This is my first fan fic, so don't kill me when you read it and it's the worst thing you've ever read.
Disclaimer: I do not own twilight, new moon, eclipse, breaking dawn or midnight sun. They belong to the genius, Stephanie Meyer. Nor do I own any of these publicly recognizable characters. Trust me, if I owned Emmett, he wouldn't show up in the books. I'd be hogging him for myself.
I cringed as I accidentally hit my bruised hip on the roaring vacuum as I tried to turn around the tight corner. Over the noise cause by the vacuum, I heard the whistle following an NFL touchdown, and then the loud cheering of my dad and his buddies.
"Girl!" My dad, Charlie, was calling. "Get another round of beer for me and my pals!" He was already slurring his words, but I knew better than to talk back or disobey.
I got three cans of beer from the refrigerator, careful not to hit my chest or hip again, trying to avoid the bruises. I was in the living room as fast I could be, handing the cans to the drunken sports fans. Three more hours consisted of cleaning and fixing food for my father and his pals.
Emmett was supposed to be home tonight, but I didn't count on it, since he wasn't here already. He blamed himself for my beating, but I knew that he was wrong. He had his life to live. He was undoubtedly out with his girlfriend Rosalie, there was absolutely no harm in that. He needed to stop beating himself up over me.
I knew I was in trouble right away when I heard that the game was ended, and Washington had lost. When Washington loses, Charlie is put in a bad mood. When Charlie's in a bad mood, it means twice the beatings that night.
And I was right.
It began with a firm hand on my back, shoving me into the kitchen wall, followed with a few slaps to the small of my back. Then he grabbed me by my hair, throwing me to the ground. I landed on the bruise on my hip. "Ouch" I murmured quietly, even though the pain was actually scorching up my side. Several hard kicks to the ribs followed, bruising already bruised skin.
There was hardly any place on me that didn't have discolorations all over it. The only places that were free were my hands and face. Charlie may be a drunken, violent lunatic, but he isn't stupid. He knows perfectly well what the consequences of child abuse were. He was the Forks, Washington chief of police, after all.
The beating continued for two more excruciating hours. I had blood all over me. Finally, Charlie gave up for tonight and sent me to my room without a bite to eat since the night before. Climbing to the top of the stairs was an arduous process, consisting of much agony and screaming.
Eventually, I made it to the top of the steps and took a right into the bathroom. There, I cleaned myself up as much as possible. The pain was all but killing me, but I tried to hold the tears back.
In the bedroom, I collapsed on the bed and the salty water flowed from my eyes freely, I'd given up holding them back.
I don't know how long I layed there, crying, but I faintly heard the bedroom door slowly creek open, and there stood the only person I could truly trust.Emmett's POV
I drove through the quiet streets, listening to loud rock music. As I neared the house however, I turned it down so that I could hardly hear it. I silently as possible shut down my truck in the front of the house and walked up to the front door.
Deathly quiet. That could only mean trouble.
Carefully, I opened the door and crept in.
My father was sleeping on the couch, only half on it, half-empty beer in hand. I snorted at the thought of that, that thing, being my father. He began this whole drinking thing when I was three years old, the year that my mom died. She had died in childbirth, pregnant with twins, but only one actually making it out alive.
He blamed that child for the death of his only love, and took up drinking. Even when he wasn't drunk however, he still beat that child. He has everyday since the death of Renee Swan. That was fourteen years ago.
I hated him for it. If there was one single thing in the entire world that I cared for, it was my baby sister Bella. The thought of her in so much pain made my stomach turn.
The stairs creaked as I traveled up them, taking my first left into Bella's room. What I saw there made my emotions flare, a million at once. Sadness, pain, protectiveness, fury, but most of all, guilt. Guilt for being out with my girl Rosalie while my sister was here being hurt. No, hurt didn't cover it. Tortured was more accurate. All of this was my fault. I needed to be here to protect her. If I had been, then she wouldn't he like this in front of me.
