*DISCLAIMER: I do not own Twilight. Stephenie Meyer does.*

A/N: I dunno, you guys. Tell me what you think, but I don't feel like this is as good as my other stuff.


Chapter 1…
More Ripped than Scotch Tape

Dirty. I felt dirty.

Filthy. Grimy. Grubby. Soiled. Foul. All around unclean.

And no matter how hard I scrubbed at my skin, no matter how much body wash, how much soap, how many sponges I used, how many wash cloths, my skin still felt like it carried the plague. It was as if no matter how hard I scrubbed, the imprints of his hands on my skin would still be there. No matter how much skin I rubbed dry, his ghostly hands would still be there. Holding me down, holding me back. Making me relive the memory all over again. Over and over and over again.

I could never escape this. This, this feeling. No matter how many times I tried. I couldn't escape. I was a prisoner of my own skin. And I hated that feeling. Feeling weak. Feeling dirty.

The shame, the shame I will never live down.

I could have held my ground. I could have prevented it from happening. Key word: could. But I didn't. I laid there. Getting slapped, getting hit, getting his unsanitary, ungodly sex shoved into my own. I laid there in pain. I laid there in my own blood on my own bed. I didn't try to stop things. I could have gouged his eyes or ripped his ears off. But no, I went with things.

God, this is why I hated myself.

Obviously, someone was trying to tell me that I should just stop being such a push over all the goddamn time.

Gee, thanks, oh High and Mighty head-honcho, for the lovely warning. It was just heartwarming to know that someone cares enough to intervein my life in such drastic ways. I thought bitterly.

I shut my eyes tighter, gripping the plastic arm rest for support, not listening to the stewardess as she asked if I needed water or some form of medication. I must have looked worse than I felt.

Maybe flying to La Push wasn't such a good idea. Maybe I should have just stayed back in Phoenix… I flinched. No, that was defiantly out of the question. Staying back in Phoenix meant a greater chance of it happening again.

It. I couldn't even think the goddamn word. Rape. What a disgusting word. It made my skin crawl with invisible spiders and centipedes.

My thoughts wondered off to if Charlie still lived in the big red brick house in La Push, and if so, if Jacob Black was still his next door neighbor. I wondered whatever happened to Embry and Quil. And honestly, whatever happened to Jared and Paul. We all hung out when we were little; playing in the sandboxes, climbing trees in order to catch some clouds to bring back to earth, catching fish with our bare hands in the stream and then throwing the disgustingly scaly creatures back into the water where they belonged. I wondered if Sue still had her diner, and if business was still doing good, or even better than before. Or maybe, if it closed down over the years. What about Leah, was she still a huge bitch? Was everyone still afraid for their lives every time she looked at them? Or had she miraculously changed? I doubted she did.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry, but the flight landed fifteen minutes ago…" a stewardess with bouncing curls and bright blue eyes murmured apologetically to me.

I nodded, sluggishly grabbing my duffle from the top compartment and made my way off the plane and onto solid ground.

Solid ground. Yes, this is where I need to be. I need to be on solid ground; cold, hard earth. I need to see life right. I need to see the dangers, the risks. I need to think things through before I do them. I need to learn how to fight back. Because, to be honest, if I wasn't as delusional as I had been in Phoenix, none of this wouldn't have happened. If I hadn't told myself again and again that no one was following me up the steps to my apartment, if I had looked behind me, if I hadn't trusted the man across the hall, I wouldn't be here, in an airport, searching around for my father who I hadn't see in God knows how long.

"Bella?" I heard someone call, not a few feet from me.

"Dad?" I looked to my right, and sure enough, my father was standing tall there, looking exactly the same, to which I smiled widely at for the first time in what felt like forever.

"Isabella Swan. Get over here and give your father a hug!" he demanded of me, and I flinched.

I didn't want to be in such close contact with a man, but then again, this was my father. He wasn't going to hurt me, grab me, touch me like he did. So I hugged him. And I must say, I was proud to admit that I didn't scream or freak out. Maybe I was handling this better than I originally thought.

"Alright, kiddo. Let's get back home, and we can talk all about our time apart." Dad chuckled.

I nodded meekly in return.

I didn't talk much on the drive from the air port to La Push. In fact, I didn't talk at all. Only nodding a few times before I went off into a false state of slumber. I didn't really want to fall asleep. Sleep meant nightmares, and nightmares meant screaming. I couldn't have Charlie so alarmed by my screams; he'd end up going northbound in a southbound lane. That would be bad…

"Bells." Charlie nudged me, sending me into a state of panic as I froze eyes as wide as Bambi's mother. "We're home…"

I just nodded and grabbed my duffle as Charlie had already taken my lone luggage bag from the backseat of his red pickup truck.

"Oh, and Bella, I hope you like this truck, because as of today, she's yours. Take good care of her for me, will ya? She's my baby. And as much as I love you, I love this car, and if you scratch her… well let's just say I'll be severely angry with you." Charlie warned in mock seriousness as he pressed the cold keys into my clammy palm.

"Ha-ha, father dearest. Very funny. Thank you, by the way, for letting me come back here, and for the truck. It means a lot." I murmured before wandering off into the red brick house, going by memory as I stumbled up the stairs and into the last bedroom on the right.

I had just finished putting away all my clothes I had brought with me when I heard the distinctive sounds of many teenage boys trampling into the house.

Christ, I thought, must I endure more pain?

I didn't want to go downstairs, to be surrounded by a bunch of men, to possibly be touched by one of them, even the possibility, freaked me out. A lot. I would have much preferred to stay in my room and doodle, but Charlie's calls of "Bella!" had my feet moving in a completely obedient, completely different direction than my mind.

