Chances That You're Burning Through

Original | Alternate Ending

~Anabelle's POV~

My head is pounding. I softly groan, opening my eyes only to quickly shut them to avoid being blinded by the bright fluorescent lights. I cautiously try to open my eyes again, blinking to prevent them from watering. Shifting my gaze around, I realize that I am in a hospital room; however, I have no idea how I got here or why I'm here.

"Hello, Anabelle," a doctor greets me, entering my room with Demi in tow.

"Um, hi," I mutter, trying to sit up but returning to my previous horizontal position as another painful pulsating sensation attacks my skull.

"Here," Demi reaches to my bedside, pressing a button to raise the back of my bed up so that I'm able to sit.

"Thanks."

"You took a nasty fall," the doctor informs. "You were unconscious for almost three hours."

"Had your dad and I worried sick," Demi adds.

"A fall?" I furrow my eyebrows.

"Out on the ice rink," She explains, making no sense to me whatsoever.

"She only has a slight concussion," the doctor reassures. "Nothing to fret over too much."

"I-I was in a car crash," I remind. "And so were you, mom."

"You said that confusion can be one of her side effects, yes?" Demi looks at the doctor, seeming to be not surprised by my outburst at all.

He nods.

"I'll go get the prescription for her pain pills," He smiles, exiting the room.

"We were in a car crash," I reiterate. "You, me, and Wilmer."

"Wilmer?" She quirks an eyebrow, wearing an amused smirk. "I guess you're still upset about him chasing that boy away at the rink, aren't you?"

"What? No. I have no idea what you're talking about," I groan.

I suddenly see familiar brown pigtails bounce into the room.

"You ruined my eighth birthday, Bells-Bells," Bri pouts, crossing her arms.

"Sorry?" My apology comes out as a question because I can't remember it being her birthday.

"Bri, I told you not to bother your sister," Wilmer scolds with Bec trailing behind, soon followed by Joe and Blanda.

"She's confused," Demi tells them.

"I'm not confused," I snap.

A quiet knock on the door alerts us as my doctor returns, handing a piece of paper to my mom.

"Now, Anabelle," he approaches me, removing a silver, thin flashlight from his coat pocket. "I need you to follow this light, okay? And tell me everything that you remember."

I blink as my eyes begin to water when he temporarily blinds me.

"Wilmer, my mom, and I were all in a car accident."

"Where were you headed?"

"A rehab facility."

"Why?"

"Because I attempted suicide," all of my answers are in monotone as I concentrate on following the dull beam.

He finally clicks off the flashlight.

"Anabelle, none of that happened," Demi insists.

Irritated, I push the duvet away from my body, revealing my arms. My bare arms. Arms not bandaged. Arms not scarred. I stare at them, baffled. They look as if I never took a blade to them.

"May I stand?"

My doctor nods, and I carefully rise to my feet. Using the window as a mirror, I stand with my feet together. My thighs touch, not in an unhealthy way, but they definitely touch. I'm no longer skin and bones. I have slight curves. I'd rather have curves than bones any day.

"So, there was no car crash," I slowly clarify. "I was never an orphan. I never had an eating disorder. And I never harmed myself," I turn away from the mirror to find shocked, confused, and worried faces. "Does that mean that Joe isn't my dad?"

"What?" Joe and Demi gape at me in unison.

"I'll take that as a 'no'," I mutter.

"Just how hard did you hit your head?" Bec snorts.

"I," I fall silent, the haze of confusion gradually lifting. "I was dreaming," I almost laugh. "I remember now. Bri wanted to go ice-skating for her birthday, and I was angry with you," I point to Wilmer, my dad. "Because you scared off that cute guy."

"He had piercings and tattoos," Mom deadpans. "Yet was your age."

"Has anybody ever said that you're the most hypocritical person ever?" I roll my eyes. "So, I tried to make up for what you did, Dad, by impressing that guy with my ice-skating skills, which turned out to be more of a lack thereof," my cheeks flush at my stupidity.

"And, although I love you like a daughter, I'm not your dad," Joe restates.

"Right. Sorry about that," I mumble with hot cheeks.

"That's one crazy sounding dream," Bec interjects.

"You have no idea."

"You should write a book," she jokingly suggests.

"Maybe I will," I stick my tongue out at her. "Wait," I realize that I'm still confused about one thing. "Does that mean that you're not pregnant?" I ask Demi.

"You're pregnant?" Blanda squeals, looking at my mom.

My mom shares a glance with my dad.

"We weren't going to tell anybody just yet," she arches an eyebrow at me.

"Oh, whoops," I snicker.

"Can I plan the baby shower?" Blanda continues to squeal.

"Blanda, I just figured out, like, yesterday," Demi chuckles as the other woman pouts. "But, yes, you can," Blanda brightens at my mom's words.

"So, I get a brother now?" Bri grins.

"Yup," I appease her.

"Why would you tell her that?" Mom hisses at me. "What if it's another girl?"

"If it's another girl, it's a shame that we have so much money 'cause someone should be buying lottery tickets," I snort. "We could always just cut her hair really short or tell Bri that 'he' likes to wear dresses."

She rolls her eyes at my suggestions.

"'Thanks for your helpful suggestions, Anabelle.' 'Oh, why thank you, mom'," I sarcastically mutter.

"I think I liked you better when you unconscious and quiet," Joe jokes. "And I'm sure that everyone will agree with me."

"Yeah, well, I think I liked you better in my dream when I hated your guts," I shoot back.

"That's just cold," he mockingly shakes his head. "What'd I ever do to you?"

"Well," I click my tongue. "Do you honestly want to know what I dreamed?"

"No," he chuckles, and I glare at him. "Just tell me what happened to me in your dream."

I arch an eyebrow.

"So you do want to know everything?"

He blinks.

"That is not what I said."

"Go on, Anabelle," mom interjects. "I'll listen."

"Well, it all started at an orphanage-,"

"Orphanages don't exist in the U.S. anymore," Joe interrupts.

"Was this your dream?" I scoff. "No. So shut up and listen," I roll my eyes before continuing. "Like I was saying, it all started at an orphanage with a broken shell of a girl and a woman searching for her daughter..."