Grief, 1/5- Denial
Title: Grief, 1/5- Denial
Author: wingsss
Rating: K+
Summary: On her way back from Jacob's in chapter 8 of Eclipse, Bella's motorcycle is hit by a truck. She never makes it back to the Cullen's house. The following one shots highlight the reactions of Bella's closest friends and family.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. I just move them around for my own amusement, and hopefully yours also. Hope you enjoy!
Author's note: This fan fiction is written as a series of one shots from the perspectives of characters in the 5 different stages of grief as described by psychologist Elisabeth Kübler-Ross in her book "On Death and Dying." They are denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.
"…His words cracked like the snaps of a whip. 'Anything. Anything else. You'd be better off dead. I'd rather you were.'
I recoiled like he'd slapped me. It hurt worse than if he had.
And then, as the pain shot through me, my own temper burst into flame.
'Maybe you'll get lucky,' I said bleakly, lurching to my feet. 'Maybe I'll get hit by a truck on my way back.'
I grabbed my motorcycle and pushed it out into the rain. He didn't move as I passed him. As soon as I was on the small, muddy path, I climbed on and kicked the bike to life…"
Eclipse, first edition, page 183
Denial- Charlie Swan
This was the very worst part of my job.
Honestly, being police chief in Forks is not a particularly difficult profession. Sure, I take a great deal of pride in what I do, but my job involves a fair bit of paper work… the occasional traffic ticket, or rowdy teenagers defacing the park… but nothing unbearable. Fridays, the officers and I play cards for a large chuck of the day.
The one exception to this is traffic accidents. The roads in Forks are of course, always slick from rain. Lots of trucks pass through here... and sometimes the accidents can get pretty bad. But mostly, the cars are worse off than their passengers. The once exception to this is motorcycle accidents. Which is why I was so livid when Jacob told me about Bella's bike. It sent me into a blind rage.
So when I got a call today about a motorcycle and truck accident, I was prepared for the worst. It sounded bad, just over the phone. I led the ambulances from the hospital to the site of the crash, about half way on the road between La Push and Forks. I pulled over and parked the car swiftly, falling into the flurry of activity around me.
I got out my witness report papers. The woman who called was standing with the driver of mid sized truck on the side of the road. I had to get their accounts while they were still fresh in their minds.
But when I got out of the car, I stopped short. In front of me was a motorcycle I was vaguely familiar with. It was black, fairly small, and clearly homemade. This was Bella's motorcycle.
My breath caught. I dropped what I was holding, and blindly ran forward. Everything that happened after that was a blur. The paramedics were loading Bella-my beautiful Bella-on to a stretcher. Her eyes were closed, her clothes were stained with blood. There was a cut on her head, the blood ran red against her pale skin. They checked pulse, respiration, and loaded her into the ambulance. It raced off in lightning speed.
That was all I could take of the scene. I sank to my knees on the spot, shards of glass biting my skin. Another police cruiser had arrived. Someone was doing my job, questioning the truck driver and witness to the accident. Someone else from the station was pulling me to my feet. I don't even know what they said, or who they were, even though it was one of my junior officers. But whoever he was drove me to the hospital.
After what seemed like hours in the waiting room, but could have been just minutes, a doctor approached me. I stood up, eyes frantically searching his face.
"I am so, so sorry, Charlie," he said.
I shook my head vigorously. "No. No, no, no!" I was yelling. There was no one else in the waiting room to hear my futile protests.
Again, the doctor spoke. He put a hand on my shoulder, in what was supposed to be a comforting gesture. It didn't feel that way.
"I am terribly sorry Charlie. We did everything we could for her, but she didn't survive the crash. Would-"
I protested again. This wasn't real. Any moment I would wake up to Bella making breakfast. Getting ready for school just like any other morning. She was so beautiful-she was in love. She had such a bright future. She wasn't dying today.
"Charlie, would you like to see her?"
I was vaguely aware that I nodded, even though I wasn't sure if that was what I wanted right now. I was lead through the white halls to the trauma room, where she lay still on the table. She was paler than ever, and sick looking. She was still. So still. I stumbled blindly over to the table, and put my head on her chest. There was no heartbeat, there were no more breaths. In my head, all I heard was no, no, no! But I was running out of arguments against this, the cold truth in front of me. I stepped back, trying to compose myself.
I picked up her hand-it felt ice cold. She was already cold. There was nothing more to be done, nowhere to go from here. I turned on my heel and left, unable to look at my daughter-vibrant, feeling, beautiful Bella-so still and cold on the table.
