BPOV
I was lying on the floor, limp. I couldn't move any part of my body, and I could smell the blood. It was disgusting, musty and muddy. I could feel it slowly caress my body, coming from my mouth but slowly creasing up to my chin, to my throat. The hotness of it repulsed me, as I laid against the cold marble.
They could simply let me out in the trash. They could just get rid of me, but Phil prefered torturing me. Maybe it humored him to see me die in the inside? Maybe broking my body, and my mind was exhilirating for him?
I let out a quivering sigh. No one had stayed, after Phil had exploded with rage on me. They had fled the crime scene, fled what they should do. My mother had watch, appalled but not doing anything. She was as weak as me.
In no case did he hurt her, ever. I made sure of that. But my mother had always been simple minded, if I dare say. And she had done quite stupidities, and had a lot of debts, because how could my mom say no to some Chanel shoes? And why not go around the world? Oh, and what about this beautiful loft she found in Hawaii? She loved buying, and it had been the end for her.
It sounded lame, and stupid. But you had to know and have met her to understand. She was a child in the body of an adult. She wasn't seeing the consequences to her actions. She only saw that it made her happy, so it was good.
And then, just when she thought about suicide, because she had no more money, and a lot of threats came her way, Phil entered her life. For her, he was like a ray of sunshine, there to help her and make her see through the tunnel. He had cleared her debts, with all of his money. We had moved to Forks, and he was a celebrity for them.
Phil, in fact, played baseball. He was well known, and had a lot of money, and everybody here thought his coming was just oh-so-splendid. The tourism augmented, everybody was interested in this little town.
So, if you really think about it, Phil was making everybody happy. But what about me? What about the fact that he beat the shit out of me whenever he felt like to? My mom wouldn't do anything, because she had a contract with Phil. If they divorced, he would have everything, plus what he gave her. She would return to all her debts. She couldn't even foreshadow it, it was that horrifying for her.
So, everytime I'd get hit, she'd look at me with pleadful eyes. She needed me to endure it, just enough for her to find another solution. But I was no fool, I knew there weren't any other solution. Either my mom was assuming her mistakes, either I'd endure. And it was the second choice that was much more probable to happen.
The other person who could have helped me was my step sister, Tanya. But she would never. If I wasn't there, who would take my place? And her body, and face, and make-up was far too precious to even be touch. In fact, Tanya was kind of a bitch, always insulting me and bringing me down. But really, she was nothing compared to the damage that caused her father.
It was irremediable.
And just then, I thought of him. We had never really talked, but we had an agreement. I would cover up for him, and he for me. Because we were always late, because we were both fucked up.
I didn't know what was the deal with him, and I don't know if he really knew mine, but we had seen through each others eyes. I was broken, and he was too. It was all it had taken for us to begin help each other out.
I thought of how his shiny hair were always all over the place, in disarray. I thought of his crooked smile, that I had not seen often. I thought of his dark jacket, that hung perfectly on him. I thought of how he always needed to smoke, and how sexy it looked when he did. I thought of how I imagined, once, being a cigarette and how I would like it.
And as unconsciouness took me, I smiled.
If only I could die, just this once.
_
EPOV
I was in the street, during my break, looking at the moon. My hand came restlessly to my mouth, with a cigarette in hold. Nothing could compare to the feeling of relief I felt whenever the smoke would invade myself, caress my every fiber. It was my sin, and what a beautiful one. It was committing suicide silently, slowly. It was intoxicating yourself intentionally.
The sky was clear, for once, and I hummed in sync with the radio. Some shit like Damien Rice, and it make me smile. It made me thought of Bella, and of how she was so beautiful in every senses of the term.
I could remember how one day, without me knowing, she had covered my absence, saying I was seeing the doctor. In fact, I was sleeping in my car, because I had work till 5 AM. Since then, we always shared something. We would come up with excuses for each other. It wasn't really a relationship, I wouldn't even dare say we were friends, but there was still a little something. Some protectiveness.
But Bella was broken. It was heartbreaking to look into her eyes, to see the pool of hurt that was there, and the depth of it.
And I knew her step father hit her. And I knew her mother did nothing. And I knew she was fucking dying inside. But what could I do? We never talked. So I tried to convey every good feeling I had in small gestures, like smiles and stares.
It wasn't enough, and I wasn't fooling myself. She didn't want help. She didn't talk to anybody. She was fucking stubborn. But it wasn't my fight. If she'd asked for my help, I would give it to her right away, but she was strong.
She would endure the pain, she would take the insults at school, she would take every shit that life threw her way, and she would take it all in. Because Bella was the strongest person I knew, because she was so beautiful.
And my thoughts grew more lustful, as I thought about how just a glimpse of her body would make me go crazy. It was laughable, really, the effect this girl had on me, and it was the reason I couldn't be close to her. I wouldn't be able to stop myself. Not that I would ever force myself on her, ever, but something in me told me she wouldn't stop me.
Maybe it was all the held stare we shared, or how she had a smile just for me. It was different then when she smiled to others, when it was forced. With me it was genuine, and it would make my day.
And I thought of her shiny hair, always bouncing around. I thought of her porcelaine skin, looking so breakable, but at the same time so foreign, untouchable. I then remebered myself of the forms she was hiding, of the flame in her eyes that was just dying to be out.
She was everything I had ever hoped for. And that was the reason why I would never let myself succumb. I would hurt her, I wouldn't be enough for her, and that would kill me. To know that I'd put her in more pain, that I wouldn't be able to make her wholy happy would simply destroy me.
So I would just watch for afar, see what she would let me.
And right now, the silence outside my car, the darkness of the night and the way the stars shined hypocritally made me winced. Because in that instant, I was pretty sure whe was being hit. Because the silence was muffling her cries, because the darkness was hiding her bruises, because the stars that were supposed to look after her, forgot her.
And with that, I realise how fucking obsessive I was. I always thought about her, it wasn't sane. It was eating me away, that she was in pain, and that I didn't know shit what I should do.
By then, my smoke was out, as was my break, and I had to go back to work. To real life, and let Bella in the back of my mind.