Bella Hale: Peter Hale's Daughter-A Teen Wolf FanFiction

CHAPTER 67: The Dread Doctors

Deaton had welcomed Bella into his home. But she did not feel welcomed. Deaton was keeping a close eye on her.

Bella had found the outside world strange to her after all those months in Eichen House. The sunlight still bothered her greatly. Bella had completely lost track of time. She did not know what day or month it was or how long she was locked up.

Over a matter of days, Bella grew depressed. She was sad and angry at the same time. Even though she had missed Peter, she hated him at the same time. She was hurt. Really hurt. Hurt at how Peter sent her away, leaving him behind to rot in a cell at Eichen. Bella was now alone. She had no one.

One night, in the room she was staying in, Bella just laid on the bed, staying completely still as she went into a deep sleep.

Tiny hands pressed against slowly fading raised cuts, fingers attempting to slot themselves in the creases. They mapped their way across an abdomen, and up to a head, cupping chubby cheeks and squeezing, red hands leaving crimson stains behind. Eyes fluttered through a sharp twist of pain, before screwing shut.

Buzzing grew from a soft sound in the distance to a deafening boom, three figures appearing around the operating table, observing the figure there attempt to heal. One of them stepped forward, head looming over the startled boy. He scowled up at them from where he was tied down, hands curling protectively over her chest, fingers stretching to cover as much raised skin as they could.

Gloved hands wrapped around her tiny wrists, pulling them away from her chest, the masked head tilting to the side, observing as the raised cuts melted into the girl's skin.

The masked figures' breathing sounded high pitched-mechanical-a noise that sent unease tingling along the girl's spine. She laid there, frozen, as they poked and prodded at her, her wrists still clutched tightly in the first's hands, showing no signs of letting her go soon. Something beat heavily in her chest, an unfamiliar feeling. It was off-vaguely familiar.

A large, heavy hand settled on her chest, pushing down, a loud thundering echoing in her ears as her chest constricted, ribs feeling as if they were to crack open and her heart run away from her in terror. The weight subsided after a moment, and then the hand lifted, moving to grab a notepad that had sat next to the girl, scribbling something; the noise harsh on her ears.

Her wrists were free again, and the figures gone in a flash of lightning, their only reminder of the imprint of fingers around her wrists. She held them close to her chest again, pulling up the scratchy blanket at the foot of the table, and wrapped it securely around her chest.

She woke abruptly from her nightmare, hair clinging to her clammy forehead as she breathed heavily. Bella gasped as she looked around, her cheek pressed to the cold, tile floors of the bedroom floor. She must've fallen off the bed in her sleep. Bella sat up, back against the wall, trying to catch her breath. Her hands shook as she held them up to her face, before smoothing them over her chest.

No scars.

She squeezed her eyes shut and her fingers curled over her heart, teeth gritting; phantom cuts blazing their way across her skin.

Bella stayed there for a moment, staring at the ceiling whilst she took deep breaths. She constantly had to remind herself that she had to take care of herself now.

Bella felt stuck in a cycle. Even after everything that had happened, she was still waking in the middle of the night, tormented by nightmares. They had progressed from just the feeling of being buried alive though. Bella felt so vulnerable.

"Bella?" Deaton walked in, holding out cautious hands, "You alright?"

"Uh-yeah" Bella swallowed, composing herself