My tiny, vulnerable, frail baby sister was balled up on her bed, crying. The sobs came loud and erratic. There was blood caked all over her body, soaking her clothes. Where there was no blood, there was discoloration more horrid than anything I could imagine. And she was shaking. Trembling all over. Scared to death.
I did the first thing I thought to do. I ran to her trembling side and swept her up into my strong arms. She shrieked with pain as I crashed into several large bruises at once. My guilt doubled as I sat on the blood soaked bed, placing her gently on my lap.Bella's POV
I couldn't get anything logical through my mind. All I felt was the pain. And then there was something else. There was warmth. Big, strong arms were holding me close. I knew what this was. This was Emmett.
Emmett was one of the only two people who knew about my beatings. The other one was Charlie, but he didn't count. Emmett was my lifeline, my savior. He was always there for me. I could cry forever and he would still rock me back and forth just like he was now.
He was also huge. He had been a halfback for the school football team, but then he found a different use for his 6' 6'' frame and 250 lb. of muscle. He realized that as long as he was in the house, I didn't get hurt. But, he wasn't like the other athletes. They all were ignorant, self-centered. They would make fun of you because you were small. Emmett was different. He was a big teddy bear. Being with him was the only place that I felt truly safe.
I finally slowed the crying to a pace that was manageable and Emmett held me out just enough from his chest so that we could talk. I hadn't realized that he had ice with him. Since he never left me, I figured that he must have gotten up and carried me with him. That thought made me feel useless.
"What did he do to you? You look worse than usual." Emmett's voice was soft with concern and worry, his deep eyes confirming it.
"He was mad. Washington lost the game. He took it out on me."
"Where did he hit you? Show me the bruises."
"No, Emmett. I'm fine really." I didn't want him to see. My entire torso was a mixture of black, blue, red, green, yellow and purple. My brother was concerned enough as it was. He didn't need to see the damage. My side was splitting with agony, but I bit my lip to keep from screaming. "I'm fine, it doesn't even hurt." I was a bad liar.
"You can't fool me, Isabella. I want you to show me where he hit you." Emmett was not yet using his authoritive voice, but I knew he would. I gave in instead of wasting time. It was going to happen.
I attempted to lift my shirt, but the pain in my side was ripping through me, and I dropped to the floor screaming, or I would have.Emmett's POV
I caught her in my arms as she screamed and fell. I had seen only a small bit of her side, but it was enough to see the bruises. I gasped. The absolute last thing that I wanted to see was the bright coloring of my sister's naturally fair skin, but I had to see it in order to treat it. So, with Bella trying to unsuccessfully hold tears of pain back, I lifted the shirt over her head. She did not have a lot of bruises, only one. But, that one covered her torso. Entirely.
At the sight of this, I immediately put her on the bed, head on the pillow, and left to get more ice.
When I came back, we began to talk.
"What did he hit you with?" I asked, concerned, as she lie there with ice on her side.
"He didn't" She didn't want to tell me, that much was obvious, but I wanted to know, so I pressed her further.
"What do you mean, he didn't?"
"He didn't hit me, exactly."
"I know that you don't want to talk about it, but I can't help you unless you tell me exactly what it is that he did." And do the same to him, I added silently to myself. My hand took hers and squeezed it reassuringly. "Please, just tell me exactly what he did to you." I almost cried as I looked into her pained face.
"He spent more time shoving me. Into the wall and counter, mostly. And dragging me by my hair or feet. And kicking me." She finished timidly.
My heart nearly stopped. How could anybody do this to my wonderful, selfless, beautiful baby sister?
"When was the last time you ate?" I asked, noticing the clearly visible ribs and prominent collarbone.
"Yesterday, at breakfast". The next thing I did was to go down to the kitchen and made her a sandwich, bringing an apple and a soda with me. It didn't take long for her to finish the food. She was famished.
After a while, just sitting and talking, mostly, I said goodnight and went to bed.
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