded my head, wanting to leave. I came to sing and that was only to appease my mother and father. It's been almost 5 years since I last spoke or used my voice, not including my singing. Including my singing wouldn't have made that much of a difference anyway considering I had only begun to sing, possibly, four months ago.

I'm pulled from my thoughts when I hear Dr. Lopez say,

"Izzy, come in two weeks from now, okay? But instead of one song I would like you to bring three, just to see how long you can hold out without your voice giving out."

Once more I nod and he almost looks expectantly at me; which, rudely I'll admit, makes me question his intelligence. As if after singing one song would make me talk after so many years being silent.

Five doctors from all around the world, well not all around, have tried to 'fix me' and if they couldn't do it, why would number six think he's special? He won't break me, he can't break me. There's nothing, nothing¸ wrong with me. The fact that anyone knew I could still produce sound, even if it was only in song, was because of my careless mistake.

I've had this rhythm in my head all day. It kept me from doing my homework in class and it got me an hour detention, which is where I am heading to now. School ended three minutes ago and I'm taking my damn time in putting my books, that I don't need, into my locker before heading to my doom, well not really but I feel dramatic today.

"Well students of the ungood," …is ungood even a word? Even though I took my time getting to detention others had decided to impersonate a snail and come ten minutes later than I did. So I had one of the first choices in seating, obviously I choose the desk furthest away from the teacher, so I was more than able to make a note to myself on my phone.

Note to self: look up ungood.

"You are all in here for a reason, I really don't care for. So we shall sit here until the hour is up. I suggest you pull out some thing to do because I won't tolerate any noises for the next hour." and with that she plopped down on the chair and picked up a People magazine and started flipping through the pages.

I looked around the classroom; everyone was either texting, or doing something on said piece of paper, but I bet my twenty dollars in my backpack, that it wasn't homework.

I hear the rhythm again in my head but this time it was with words

And when it rains, on this side of town it touches, everything.

I look away from the people and frown at my paper, intrigued at words in my head. the rhythm sounded so familiar, and I liked it a lot. I never wrote a song before, but there wasn't much to do for the next hour so I grabbed my green pen and began to listen to the singing voice in my head.

And when it rains,
On this side of town it touches, everything

The longer I ran the words in my head, the more it continued and I couldn't help but smile to my self as my hand began to write without much pause.

I was so into my song that when the teacher spoke I jumped up and fell off my chair. The kids started laughing, but I'm used to it they know I'm a klutz most of the time.

The class, who obviously thrived in others embarrassment, laughed their hearts out at my expense and if it wasn't for the teacher glaring at every one bar myself, I would have turned around and flipped them off. I was so over that shit four seconds after they started laughing.

"Well class, you have been quiet and I'm impressed. Since there is only," the teacher paused to look at her watch and continued "nine minutes left of this why don't you just pack up and leave." Even before Mrs. Jefferson was done talking, half the class was already gone and by that I mean every one but me was still there.

"Well, thank you Bella – I mean Izzy for waiting for me to finish. You may go now." she said and left.

You know I am beginning to think that Mrs. Jefferson is always starting her sentences with 'well'. Anyway I packed up my papers and I looked at my song.

And when it rains,
On this side of town it touches, everything.
Just say it again and mean it.
We don't miss a thing.
You made yourself a bed
At the bottom of the blackest hole (blackest hole)
And convinced yourself that
It's not the reason you don't see the sun anymore

And no, oh, how could you do it?
Oh I, I never saw it coming.
No, oh, I need the ending.
So why can't you stay
Just long enough to explain?

And when it rains,
Will you always find an escape?
Just running away,
From all of the ones who love you,
From everything.
You made yourself a bed
At the bottom of the blackest hole (blackest hole)
And you'll sleep 'til May
And you'll say that you don't want to see the sun anymore

And no, oh, how could you do it?
Oh I, I never saw it coming.
And no, oh, I need the ending.
So why can't you stay just long enough to explain?

Take your time.
Take my time.

Take these chances to turn it around. (take your time)
Take these chances, we'll make it somehow
And take these chances to turn it around. (take my...)
Just turn it around.

No, how could you do it?
Oh I, I never saw it coming.
No, oh, how could you do it?
Oh I, I never saw it coming.
No, oh, how could you do it?
Oh I, I never saw it coming.
No, oh I need an ending.
So why can't you stay
Just long enough to explain?

You can take your time, take my time.

