Disclaimer: All characters belong to Stephenie Meyer and her amazing story.
A/N: For all of you reading this, who reads my Robsten fanfic; of course I'm gonna finish it. How could I not? I love that fanfic, and it deserves an ending. It's not like the ending is coming super soon, don't worry.
I just got this idea, and I said to myself I wanted to wait till the other one was done, but I couldn't. I wanted to know what all you think of the idea. I just had to start it.
So here we go; I really hope you'll enjoy this, I really do.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
"Don't say you are sorry," he shouted. "You don't even mean that."
"I am sorry, I really am."
He drew his hand back, and I knew what was coming. I had gotten use to this. Use to being beaten; by my own boyfriend.
His flat hand reach my cheek and pain shot through me. I didn't show him that. I hadn't gotten use to holding it in. I didn't want him to see me being weak. Him beating me, was pleasant enough for him. I was not gonna give him the joy by crying. I didn't want to shed a tear for this man. I just wanted to run. But he made it hard, so hard. When I saw movies with women being beaten by their men I didn't understand why they didn't just run, but it wasn't that simply.
I had tried, but he found me. And he beat me, so I could barely walk. I didn't understand why he didn't just let me go.
He pushed me into the kitchen counter so hard, I fell to the floor.
I woke up, dripping in sweat. It was just a nightmare. It was just a nightmare. I always said that to myself. And it was a nightmare, a nightmare that had been reality.
We met when I was 19. We had been together for a year. I loved him. I could see our future together. Us getting married, having kids. I trusted him.
Suddenly something about him started to change. He had a bad temper. He was pissed off so easily.
The first time he hit me, he told me he was sorry, and I forgave him. It became more often, and he stopped apologizing.
After 5 months of being beaten several times a week, I finally ran. After so many times of trying, I finally succeeded. I told my dad I was moving to New York, I wanted to study there. I knew he was worried about me. I never let him see me, he couldn't see me, all bruised, and then suddenly one day, I just moved to New York, just like that. I only brought a bag of clothes. He gave me money so I could get an apartment, which I was grateful for. I promised to pay him everything back. I didn't tell him about the beating. I didn't call the police. I just wanted to get away.
It hadn't been the best idea. Of course I was away from him. But I wasn't free. I lived in fear. Whenever I turned around the corner of a street, I was afraid he would be there. Whenever someone knocked on my door, I was afraid he would be on the other side. I wasn't free.
I had lived in New York for 6 months now. I worked two jobs, a pizzaria during the day, as a bartender at night, so I could pay for a psychologist. I didn't study. One, I didn't know what I wanted to study, at all. Second, I wouldn't be able to focus. My fear had overtaken my life. Going to work was hard enough for me. I just wanted to stay inside, because it was the only place I felt safe, and I didn't even feel safe there.
I had gotten two friends here, Rosalie and Angela. They both worked with me at the pizzaria. They didn't know my past, I couldn't tell them. I did trust them, but I couldn't handle if they started saying something about it. If they wanted me to call the police, to do something. Because I couldn't. I knew it would be better, I knew he derserved to be in jail or whatever, but I just couldn't. The only thing they knew was that I had had a terrible break up, with someone I loved very much, who betrayed me, and I wasn't over it yet.
I had to tell them something. They always came to the club I was a bartender at, and in the beginning they always pointed out guys, asking if they were something for me. I wasn't gonna get a boyfriend. I couldn't have one. I couldn't love again, I couldn't trust again. I was so broken down by my past.
I went to the psychologist three times a week. That was probably alot, and expensive, but I needed it. I didn't say much to be honest, so someone would probably say it was a waste of money. But when I sat on the psychologist's couch I could allow myself to think about it, try to deal with some of it. I couldn't at home. I would get paranoid. And who would I call? What should I tell them? Hey, I'm afraid, because my boyfriend use to beat me, until I ran away, and I'm scared he'll come look for me. Hold my hand, please? That wasn't a option.
The psychologist knew I had been beaten by my boyfriend. And that I hadn't told anybody, I just ran away from it. I didn't give her any details. Most of the time we just sat there in silence. She accepted that. Told me several times that she could see I was dealing with it myself.
I got up from bed, and took a shower to wash the nightmare away. It wasn't really a nightmare, since that was something that happened when you slept, but it was a nightmare. A nightmare where it took me 5 months to wake up, but I was still half asleep, the fear still haunting me.
I put on my work clothes for the pizzaria. I always worked before I went to the psychologist. After the psychologist I wouldn't be able to work, I was so wrapped up in my thoughts, I had to go home and be myself.
