An Unexpected Awakening

Hi everyone.

Welcome to my first ever Twilight Fanfiction. Note that writing fiction for the franchise is all new to me, but it is fun to write. This story will be a slow update fiction, as I do have a rather busy life. But I will post what chapters I have when I have them. Well, on to the Disclaimer...

Disclaimer:

All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc., associated with the Twilight Saga are the property of Stephenie Meyer. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. This work is created solely for entertainment purposes and is not intended for profit. No copyright infringement is intended.

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I'd never thought much about how I would die, though I'd reasoned enough in the last few years, but things have been looking up these last few months. Life seemed to improve; I've finally found happiness and a family who loves me unconditionally. It would seem that luck was finally on my side.

But then…

The accident happened.

And now it seemed as if fate had other plans for me.

~~~~~~

It's hard to explain what exactly happened. One minute, the familiar post-movie glow of a Twilight marathon. The next, a jarring thud as my car careened into a curb. Metal screamed against concrete, and we were skidding, sliding across what felt like endless streets, each second a terrifying eternity. Then, the darkly humorous punchline in the chaos: a truck emblazoned with the Twilight Saga hurtling towards us. It felt like some bizarre cosmic joke, a final, absurd nod to a series that had, in its own way, marked a chapter of my life. The impact was brutal, a physical force that ripped me from my seat, sending me tumbling, spinning wildly through the air until the sickening crunch of my body meeting the unforgiving brick of a nearby store, windows exploding inwards.

Shards of glass rained down around me, slicing my hands and face.

I remember feeling something warm and wet sliding down my cheeks - maybe from my tears, or maybe it was blood, perhaps both. And then blackness took over, engulfing me in its unforgiving embrace.

~~~~~~

The next thing I knew was the phantom feeling of pain and fear coursing through my limbs as I slowly woke from the unforgiving accident that indeed should have been my death. I curled protectively into a ball, wrapping my arms around… a waist; was I holding another person?

I couldn't control my slowly rising panic as I attempted to open my eyes to see who I was cuddling up to, but I found nothing but darkness.

A sob escaped my throat as I tried to pull away from whoever I was clinging to; however, a soothing voice quickly stopped my struggling and calmed my panic.

*Hey, shh, it's okay. I am here; you are safe.*

As much as I wanted to stay scared and keep on panicking and tell this voice that telling me 'I'm here' or 'You're safe' made no difference to me, I had no idea who they were or what they wanted. Some disembodied voice speaking in my head would not help me, but somehow, it did. To my dismay, I was slowly calming down, listening to this calming voice.

*Who are you?* I asked timidly. However, I was shocked because my voice didn't come out loud as I had expected. A silent question, yet I heard a clear response in my mind.

*I am your twin…* The voice continued soothingly as they tried to comfort me in their way.

*Twin?! What's your name?* I asked, shocked and confused. I did not have a twin, but there was a time when I wished I had a twin growing up alongside me.

*I don't have a name. We are still inside, Mommy.* My twin said hesitantly, but truthfully. Her thought echoed clearly in my mind. Mommy? The word echoed in my mind. It felt…right, yet there was a flicker of something else, something unfamiliar, also stirred. It was like a faint echo of a different connection, a pull in another direction that I couldn't quite place.

*Wait…what?* I was afraid to assume once I woke, but it would seem that I did die and was reborn into a pregnant woman's womb. I have read about things like this in some of my fan-fiction obsessions, but I never thought I would experience something like this before. Ooh, this feels so cringy. Still, things could have been far worse; I could have been mind-wiped before being reincarnated, forced to make the same mistakes repeatedly.

However, for some odd reason, I am feeling ever so slightly insulted and cheated. I died in a stupid car accident; it's nothing to brag about, which is so unfair.

*Yes, I am your twin sister, and we have not been born yet.* She said hesitantly, with a slight, shy tilt in her voice. She was probably wondering what I thought about her now that I was calm and thinking more clearly.

*I have always wanted a twin sister.* I, however, surprised both of us when I squeezed her hand tighter with mine. I am overwhelmed, no doubt about that…My breath hitched in the cramped space, a dizzying mix of disbelief and a strange, unexpected joy bubbling up within me. A warmth spread through my chest, and my grip on her tightened almost involuntarily.

We didn't talk much after that, not because we didn't want to, but because of a lot of screaming from outside my new, or maybe our new, home. It felt better to call our location home instead of calling it a womb.

