If I Should Fall

By: Tristen Sawyer (Vanity's Insanity)


"Isabella Marie Swan," the nurse's voice entered my ears as she looked over the papers in her hand and gestured at my mother. "Seventeen years old, female, born September 13, 1987, and you say you'd like to admit her to the ward due to, as you put it, other reasons?" The nurse raised an arched brow as my mother cleared her throat and placed slender hands on my shoulders. I slowly tilted my head upwards, staring at the ceiling and letting my shoulders droop.

"Yes, um," my mother began, tucking a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. "You see, a few months ago, Bella's grades starting lowering, she started to withdraw from friends, and as of late she won't even speak to me. You see, I'm going to remarry soon and maybe that has something to do with it, but just look at her. I don't even know if she's even with us in this current moment."

It was funny, y'know? How you could mask yourself so well that the rest of the world would actually be so foolish as to think that you couldn't hear nor see them. How stupid could one be? I just wanted solace; I just wanted freedom from the agony of a world I couldn't understand. Things had just gotten too fast and hard to take in, so I shut down. However, that doesn't mean I'm gone. Even frozen things have beating hearts.

"Is that honestly the only reason?" questioned the nurse as she tapped her nails on the polished wood desk. "Many teenagers go through a reclusive stage, miss. This rea-," however, my mother cut in with a sharp voice before the nurse could finish explaining.

"You don't understand. She screams if I even try to help her comb her hair, I literally had to pull her out of her room today, and she won't eat nor talk to me," my mother spat out before pausing, bringing a hand to her forehead and tensing. "She scratches herself. At night, she goes into these fits and when I come in there are marks up her arms. Please, I took her to a therapist and he said she might just be going through some depressive-rebellious stage, but I know my child. Something's wrong."

Again, I found myself laughing inwardly. Because, you see, my mother didn't know me. Besides that given fact, how can one even begin to think that they know everything about a given creature? The world is full of ignorance; the world is full of fools with fake smiles on their lips and chirping voices that say:

"I understand."

"I can help."

"Just let me in, okay?"

But, that's all so fucking stupid. I don't even understand myself, so how can someone else? You can't fix something that's breaking, you can only risk fracturing it further. And, no, I can't let anyone in. There's not a soul in this world who deserves to walk in the land of invisible agony and screeching voices that is my beautifully twisted mind.

"So, she's both reclusive and self-harms? Still, miss, both of these traits are extremely common in young teenagers. However, I'll get her a room and schedule an appointment with Dr. Hastings, okay? How long would you like us to keep her, miss? As long as it takes, or just a few weeks?" The nurse tilted her head as she moved over to her computer and hovered her fingers over her keyboard.

My mother sighed in relief and nodded. "Thank you, so much. And, yes, as long as it takes."

"Of course, miss," said the nurse as her fingers flew across the keyboard and typed in the given information. I looked up from the nurse's waving brown hair and pudgy cheeks and bore my eyes into my mother's.

You see, when I was a little girl, she told me I'd be something special someday. She didn't care that I stumbled up during ballet practice, she didn't care about the time when I got glue in my hair and had to crop it short, and she didn't care about all the ridiculously stupid things I did. However, that's the catch: she didn't care.

She didn't care when I told her I missed father, she didn't care when I told her I disliked Phil, and she didn't care when I told her I was feeling something so deep and painful that I couldn't explain it.

The world is full of trained liars, didn't you know? There are people who wear painted-on-frowns and corsets made of thorns as they dance through my mind. All the while they whisper things to me; they whisper sweet nothings that keep impaling me from the side until I find myself rocking back and forth on the edge of a cliff. And, soon enough, I won't even try to balance myself any longer. I'll spread my arms and let myself be free from it all.

So, if I should fall, please don't think badly of me.

A/N: Well, here's a really short and probably dreadfully confusing prologue. This is pretty much here to get you interested, to give you a bit of back-story, and for you to get a feel of my writing style. Basically, Bella's going on a downward spiral and her mother has submitted her into a psych-ward. Bella doesn't really know what's happening to her, but her fragile shell is breaking. This story is AU, and it is rated M, due to lemons that shall occur later on! The first chapter should be up soon, and the story will get rolling! You'll get to follow Bella on her journey through madness and love, once I introduce self-harm-obsessed Edward Cullen. I'll try my hardest to not make anything triggering in this story, and I really hope you'll decide to follow this! Thanks, loves!