TITLE: On A Sparrow's Wings
SUMMARY: Bella's step-father has been abusing her for years, but after the death of him and her mother, she moves to Forks to be with her father. Will she find the help she needs?
WARNING: Abuse, angst, graphic rape, self-harm and general heavy stuff.
PAIRINGS: Bella/Jasper
DISCLAIMER: THESE CHARACTERS BELONG TO STEPHANIE MEYER. I AM MERELY MANIPULATING TO SUIT MY OWN TWISTED IMAGINATION.
A/N: This is going to be considerably longer that my other fics, and I'm warning you, I do not gloss anything over or skip all the really nasty bits like I have had a tendency to do previously. If content that gets heavy and emotional isn't your cup of tea, please, be aware that this isn't a light airy fic with little birds and flowers. It's challenging.
BPOV
He hits me. His control has gone completely, and he doesn't hold back. He hits me, again and again. I feel blood run down my arm, but I don't know how the cut got there. I curl up, trying to avoid his blows. His boot strikes me again and again on my back. I make myself as small as humanly possible. I scream, pleading, begging, screaming for him to stop, for him to leave me alone. He takes no notice of my pleas. He hauls me upright, and strikes me again. I can't support my weight on my arms, I crumple again. He will kill me this time, I can't possibly survive this. I no longer have the energy to stop him hitting me. He is kicking at me, like people kick a football. In that instance, I am praying to die, because my agony is unbearable. I'm crying now, I can't help myself. And then his boot connects with my head.
I drag myself upright when he's gone. There's no point staying here, I'll just get blood on the carpet, and then he'll beat me again. Nobody is home. Renee is still at work, and he's stormed off down the pub. I manage to get myself into the bathroom, where I examine the damage. Again, there's very little on my face. He's always careful not to leave too many marks on my face. And when he does, I know all the excuses off by heart. I tripped going up the stairs, I walked into a door, the little kid I baby-sit threw his toy truck at my head, I fell down the stairs, I bruise easily, I hit myself in the face with a book, I fell out of bed and hit my head on the bedside cabinet…
I wince as I clean up. He broke another rib then. I feel gingerly up my side. Yep, another one gone. I strap myself up, wincing as I make sure the bandage is as tight as possible. Hospital is out of the question. They'd take one look at the x-rays, all the healed breaks, all the bruises and the old scars and social services would get involved. And he has always made it abundantly clear what would happen if I told. I clean the cut on my arm, wincing at the antiseptic sting. The bruises are already flowering on my chest, back and probably my legs as well. I limp slowly to my room, draw the curtains and lie down in the dark. My head is pounding. I close my eyes, and drift into an uneasy sleep.
The door opens quietly, but I wake up at the first click. He likes it when I'm sitting up and alert. He flips the light switch. I'm not sure what time it is, but it's dark outside my curtains. He smiles coldly at me. God only knows what I look like. He advances on me, slowly, chillingly. He's only wearing his boxers. Oh God, not tonight. Please, not tonight. He rips my covers away from me, and looks down. It's another specification of his, that I wear only tank top and boy shorts in bed. He smirks. I know what he's seeing, the bruises, the bruises he put there.
"Off," he demands, tweaking my tank top. I pull it over my head, letting him see the bandage that keeps me decent and supports the newest break. He smirks. "Oh Bella, Bella, Bella…did you fall again?"
"Yes," I reply, determinedly keeping my voice even, knowing he wants me to show emotion, to beg him to go away. But I won't give in, not tonight, because God knows, he's taken my dignity. I won't be begging him tonight. He whacks me around the face, backhanding me. I keep silent, gritting my teeth against the pain.
"Up." I get out of bed, and stand in front of him. He grabs me by the hips and hauls me closer, pulling me up against him. He's already hard, ready and waiting. At least it will be quick tonight. "Mine…" he breathes, before he takes my curls in his hand and yanks my head, back, leaving my lips, my throat, the swell of my breasts open for his attention. He bites my bottom lip viciously, and I can't help the squeak of pain. "Shut up." He plunges his tongue in my mouth, and I have to force myself not to gag and shove him away. He pulls away, and shoves me back onto the bed. I have to cry out with pain when I land back on my broken rib. He slaps me again, and yanks the boy shorts off. He puts one hand over my mouth, whilst he makes me kneel. He shoves himself inside me, groaning at the sensation. I have to bite my bruised lip to stop myself screaming in agony. I'm dry as a bone, and he hurts me. He keeps thrusting, even though by now, my tears are falling onto his hand and I'm screaming around his hand for him to stop, that he's hurting me. But my obvious pain and pleas for him to stop just make him go faster, clearly enjoying himself more and more as I cry more. He yanks my hair, pulling my head back, keeping his hand on my mouth. He shudders behind me, and then pulls out and finishes off on my legs. He pushes me away, and I slump by the side of my bed, crying helplessly. "Go clean up."
I sit there for about half an hour before I get myself to my feet. His come has dried on my legs, and I feel dirty. I haul myself into the shower. I have to scrap the stuff off with my fingernails and I cry silently. My skin is red raw by the time I'm done, and eventually I call it a day. No amount of scrubbing will make me feel clean again. I reapply my bandages, and I cry silently. I grab my keys, leave a note for Renee and him, and I go to school early. It is six thirty when I leave the house. I start my car, and I drive away. I get to school an hour before it starts. I park a block away from school, and let the tears course down my cheeks, silently. I'm done making noise. I'm not sure I could, even if I wanted to. My throat is raw with crying, and I really, really just want to sleep. The sleep stops the pain. I start the engine again at eight twenty, and drive into the school lot. I park up, and jump out. Nobody calls my name from across the lot, nobody runs up to ask how my weekend was. I keep my hood up, and travel across the lot to class in silence.
A/N: Well, that's chapter one, Chapter two will follow. Please review.