I gathered with all the screaming that the people outside weren't pleased with the pregnancy. I couldn't help but wonder why. Was she a teenage mother? Did they cheat on each other? Was she assaulted? I had no idea, but there were more voices against us than for us. Each shouted word, each sob, painted a grim picture in my mind, fueling my growing unease about the world we were about to enter. Some of the shouts sounded laced with pain and heartbreak, others with what seemed like personal betrayal, the word "abomination" whispered with chilling intensity more than once. The words 'monster' and 'soulless' echoed more than once. An unsettling feeling, a primal sense of wrongness, prickled at my awareness whenever those words were uttered.

However, there was one voice that stood out from all the screaming voices. It was a voice that called out to my very soul. The voice was smooth and melodic, bathing my soul in a sense of comfort, love, and protection. It reminds me of what home should feel like. This is the voice of my mother, of which I am sure.

It was hard to hear what all the voices were talking about; we couldn't hear their conversation. Muffled by excessive white noise, we could only distinguish a few words; those few words were things I wish I hadn't heard. The voices called my sister and me 'it' or 'monster', and there was also a fight between them regarding abortion. The only comfort I had inside this home was my sister and the voice of my mother.

I could always sense when my mom would press her hand against our home. I always made sure to place my hand on hers whenever she did. This was one of the small ways I could use to show her that I recognized her as my mother, that I accepted her, and that I was waiting for her, too.

I know I should feel grief for my old life, but excitement overpowered it for my new life with my mother. Sometimes, a brief pang of sadness, like a memory of a familiar face or a favorite song, would flicker, but the insistent thrum of anticipation for the future quickly erased it. This was a second chance for me to have an actual mom who would love, care, and cherish my very existence. After all my old life, I never had a mother or a father. I grew up in the foster system, never to be adopted.

I know my mother is waiting for me, and I can't wait to meet her.

Tonight, the screaming was louder than usual. But it would seem that it has finally reached its peak, its climax. I could finally make out a whole sentence as someone screamed. "You gave me no choice!" There was also a lot of sobbing, but this wasn't my mom crying…I could tell as much, but whoever this woman was sounded incredibly upset.

*I'm scared.*

I heard my sister whimper. This was the first time she had ever shown some kind of vulnerability in our relationship. Usually, it was I who needed reassurance, making me firmly believe she was the eldest twin. But now it is my turn to be the one to reassure my sister, and by God, I will. Despite her fear, I also sensed a quiet strength in her, a deep connection to the rhythmic pulse of the body we shared, a silent acceptance of our shared fate within this woman.

*Of what?* I asked as I tried to move closer in this already cramped home of ours.

*I'm afraid that everyone is going to hate us.* She whimpers again, seeking comfort and reassurance.

Ah, yes, this had been on my mind since I started hearing the loud, angry voices, but I needed to do something and help my sister somehow. I now know that some did not seem happy that we were alive, well, aside from my mom. I could hear it in the way she spoke, even if there was this hidden sadness under the way she spoke, something I didn't understand - but something I would do everything in my power to help with.

*Not everyone…some will hate us, yes. But not everyone. Sometimes, the only way people know how to communicate and express themselves is through yelling and sometimes hateful words.* I tried to explain to my upset sister.

*Why?* My sister asked, confused. A wave of her own anxiety, a mirror of mine, brushed against my awareness.

Ah, now that is a hard question to answer. How do you explain that anger, rage, and frustration are the easiest emotions to embrace when you are worried or afraid?

*I don't know…I believe that sometimes it's just easier to be angry than to be afraid.* I explained softly.

She shuffled closer, her small hand finding mine again, a silent acknowledgment of my words and a seeking of continued comfort.

The sobbing and screaming continued for a while, and my concern grew at each passing moment. A knot began to form in my stomach, tightening with each raised voice. I hesitated to admit it, but I found myself feeling a bit scared as I noticed my chest tightening and my heart racing at what was happening outside. I remember once reading a book on pregnancy for a school project that said that pregnant women shouldn't be under all this constant stress, and with what I have been hearing…Well, I wouldn't say that any of this is stress-free. I was even more concerned that she would have a miscarriage and that we would never be able to meet our mothers. That thought alone was like a shard of ice piercing my heart and soul, a sudden, sharp coldness that spread through me.

I quickly shook that thought away when I felt my sister whine in distress at the rise of my emotional turmoil. She was already afraid, and if I became upset as well, then she would feel the need to help me, which in turn wouldn't help her emotional distress.

Wracking my brain, I realized there wasn't much I could do to help her calm down. I can't hold her closer because there's no more room, and my arms are already around her as tightly as possible. So that left music and stories… music or stories always calmed me in some way, so maybe it will help here as well.

