Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from Twilight. I only own Sarah1,Sarah2, Dean and the plot.


The house was quiet when he entered. He frowned, worry instantly springing to life within his chest at the darkness shrouding the house. It was dead silent, not even the hum from the electricity could be heard. He deposited the keys onto the table in the hallway, pausing to toe off his sneakers, and headed for the living room.

He winced as his pupils were forced to adjust to the sudden glare from the TV. It was on, but no one was seated on the couch in front of it. The sound was turned down, as well. Her shoes were by the door, so he knew she was home.

The silence was gradually driving him crazy. He spun around, slow footsteps carrying him out of the living room and into the kitchen. The sight that met him there caused him to freeze. Silverware and shards of dinnerware were scattered around the usually pristine kitchen. Glass sparkled from the moonlight trickling in through the fluttering curtain.

There was still no sight of the missing female. He exited the kitchen, almost frantic in his search. He busted open doors in his haste, unable to find her. He checked the study. No sign of her. The guest bedrooms were empty.

Rushed steps brought him to her door, where he paused. A concerned expression drew lines across his forehead, his normally smiling mouth pulled into a heavy set frown.

As a hand lifted, stopping a few centimeters away from the door, it glided open silently upon its own accord. He blinked, unsettled with the fact that her door hadn't been closed properly, and slowly pushed it open further.

The room was a disaster zone. Sheets were yanked from the bed and torn to shreds, then thrown haphazardly around the room. The large dresser had been shoved over, as had the bookshelves. All the books were on the floor, some ripped apart.

He stepped into the bedroom, gritting his teeth with a sharp hiss when a sliver of broken glass sliced through the fabric of his sock. He stumbled around the room that was even darker than the rest of the house.

A scrape of fabric against fabric had his head snapping to the side. He was silent, didn't risk breathing, and remained as still as a statue.

Another rustle of fabric had him finally taking a step toward the direction of the sound.

He pushed open the door to the bathroom. The curtains covering the window had been yanked off, letting the moonlight glare into the stark white room. Glittering shards of glass and porcelain showered the floor. He carefully navigated the floor, desperate to not harm his feet further.

Finally, his gaze fell upon the huddled up form curled into the corner between the toilet and the wall. He reached out, gripping the balled up figure by the bicep. The instant his hand touched her, she let out an ear piercing shriek. Startled, he jerked back with a yell, and she paused at the sound.

"Jasper..?"

He crawled back toward her, gently withdrawing her from the corner she nestled into. She let him draw her into his lap, and buried her face into his neck. A shiver racked his body with every warm exhale against his skin, but he refused to think of her in that manner. Not with how she was acting. It wouldn't be right.

Big, warm hands soothingly rubbed along her back. His arms were wrapped tightly around her. What she was expecting to happen, didn't. In fact, it was the opposite. Instead of sheltering her from the demons chasing her, the warmth of his comfort summoned the hell beasts, claws sinking into her battered soul to take her under.

It began all over again.

It had been yet another night he hadn't come home. She glanced up from the silent TV in front of her and to the calender that was hanging on the wall by a lone nail. The date, August 26th, 2010, glared at her from the calender. Her attention flickered from the date to the clock right above it. The ticking counted off the final seconds until midnight, until the day was over; the day that would make this two weeks of no response.

She glanced away from the two objects torturing her, reminding her of everything wrong. Before she had left to Florida to visit her family, everything between them had been settled, or so she had thought. During her trip, they remained in touch through text and the occasional phone call, though those didn't last long.

Two nights before she was due back in Washington, she had received a text message from him asking her to move in with him. She agreed. As it was, she had spent more time at his house than she ever did at her own, and half of her belongings were already scattered around his room. His question was just making it official.

The night she returned, he called her, making small talk for the first time ever. He eventually hung up the phone, and she went to bed happy. She finished moving in her belongings the Saturday after she got home.

Since then, everything got rocky. He started working a lot more in order to pay the bills. Despite the difference in their schedules, he managed to text her every now and then during work, and to and from work. She was satisfied with that. Usually, though, by the time he got home, she was already nestled beneath a blanket and passed out in front of the television. He was always awake and gone before she got up as well.

A week after her trip, the text messages started to decrease. They went from texting eight to nine times while he worked to maybe three or four, sometimes less. Their schedule had changed a bit, except she was still asleep before he got home, and when he left in the mornings.

Almost two weeks had passed since she moved into his house when he started to not return any text messages, nor would he return home most nights. She'd call, it would go straight to voicemail, or ring and ring and ring.