I grabbed my phone, my keys and my wallet. As the door to my apartment closed behind me, I could feel my heart beating faster. It always happened. This was how much power the fear had over me, how much power he still had over me. I hated that. I wanted to be able to let go. To forget about it completely. I wanted to study something, get a boyfriend, move forward in life. But my past was holding me back. Making me afraid of doing things. I didn't want to start studying, if I would just fail, because I couldn't concentrate. I couldn't get a boyfriend again, because I was afraid of him hurting me. Also, it wouldn't be fair to any guy. I wasn't gonna love again, trust again. He was the reason. He had destroyed me.
My heart slowed down as I saw a familiar smiling face, Rosalie.
"Hey girl, you look tired."
"Yeah, I didn't have the best night," I said as I took my jacket and threw it in the back.
"That happens alot," she replied, sounding alittle worried.
"Don't think about it, happens to all of us."
"And to you alot, apparently."
"Let's not talk about it." I grabbed my apron and tied it around my waist. I took some paper and a pencil, going around, taking people's orders.
Work was always fun. I always laughed. Some people would think it was a boring job, but I enjoyed it. Me and Rosalie always had a blast. And even though there were alot of people, and anytime I could walk to a table, and he could be sitting here, I didn't think about it. Not at the pizzaria. Rosalie made me feel safe. She was kinda of my rock, if you could say that. I had told her that. We were very close, even though she didn't know my past.
Rosalie always stood up for herself and the people she loved. No one could get away with saying crap to Rosalie, and if a guy at a bar was being too cocky and annoying, she wasn't afraid to smack him. Most important; she was always there when you needed her. She was the kinda of friend that would drop whatever she was doing, if you were sad and wanted someone to comfort you. It was the same thing with Angela. Those two girls had helped me more than they would probably ever know, because they didn't know my past.
Maybe I would tell them someday. But I didn't believe it.
Everyday I wished something would happen, so I wouldn't live in this fear. I had no idea what that should be, but just something. Maybe he would even.. die.
I knew it was horrible to want someone dead, I knew you shouldn't do that. But that was the way he had made me feel those 5 months, dead.
I was numb, I had no one. I didn't allow myself to feel anything, pain, sorrow, regret. Nothing. I had been like a living dead.
I knew it was wrong, and I hated I thought like that, because I didn't want to be that kinda of person. I wasn't really. It was just with him. I just felt like he deserved it, or at least deserved to feel pain. Not just physical, but also psychologically.
He had fucked me up, broken me down. I wanted him to be broken down. Being hit and feel the pain from that, was nothing compared to the pain of not feeling like you could love or trust again.
When work was over, I walked home to shower. It only took 10 minutes to walk to both of my jobs, pizzaria and the club. It also took 10 minutes to walk to the psychologist. It was all on purpose. I hated being outside alone.
When I was done at the club, it was dark outside of course. Both Rosalie and Angela knew I was afraid of something, so one of them always followed me home. I told them they didn't have to, even though I wanted them to, but I was just so grateful they did.
It might be weird I had decided to work in a club; alot of people, drinking, hitting on each other, the dark..
But I liked that it was dark. Behind the bar I also felt kinda safe. Plus, Rosalie or Angela, or both, was always there.
I knew he could come out of nowhere, because it was dark and there were so many people, but again, I didn't think about it.
I was aware it was weird places I felt kinda of safe, but that was just how it was.
I showered and slipped on some new clothes.
When I walked through the door to the waiting room, I saw the faces of the people I saw everytime I was here. This was a place where there were three psychologists, so there was always people in the waiting room, always the same.
I never talked to any of them. I just sat there, look at them, wondering what their story was, what had happened to them, for them to be in here.
"Ms. Swan, Dr. Carter is ready for you."
I got up from my chair and walked through her door. I sat down in the chair I always sat in.
"How are you today?" she asked. She was always smiling. I couldn't really have found a better psychologist, because she was so nice and understood I had problems talking about it, but just wanted to sit there and think.
"I'm fine, thank you."
"Today I want to ask you if you are ready to tell me his name. Only if you want to."
I hadn't told her his name yet. I hadn't said his name, or even thought it ever since I ran away. I didn't even know if I could. But I wanted to. Because not being able to say it, made me feel the control, I felt he still had over me.
"It might help you. It sometimes do for people. It makes something real, and it much easier to deal with. Holding it in isn't always the best thing. But again, it's up to you. If you feel like you can't say it, you shouldn't. We'll take everything in your time."
I took a deep breath.
"I want to say it. It's true what you are saying. Not being able to say it, makes the feeling of the control he has over me, feel so heavy, like it's holding me down. I need to say it."
"Just take your time," she smiled.
Bella, you can do this.
Bella, you can do this.
Bella, you can do this.
I took a deep breath again.
"Jacob. His name is Jacob."
A/N: This chapter is kinda of short, but I just wanted you to get an idea of what it's all about.
So please, leave a review about what you think; about the idea, about Bella being broken down, about her past. I really wanna know what you think.
Thank you so much for reading.