So I did the mature thing: I took my sweet ass time walking down the hall and down the stairs.

"Geez, Bells. Could you walk any slower? My clothes are so much out of style now; old people are looking at me and thinking 'oh, I remember when I dressed like that.'" A husky voice boomed out towards me.

I smirked. Typical Jacob to find something of me to make fun of.

"Why, yes, Jacob. I can in fact move slower. Would you like me to show you?" I asked innocently as I slowed my decent down the stairs to one centimeter per minute.

"Oh hell naw!" Jacob thundered.

And before I could register, his hands were around my torso and under my legs; clutching me close to him Bridal Style. And all other sound in the room was cut off. All other sounds but a high pitched scream. And when I say scream, I mean scream. It sounded like someone was being murdered.

Everyone froze, naturally.

And when I finally froze along with them, the screaming cut off and I was back on my feet again; Jacob was backing away from me ever so slowly.

Shit. Oh god. Fuck. Crap. Christ.

That was me. That screaming, the screaming of someone being murdered, that was me. Me.

I stared wide-eyed at the wall as if it came to life and suddenly was dancing the tango with its good friend, the door.

"Damn, Arizona, you can scream." Someone who looked a lot like Embry whispered.

I smiled, breaking the tension.

"Gee thanks… Embry, is that you?" I asked incredulously.

"In the flesh, Madam Bella." He smirked as he bowed like only a gentleman would.

"Oh shut up, Embry. You're so full of it." Someone erupted from the group of guys I was only now becoming aware of.

My blush reddened as I realized that a whole room full of hot, muscley guys just saw my episode.

"Quil, c'mon. Like you're much better, Captain I-Go-After-Everything-And-Anything-That-Has-A-Pussy." Embry retorted, turning to face Quil.

The chorus of 'ohhhhh' and 'burn' that followed just added to the humor in the situation.

"Touché." Quil grunted though clenched teeth.

"So, Bella," Jacob started rambling as he turned his attention from Embry and Quil's little quarrel back to me. "This is everyone. Sam, and his fiancée Emily, Jared and his girlfriend Kim, you know those two buffoons," he said as he pointed towards Embry and Quil.

"Hey! I am not a buffoon! I am a hooligan! There is a difference!" Embry protested, only to be smacked on the back of his head by an amused looking Sam.

"Anyway, that's Collin, Brady; you know Leah, and her little brother Seth." Jacob continued like Embry's protest never happened; pointing out each person as he went.

I nodded, looking over the group, trying hard to remember which one was which. When I thought I had gotten it, I looked down, just like the boy on the far side of the couch was doing. No, no, boy was too small of a word. Man. Yes, that worked better.

I felt eyes on my face, and I blushed bright red as I looked up to see the boy, man, on the far couch looking at me with an odd look on his face. His expression was pained, quizzical. As if he were so confused by something it was frustrating him to the point of pain.

I locked eyes with him, and regretted it. The second I looked into his impossibly silver-grey eyes, I snapped. I lost it. I knew within the pit of my stomach that we had some sort of connection, that the world, for me at least, had just shifted its access. But I couldn't care less. What I did care about, however, was the fact that I felt the need to go over by him and cuddle into him, seek his protection.

But, God, what was his name? Paul? No, Paul was standing next to Jared. Seth? Yes, Seth, Leah's little brother.

Little brother? Try huge brother. That kid was ripped. His hair fanned across his face in just the right way; pulling off the skater/emo hair cut better than anyone I had ever seen. His eyes, God, his eyes, they were just bottomless. I could lose myself in them. And, sweet sugar honey ice tea, was it nice to see him without a shirt. He was more ripped than Scotch Tape.

I frowned. I shouldn't be feeling like that. No, no I most certainly should not.

The itchy, dirty feeling was coming back, I was certain of it. The uneven crawl under my skin was telling me that I couldn't escape the filth for more than a few hours. That it would always be there. To remind me, to scar me, to hold me back.

"Bella. You alright?" Jacob asked, and even though I didn't look at him, I could feel the frown he wore on his face as he spoke. I could hear it through his voice.

I nodded. Again.

Geez, Bella, I scolded myself. You're turning from Klutzy Bella to Bobble head Bella.

Without thinking, I turned on my heel and sprinted up the stairs, down the hall, into my room, and locked the door.

I couldn't be around all of them. It made me jumpy, made me panic, made me frantic. Made me slightly claustrophobic, yes, but this feeling was worse. Far, far, worse. I didn't trust any of them. Spare my father, and I didn't trust anyone, not even Jacob, Quil, or Embry. They could all turn so easily and take advantage of me.

So easily could they hold me down, hit me, bruise me, shove themselves into me without a second though. Thinking my screams of pain meant I was having a fucking merry time. Thinking my traitor body liked what was happening, and although my body might have responded as if it liked them touching me like that, my mind would be screaming a totally different story.

If they could only hear it, however.

"Fuck this." I mumbled to myself.

I was tired, and damn it, I was going to sleep for the first time in God knows how long. I was going to actually rest. Not sleep a few hours, scream, wake up, repeat.

Closing my eyes, I reminded myself that the sights I would see in the next few hours were only dreams, nightmares of the worst kind, and that in no way would they be real. No matter how much I prayed for a decent dream, life seemed to hate me and went against my wishes.

'Fuck dreams,' life probably thought, 'bring on the nightmares.'


A/N: I told you I wanted to make this story.(:
Did you like it? Because I feel like I could have done so much better.
Is it worth continuing?

LET ME KNOW. Seriously. Should I keep writing?

Reviewing is better than shirtless mass orgy of men in your living room.(;