Author: wingsss
Rating: K+
Summary: On her way back from Jacob's in chapter 8 of Eclipse, Bella's motorcycle is hit by a truck. She never makes it back to the Cullen's house. The following one shots highlight the reactions of Bella's closest friends and family.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. I just move them around for my own amusement, and hopefully yours also. Hope you enjoy!
Author's note: This fan fiction is written as a series of one shots from the perspectives of characters in the 5 different stages of grief as described by psychologist Elisabeth Kübler-Ross in her book "On Death and Dying." They are denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.
"…His words cracked like the snaps of a whip. 'Anything. Anything else. You'd be better off dead. I'd rather you were.'
I recoiled like he'd slapped me. It hurt worse than if he had.
And then, as the pain shot through me, my own temper burst into flame.
'Maybe you'll get lucky,' I said bleakly, lurching to my feet. 'Maybe I'll get hit by a truck on my way back.'
I grabbed my motorcycle and pushed it out into the rain. He didn't move as I passed him. As soon as I was on the small, muddy path, I climbed on and kicked the bike to life…"
Eclipse, first edition, page 183
Denial- Charlie Swan
This was the very worst part of my job.
Honestly, being police chief in Forks is not a particularly difficult profession. Sure, I take a great deal of pride in what I do, but my job involves a fair bit of paper work… the occasional traffic ticket, or rowdy teenagers defacing the park… but nothing unbearable. Fridays, the officers and I play cards for a large chuck of the day.
The one exception to this is traffic accidents. The roads in Forks are of course, always slick from rain. Lots of trucks pass through here... and sometimes the accidents can get pretty bad. But mostly, the cars are worse off than their passengers. The once exception to this is motorcycle accidents. Which is why I was so livid when Jacob told me about Bella's bike. It sent me into a blind rage.
So when I got a call today about a motorcycle and truck accident, I was prepared for the worst. It sounded bad, just over the phone. I led the ambulances from the hospital to the site of the crash, about half way on the road between La Push and Forks. I pulled over and parked the car swiftly, falling into the flurry of activity around me.
I got out my witness report papers. The woman who called was standing with the driver of mid sized truck on the side of the road. I had to get their accounts while they were still fresh in their minds.
But when I got out of the car, I stopped short. In front of me was a motorcycle I was vaguely familiar with. It was black, fairly small, and clearly homemade. This was Bella's motorcycle.
My breath caught. I dropped what I was holding, and blindly ran forward. Everything that happened after that was a blur. The paramedics were loading Bella-my beautiful Bella-on to a stretcher. Her eyes were closed, her clothes were stained with blood. There was a cut on her head, the blood ran red against her pale skin. They checked pulse, respiration, and loaded her into the ambulance. It raced off in lightning speed.
That was all I could take of the scene. I sank to my knees on the spot, shards of glass biting my skin. Another police cruiser had arrived. Someone was doing my job, questioning the truck driver and witness to the accident. Someone else from the station was pulling me to my feet. I don't even know what they said, or who they were, even though it was one of my junior officers. But whoever he was drove me to the hospital.
After what seemed like hours in the waiting room, but could have been just minutes, a doctor approached me. I stood up, eyes frantically searching his face.
"I am so, so sorry, Charlie," he said.
I shook my head vigorously. "No. No, no, no!" I was yelling. There was no one else in the waiting room to hear my futile protests.
Again, the doctor spoke. He put a hand on my shoulder, in what was supposed to be a comforting gesture. It didn't feel that way.
"I am terribly sorry Charlie. We did everything we could for her, but she didn't survive the crash. Would-"
I protested again. This wasn't real. Any moment I would wake up to Bella making breakfast. Getting ready for school just like any other morning. She was so beautiful-she was in love. She had such a bright future. She wasn't dying today.
"Charlie, would you like to see her?"
I was vaguely aware that I nodded, even though I wasn't sure if that was what I wanted right now. I was lead through the white halls to the trauma room, where she lay still on the table. She was paler than ever, and sick looking. She was still. So still. I stumbled blindly over to the table, and put my head on her chest. There was no heartbeat, there were no more breaths. In my head, all I heard was no, no, no! But I was running out of arguments against this, the cold truth in front of me. I stepped back, trying to compose myself.
I picked up her hand-it felt ice cold. She was already cold. There was nothing more to be done, nowhere to go from here. I turned on my heel and left, unable to look at my daughter-vibrant, feeling, beautiful Bella-so still and cold on the table.