Author: Sweet303 PM
Not really good at summaries but briefly: Paul imprints on Bella who has been abused. Rated M because abuseRated: Fiction M - English - Romance/Drama - Paul & Bella - Chapters: 9 - Words: 13,327 - Reviews: 78 - Favs: 128 - Follows: 165 - Updated: 11-07-11 - Published: 11-15-10 - id: 6478911
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
(If you've ever read the Mortal Instrument series, which is fabulous, then you might know I stole this title from Cassandra Clare.)
I sat curled into the corner, beaten and bloodied, angry and depressed, things I never had a problem with before but now did. My breathing was difficult, coming I short painful gasps that sort of made me feel like a fish out of water. Earlier this evening Phil, my uncle; no matter how much I wished other wise, came home drunk, as usual.
"Beelllaa!" Phil's slurred scream came up the stairs along with his pounding foot steps, unsteadily making his way upstairs, fear striking my heart at these simple noises. He never had to worry about neighbors hearing his screaming, or mine, we lived in the middle of no where, in the middle of LaPushes forest. I could hear his foot catch on one of the steps and he would stumble forward; cussing in irritation and screaming my name out again as it were my fault he couldn't walk straight. Immediately I stood up, fight still in me amazingly, as this had been going on for months. My parents had died in a car crash about seven months ago and I was shipped off to the closest relative, who was unfortunately my uncle Phil, who I had never even heard of until the day I was told I would be living with him. Moving me from sunny California to constantly rainy LaPush, not that I noticed the weather much being constantly locked inside this dismal room, that was when hell ascended.
Phil was a huge man, usually I was thankful for the strong genes my family had, but now I wished more than anything it had skipped a generation, specifically his. I pushed my back up against the door, using all my minimal weight to keep it from opening. Phil wasn't feeding me well, on top of that I have always been thin, I had a body of an athlete, which was slowly disintegrating with malnourishment. Before, in this basically empty room there was a chair that I would take and shove under the door knob to keep him out, unfortunately after awhile he found out that was what I was using to slow his entrance into the room and took it away. Now I had to use my body to keep the door shut for as long as possible and it was becoming increasingly hard. Hearing the jiggling of his keys and scraping as he drunkenly tried to find the keyhole that would give him access to me, my legs began to tremble, my body instantly recognizing the signs of the impending danger. Finally he found the keyhole and tried to slowly open the door at first, which wasn't really working with me leaning against it.
"Bella, Bell, Bellaaa…" He called out, trying to sound patronizing as if I were a dog but failing miserably and only sounded like a retard. Eventually he realized the door wasn't opening easily and I heard him back away from the door, in the next instant I was sent flying across the room and Phil stumbling in. Finally catching what little balance he had left he turned to look at me with blurry red eyes, "Com'er ya lil' bitch." Grabbing my long blond hair; that I once loved but now only saw as a weapon that could be used against me. He slammed up against the wall and I immediately lashed out; clawing his face with the little energy I had left from the past seven months. He cried out and retaliated with his meaty fist plowing into my stomach, forcing all the air out of me and crack something painfully. He released my hair and I fell to the ground, as time past the quicker I lost these battles and had no more fight for the night.
He kneeled down smiling sadistically at me, "You're useless ya know tha'? I'm sure ya'r parentsss were gla' to be gone from thisss earf jus ta ge' away from you!" He shouted, his spit, much to my disgust, splattering all over my face. Caressing my check, he had been getting touchier lately, which worried me a great deal. I knew he was wrong, he's the useless one and my parents loved me dearly, but after seven months of this I couldn't seem to get rid of this voice in the back of my head asked 'what if he was right, why else would I be beaten daily?' But I fought this voice; life was better before and will be again if I have anything to say about it.
This fight came out in me as anger, "Liar!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, turning my head and savagely biting into his hand on my check.
Screaming in agony he kneed me hard, splitting my lip open and effectively knocking me out.
When I had woken up I crawled into this corner on instinct and curled into a defensive ball, thinking of way to break out of this windowless locked room and out to freedom, and hoping he would remember or even consider feeding me today.