I couldn't believe that I finished a song. I knew that I was going to have to sing it to see if it was any good, but I didn't want to sing in school. What if someone heard? Oh god, I wouldn't hear the end of it.

With an internal sigh, I pick my shit up and walk out of the building, despite my mood smiling with pride as I see that my car, a Ferrari 458 Mustang Italia. It was without a doubt my baby.

The drive home is the same old, boring routine but as I walk to the front door of my house and notice that my parents' cars aren't around. Which is suddenly a very good thing, now I can sing my song without having to whisper and worry about my parents hovering, like they've been prone to do since I stopped talking

Entering the house, I run up the stairs and to my room, where I hid my guitar under the bed. I had bought it a little over a year ago, just on a whim to keep myself busy when I was finished with my school work. Me and my social life don't agree with each other. If it wasn't for the fact that I changed my doors lock that one time my parents left me alone for a majority of the day, I would never have privacy. So now I'm the only one that has access to my room. My parents don't even know I own an instrument.

After tuning the guitar I start playing the same tune that was in my head and I liked it, I really did…

"Izzy are you home!" My mother asked, coming through the front door with a bag of groceries just as I'm going downstairs to get a drink of water to calm the ache in my throat.

"I'm right in front of you," I would have said, but that doesn't exactly work when you don't speak. Quickly I go to her and grab the bag from her then take it to the kitchen, where she follows starting to blab on and on about her day. I learnt early on to just zone her out.

As I put away the groceries, I start planning the food dishes I can make with what she bought. My mom may be good at talking and her work but she was a shit cook.
I keep moving around the kitchen, putting everything in it's place.
And it's when I finally stop to take a drink of water do I realize, with my own private smug smile, that even though my parents hover, they don't care enough of a shit about me to try figure out that I started singing today.

But I cocky and careless, about a month later I had been playing and singing once more but this time I wasn't being alert. I didn't hear their cars come up the drive way or when they called out my name.

What I did hear was their simultaneous gasps as they came into my room mid song. They found me on the floor of my room playing the guitar utter my 'first words' and they were over joyed. I found them invading my privacy with tears beginning to stream down my mothers face.

Immediately they began to ask me questions that I wouldn't answer. When they realized this they, almost roughly, pulled out of my room and down to the police cruiser where they took me to the hospital and demanded I get checked out once more.

All the doctors gave up on me after the third week they had me. It's only a matter of time before Dr. Lopez gives up on me too. I try to zone back in, to listen what Dr. L was saying but I didn't really care at this point. Like the good daughter my parents expected me to be when I was at the hospital I nodded my head to whatever he was saying and then waved goodbye.

"Bye Izzy!" The ditzy secretary, Jenna, calls out. Again I force myself not to roll my eyes; the hospital was boarding the doctor-patient confidentiality with my case.

When I came in to sing, they set up the sound system to go around the entire hospital, like a concert. But I don't even get paid, which is fucking bullshit.

I didn't have a say in the situation (ha, say in it, oh I crack myself up), my parents and Dr. L had set up a contract of sorts that would keep my medical files in strict confidentiality, but that the hospital was more than welcome to play my singing if they felt like it.

Was that even legal? Fuck if I know. It didn't annoy me enough to actually call up the authorities and ask if it was though. In two years I'll be eighteen and all this doctor-singing crap will be over.

Just two year, twenty- four months, that's not a lot…or that's what I keep telling myself anyway.

The day is cloudy and it's misting lightly, as I make my way to my car and drive back home.

"Isabella." I hear my father, Charlie who happened to be chief of police, call out my full name. I had made everyone I know call me 'Izzy', and for the most part they did, it was parents who dared to call me 'Isabella' when they were going to lecture me.
"Come into the living room. Now please." His voice was stern and even though he tried to hide it, I could tell his was pissed.

I drop my backpack onto the floor and drag my feet to the living room, where I find my mother, Renée, next to my father. They were sitting on the love seat, my mother clutching the wireless phone in her hands. She wasn't looking at me.

"Sit down." Charlie says and I obey, mostly to just hurry this up. They only did this 'family meeting' thing, when my current doctor calls them and says he's no longer going to be in charge of case. One of them even went as far as to tell them "I'm not going to waste my college degree on your hopeless case."

I see a vein straining in my father's neck.

This was going to be good…


Going Under - Evanescence

When It Rains - Paramore

Let me know your thoughts please!