Frustration was growing with every friend who sent a text to him from her phone and was answered, yet the minute it was from her, it was rejected.

Did she do something wrong? Did she make him mad? She didn't know, nor would she ever with how he was avoiding her like she carried the plague.

So she sat on the sofa, in front of a silent TV, and waited. Fat disappeared from her first, slimming her already skinny figure. Next her muscles grew weaker, and her skin paled. She didn't sleep. She didn't eat. She barely moved.

The only time she really slept was when her body grew so exhausted it forced her to rest. The darkness would swoop in and send her into nightmares she couldn't wake from.

Hours would pass quickly while she was awake, staring straight ahead at the TV. The volume was down, always, so she could listen for his boss's truck to pull up. It never did. Her phone would ring, but it'd play the wrong ringtone so she'd ignore it. Friends and family grew concerned after a couple days, and came knocking. No answer.

So she sat more. And waited further. By that point she was nothing but skin and bones. Wasting away into nothing on the sofa.

Kate kept calling the house, leaving a message on her answering machine.

"Hey babe, he's been by to see Tanya. I've been asking about you, but he just ignores me. Are you okay?"

"I asked him about you again. He just walked past holding Tanya. Still won't say anything. Are you two fighting?"

"Sarah, call me. Bella and I are worried."

The phone calls remained unanswered, nor did she return them. She kept calling, hoping with each time that she would answer. But she never did. She never moved from that spot.

On the last day of two weeks, she was finally waking up from her numbness. Anger raced through her when the door was pushed open, and his drunken form stumbled in, arm wrapped around a blonde bimbo.

He stopped in front of the living room entry, unaware of her smoldering gaze on his back, and smashed his lips to the bitches, who was just as drunk if not worse. Hands fumbled around, pawing the others' body and trying to remove clothes while they continued to suck face.

Something in her just snapped after they shoved their way into the kitchen. She jerked to her feet, swift steps carrying her across the carpet, silent like a cat.

"What the hell are you doing, Dean!" Her voice was husky from lack of use, and it cracked at the beginning but by the time she got to his name, it was a shrill echo in the kitchen.

The bimbo shrieked, spinning away from him and toward her, shock causing her botox filled face to just deform. A sneer spread across her chapped lips. Her appearance took on a menacing look and the slut scrambled back, placing herself behind Dean, expecting protection.

"What.. the hell are you doing?" A dangerous tone darkened her voice. Dean coughed, straightening himself out as well as he could.

"I'm busy with Sarah, Pixiesticks." She twitched. Sea foam drifted to settle on the chick, Sarah, and she glared heatedly. The female swallowed thickly and straightened up, trying to appear strong. In the back of her mind, she made a mental note that she was taller than he was.

Sarah.

Sarah.

Sarah..

Fuckin' Sarah.

Son-uva-bitch her name was Sarah!

She took a step forward, advancing toward the bitch that dared to come into her domain.

"Get her the fuck out of my house, Dean." Anger suddenly blossomed on his beautiful face.

"This isn't your house!" He shouted, forgetting already.

"Bullshit! This isn't my fuckin' house! I signed the lease forms the day I moved the rest of my shit in here, remember? This is just as much my house as it is yours!" She took a deep breath to calm down. "Get her the fuck out of her before I kill her."

The bitch shrieked, shot past Dean and attempted to take a swing for her face. She sidestepped the drunken move. Next thing Sarah knew, a fist was connecting with her face and she was falling to the ground.

"Sarah! Don't you fucking hit Sarah! Fuck." Dean had confused himself with that sentence, but she could only see red.

Her foot flew forward, colliding with the scrawny bitches abdomen. Despite her having lost so much weight from malnutrition, she still packed a pretty decent punch. Dean darted forward, yanking her back by her biceps. It gave enough time for the slut to rise to her feet.

"Ow, Dean! You're hurting me!" The minute his grip loosened, a smidgen of his feelings bubbling up, she slid from his grip and shot forward. Her small figure colliding with Sarah, knocking them back into the cabinet. The force caused the cabinets to jolt, and dishes rattled in their places.

Dean restrained her again, but not before she could land another punch to her face. When she was pulled far enough back, she snapped her foot up. A solid crack echoed as she landed the kick to the chick's face, her head snapping back against the cabinet. He, not so gently, tossed Sarah onto her hands and knees in the hallway, and rushed to the drunken chicks aid.

