Carlisle's POV

Carlisle, six years old, journal entry:

I don't know why daddy hits me so much. I don't do bad things. He whips me a lot, too, but I don't know why. He always calls me mean names, and makes fun of me. He likes to take all my clothes off in my bedroom, make me stand up and call me fat.
Daddy calls me all kinds of mean names, but he really, really likes to call me fat.
His friends come over sometimes. They're really mean. They always throw me up against the wall, and they take off my trousers, and they beat me...Then they do things that Daddy says he'll kill me if I tell anyone about them....and I believe him, because he's mean to me. I wish mommy was here. I wish I met mommy....Daddy always makes me an outcast. He makes sure I go to days when Mommies can come to school, and he makes everyone know I don't have a mommy. All of the boys have long hair, and he shaved my head and cut a big cross onto the top of my head. He always makes sure I'm crying when I go to bed. I don't even have a real bed. just blankets on the floor. We could only afford one bed. That's his. His friends usually lie with me. They do those things that I'm not allowed to tell about. I'm going to get in trouble if he sees me writing....

There's blood spatter on the page.

Carlisle, nine years old, journal entry:
I wish the kids at school wouldn't make fun of me because I don't have a mother.
Father already blames me for it....He said I was a ruthless killer who took my own Mother's life....I hurt so bad after he beats me. I ache all over. Daddy set a mad dog on me today. He ripped all my clothes off, tied me to a post in the middle of town,
people walking by, and set the dog on me. He does that a lot. After daddy beats me, his friend comes to have his says he'll kill me if I even utter a word about it. Carlisle's POV

I'm seventeen, and I've already had so much I could kill myself. I was tied to a tree now, it was snowing, and I was naked, strapped to this tree, helpless. Dad had already beat me so bad I was surprised I was still conscious and cognizant. I guess I was getting used to it. I chuckled without humor, unfortunately, he saw me do it.
"WHAT'RE YOU LAUGHING AT?!" He smacked me along side the face with the back of the rifle he was holding. I knew I was going to be shot. I just didn't know when....or where.
Dad grabbed my chin, and yanked my head up so I was looking him in the eye. I was sure fear splashed across my face just then. "Well, son? What were you laughing at? What was humorous?"
"n....Nothing...s...sir....j...just..m-myself."
He smirked evilly. "Aw, son. I loved it when you screamed and called me daddy. Do that now, okay?"
"Y...Yes daddy..." he kneed me then, and I cried out. It hurt so much worse on bare skin.
"There we go. Keep it up. Put more soul into it, though." He backed up, aimed his gun,
and shot me in the shoulder. I screamed in pain, and he laughed louder. "D...daddy....please....."
"Daniel! Come here!"
I was so cold, it took me a while to actually process his name. Daniel. Dad's favorite friend to abuse me. "Please! no, daddy! please!"
He laughed. "scared now, are you?" He grabbed my chin again. "Goooood."
Father moved aside so that Daniel was in front of me. He pressed himself against me, and grabbed me where I've been grabbed so many times I never want to ever be touched again. Most guys aren't grabbed there, except by themselves. Or their girls. But, I was grabbed there by many, many men, and many females, too. He yanked on me then, and i cried out. He seemed to enjoy that. The sound of my pain. He kissed me then, and the process i've been through thousands of times since i was three began again. When he was satisfied, he stepped away from me, Father untied me, and started dragging me toward he river, iced over with the winter. He grabbed my shoulder, still bleeding from the gunshot, and turned me to face him. "Have a nice swim." He shoved me into the river, and I broke through the ice. The sharp edges cut my hands, my back, my feet....The water was so cold. I forgot how to move my arms and legs to swim for a moment, and sunk under the ice. when I swam back to the surface, I was trapped by ice. I couldn't find a way out. I panicked for what seemed like forever, then I finally broke through. I felt myself being pulled up by something. Something warm. When I opened my eyes, I saw our housemaid, Maria wrapping a blanket around me.
"Carlisle! Carlisle!"
I moaned, and she smiled softly.
"It's okay. it's okay. You're alright." She frowned again, though. "Look at what he did to you...." She shook her head, and began trying to stop the bleeding. Of course I hissed in pain, but what could she do about my pain? She would have the same fate if she tried to help me with the pain. She was only allowed to wrap my wounds. She gently picked me up and carried me back to our house. Maria was a strong woman. Able to lift even my father, and to withstand pain. She lies me down on my make-shift bed, two blankets on the floor, one to cover up with, and a pillow. "Carlisle, are you awake?
Are you?" She gently shakes me, and my eyes crack open to look at her. She was cleaning my wounds, taking the bullet out of my shoulder and washing it out with alcohol. They alcohol burned, and I cried in pain. "Shhh, Carlisle. It's alright." She stroked my hair, what was left of it, anyway. Daddy always kept my hair cut short, though it was customary in these times to have it long. You were an outcast if it wasn't. Maria cleaned the rest of my wounds, and wrapped them, letting me to rest. Or so she had hoped. I was allowed to rest for about an hour, then Daniel and daddy came in to torture me some more. Daniel lie down next to me, unwrapped the blanket, and, unfortunately, I was still naked. He grabbed me....held me down, abused me....I was nothing more than a ragdoll to him....Finally, though, I cried myself to sleep, shaking, his arms still around me, restraining me. I was so scared.....

Carlisle's POV, present day.

I slammed my diary shut. How had I put up with it all? Why hadn't I fought back?
Though, I knew the answer, I still asked these questions.
"Fighting back would only make it worse."
Yet, I thought, how could it possibly had been any worse. Daddy was the reason I hated dogs, the reason I didn't trust men, no matter what, the reason these memories ran through my mind every time Esme and I lie in bed together. He had left this enormous burden on me by abusing me, physically and sexually. I had obeyed him as a child, but as a young adult, I had started to rebel, which was what caused him to buy a gun. It was all over now, though. It was all over....