*Want me to sing for you? Or would you like me to tell you a story? It should help out with drowning out the loud yelling that's going on.* I offered timidly, afraid that she would reject the only way I could think of calming our emotional turmoil.

*Sing for me…Please?* She said with a nod against my shoulder, and I sang the first song that popped into my head, which happened to be Thousand Years by Christina Perri. It's ironic, I know… after all, it's after a Twilight marathon that I run into a truck that was advertising the Twilight saga, and now I am singing the theme song for Bella Swan and Edward Cullen's relationship. Maybe my subconscious sensed that a new dramatic romance was about to begin for me… or perhaps this franchise will forever hold me captive. I truly am obsessed with this series.

However, the song worked as I felt my sister slowly relax as I sang and rubbed small circles with my fingers slowly into her back until we both fell asleep.

~~~~~~

Sleep became a welcome escape, the endless darkness punctuated only by our whispered songs. But even in dreams, a restless anticipation simmered beneath the surface. The endless darkness began to feel less like a neutral space and more like a suffocating blanket. Each day blended into the next, marked only by the constant pressure and the damp confinement. A fleeting memory of sunlight on my skin would sometimes surface, a cruel reminder of the world I was missing. Even our whispered songs couldn't entirely ward off the growing impatience, a stark contrast to the initial wonder.

My sister's best way of distracting me from my darker thoughts and emotions was to ask me to sing for her. As there wasn't much we could do, singing soon became a lifeline that we used to fight our darker emotions that kept cropping up with the constant fighting that had yet to stop fully. Thankfully, I know a few songs to keep us occupied for a while. I even went so far as to teach the songs to my sister, hoping that she would love music just as much as I do. There was one time I thought I felt a shift in our position, a sudden lurch that sent a wave of mild panic through us both, reminding us of our utter dependence.

The darkness, once a neutral canvas, now felt like a suffocating blanket, a heavy, viscous absence of light that pressed in on all sides. The gentle sway of our watery world had become monotonous. What initially felt like a comforting embrace now felt like a limitation. I longed for light, for space, for the simple act of stretching my limbs without bumping into my sister. The constant muffled sounds from outside, punctuated by those terrifying shouts, kept my nerves frayed. Each indistinct murmur felt like a secret I couldn't unlock, amplifying my anxiety. Sometimes, a wave of pure frustration would wash over me–was this all there was now? An endless, dark confinement punctuated by fear and whispered songs? I even started having these strange, formless thoughts, like echoes of a life l couldn't grasp, adding another layer of unease to the sensory deprivation.

I soon found that I enjoyed the evenings the most…these were the times when it was quiet, with no fighting, just the sound of loud snoring and the soft singing from my mother. The song is hauntingly beautiful and full of emotions that always had me in tears. There was a deep undercurrent of longing in her voice, a sadness that resonated with a part of me I didn't yet understand. But beyond the sadness, there was also a vibrant warmth in her tone, a feeling that vibrated within my very core, a recognition that felt more profound than simply hearing a comforting sound. It was as if her melody was a thread woven directly into my soul.

There was a subtle disconnect, a feeling I couldn't quite articulate. While I felt a closeness to the small hand I held, a primal comfort in our shared confinement, the sound of the singing each night resonated on a deeper level, a chord struck within my very being that the muffled movements of our shared vessel didn't quite reach. Her melody carried a weight of unspoken stories, a tenderness that felt uniquely directed at me. It was a different kind of connection, a pull towards a specific voice, a specific warmth. I had long since figured out that while my sister and I may be twins, we both had different mothers. The logistics of that were a mystery for another time, a puzzle I tucked away for when I had more space to think. This realization, while strange, didn't feel entirely unexpected. There was a subtle difference in the way I felt towards the woman carrying us versus the woman singing - one was a shared space, the other a specific pull. The woman who carried us belonged to my sister, but the one who sang the beautiful song each night…that is my mother.

My sister and I never truly talked about it, never needing to acknowledge it; she was intelligent enough to know and understand that we had different parents. We both accepted it now and need to help our family accept it too. A strange sense of peace settled over me with this understanding. It didn't diminish my growing affection for my twin; if anything, it made our shared situation even more unique. But the longing for the woman whose voice soothed my soul remained, a powerful magnet drawing me towards the moment we would finally meet. I hoped my sister shared my connection to the woman who bore us, and I worried about the angry outsiders' reaction to our unconventional family. But they will understand, because a deep, inexplicable part of me felt intrinsically linked to her, as if my very being recognized her. For I was created to be hers, and I truly cannot wait to meet her.