He got her to her feet, supporting her with an arm around her waist, and headed for the front door. Before he could get far though, she was back in front of him, murder in her eyes. Bruises were already starting to form on her biceps where he had held her.

He backed up, carting Sarah's weight with him. She advanced, stalking her prey like a panther, lethal with every calculated movement. They circled around the island in the middle of the room.

She suddenly deflated, appearing defeated. When he finally relaxed his stance, not prepared to move on the first sign of an attack, she made her move. Hands clutched the china in the cabinets and yanked them out, throwing them through the air toward Dean and the bitch.

Sarah shrieked, shoving back, and Dean froze, surprised. A plate narrowly missing his face caused him to move, and he rushed out the kitchen with his toy. She chased after them, plates, silverware and glasses crashing to the ground in her wake. The glass slicing into her bare feet barely bothered her, just spurred her on.

They flew out the door like hell was on their heels. Technically, she was. He scrambled into his sister's car, and she scurried into the passenger seat, hunkered down like something was going to come through the open window at her.

Something did. A figurine that Dean had bought his girlfriend crashed through the window, causing the bitch to shriek in pain as the shards cut into her skin.

They raced away with a screech of tires and gravel flying up behind them. Sarah gave a silent snarl, spun around, and disappeared back into the house. Once the door was closed and locked, she stormed through the house to their bedroom.

An hour later, the room was unrecognizable. She retreated into the master bathroom, the image reflected in the mirror causing her anger to blossom again. Skin split gruesomely when her fist impacted the gleaming surface. The glass rained down around her.

Her anger dissipated instantly. Emotions that normally drowned her, suffocated her in the darkness, shut down and she collapsed, huddling down between the toilet and the wall. That was where she remained until Jasper found her.

The tears began. Dried blood had been caked onto her pale face from where she wiped her hands across the skin. Moisture racing down her cheeks sliced through the blood like acid. The tainted streams collected at her jawline and chin, pooling until the weight grew too heavy, and they fell. Warmth spread along his neck where she had buried her face. Tremors started to shake her body, and he clutched onto her tighter.

"Sarah, sweetheart, I'm here."

And with that, she broke, sobs ripping from her to be muffle into his neck. Tears fell like rain, soaking into his shirt when they rolled down the side of his neck to his shoulder. He managed to maneuver her around on his lap so he could pull his phone from his pocket. Jerky movements typed out a text to Bella and Peter, letting them know Sarah needed them.

Seconds later his phone chirped. He didn't need to open the text to know they confirmed his thoughts. Five minutes.

Her sobs were too heavy for him to hear when they arrived. However, he did manage to maneuver to his feet. He held her against his chest, carefully exiting the bathroom and bedroom to one of the guest rooms. Her sobs didn't lighten during the short trip, and she clutched at his shirt with a death grip. He lowered onto the bed against the headboard and cradled her on his lap.

"How is she?" Peter's voice beside him caused him to jump slightly. Sarah let out a frightened cry, and clutched tighter. A frown spread across both of their faces, and Peter climbed onto the bed. Jasper passed the sobbing female over to his brother as his wife entered the room. Bella climbed into his lap, cuddling close for comfort at seeing her best friend like that.

"What did he do this time?" She murmured softly, pain in her eyes.

"Started distancing himself from her, then just ceased coming home. Last night he brought a chick into the house. Her name was Sarah, too."

Bella nodded, saddened for her friend. Peter had to resist the urge to clench his fists, more worried with soothing the mess in his arms.

"The house is a wreck." Peter grunted, glancing to the two with a meaningful look. "Did she do that?"

Jasper nodded, and Bella's eyes widened. "But she's so... thin."

"Anger makes even the weakest strong." Jasper commented. He sounded distracted.

Sarah's sobs eventually slowed, becoming nothing more than soft sniffles and the occasional whine. Minutes later, with a couple brushes of Peter's fingers through her limp hair, she drifted into a fitful sleep. Jasper and Bella slipped from the bed, both passing chaste kisses to their now slumbering friend's lips.

After making sure Peter would tell them when she woke, they exited the room to straighten up the kitchen and master bedroom. He scooted down on the bed, carrying the sleeping angel in his arms. Shifting onto his side, he cuddled her up against his chest as if it would protect her from the pain.

"Angel.. You deserve so much better than him. Bella, Jasper and I are here for you. Especially me. I love you." He murmured into her hair solemnly. A couple minutes later, he too drifted off to sleep.

Tomorrow was a new day, and tomorrow he'd help her start to heal.