A/N: Hi! So, I've had this idea banging around in my head for a while now, and I figured the only way to get it to leave me alone was to write it all out.

I want to be clear, though, this story is for a MATURE audience only. It is unlikely that I will be writing any graphic scenes, but the theme itself is intended for older readers, and there will be very strong language used. So read at your own discretion.

With that said, read on. (and don't forget to tell me what you think.)

I had dreaded this day for weeks. My mother, Renée and I had danced around this topic for weeks now, both of us trying to ignore the elephant in the room. The extremely large elephant.

Now fucking Doctor Weinberg had to go and suggest we talk about it. How? Where do I even start? How can I possibly make her understand the pain she had caused me?

We walked together in silence down the old, quiet streets on the outskirts of our tiny town of Forks. Renée walked slightly in front of me, almost as if she were embarrassed to be seen with me, even though the street we were now on was deserted.

She came to a stop outside a dilapidated diner, with peeling paint on the door and cobwebs in the corner. A sign reading 'open' flickered sadly from behind the dirty window. Renée pushed her way inside, using her sleeve to touch the door as if she would catch herpes if she touched it with her bare hand.

As we stepped into the diner, the door hit the small bell hanging above it, and the light tinkling signaled our arrival to the other people in the diner. An old woman with a teacup in front of her and a gorgeous blonde waitress were to our right as we entered, and two dirty men in ripped jeans sat to the left.

Subconsciously, I made my way to a table as far away as possible from the two men. I couldn't help but looked up at them nervously every few seconds. They were oblivious to me, both lost in conversation, and I knew I was being ridiculous to be scared of two random men, who had committed no crime, other than stop at a diner for a cup of coffee.

Renée took her seat in front of me. We sat together in silence for a few moments before I became aware of someone clearing their throat beside us.

I jumped a little in surprise and looked quickly up to see the blonde waitress standing there with a small notepad in hand.

"Can I get you guys anything?" She asked formally as she removed a pencil from behind her left ear and poised it above her notepad, ready to take notes.

Renée straightened up in her chair and glanced up at the waitress. "Just a coffee." She said as she shrugged out of her trench coat.

The waitress turned to me, and I fiddled with my fingers. "A water, please." I croaked, and then cleared my throat. The waitress nodded, and with a smile, left through a door, leading presumably to the kitchen.

"So." Renée began. I looked up from my lap into the eyes of the woman who I was supposed to call my mother. She shifted in her seat and refused to meet my eyes. "Perhaps we should talk about this." She sighed.

I tried to hold back the feeling of anger that was beginning to swell in the pit of my stomach. How could she be so casual about this?

"Yes." I snapped. "Let's talk about this." I clenched my jaw in an effort not to lose grip on my emotions.

Renée stayed silent and I took deep breaths. After a few moments passed, Renée still hadn't spoken. "Well?" I asked, waiting for her to say something. Anything.

Renée looked at me for the first time. "Well, what?" She said rudely. I forced back a growl and ran my hand through my hair and down my face. Was she serious?

"Well, don't you have anything to say?" I asked, and Renée shook her head. "What do you want to hear?" She retorted.

I held back the growing urge to smack her across the face. "You don't have anything to say?" I responded. "How about 'I'm sorry'?" I said. Renée looked very annoyed, and flicked a crumb off the table as she thought about how to respond.

Renée pursed her lips. "Why should I be sorry? If anyone has anything to apologize for, it's you." She said. I sat back in my seat. Was she for real? What could I possibly have to apologize for?

"Excuse me?" I said, my voice no louder than a whisper. "How do I have anything to be sorry for?" I pulled my jacket tighter around myself just as Renée began to speak.

"Oh, I don't know... Maybe for sleeping with my husband?" She snarled at me.

I felt like the blood in my veins had turned to ice and someone had smacked me across the face. She wanted me to apologize for sleeping with her husband? Her husband who was now in jail for rape?

I stayed silent, looking at her with wide, unblinking eyes. I'm pretty sure my mouth was hanging agape at her words.

"Are you serious?" I asked quietly, not once taking my eyes from my mother's face. She didn't look at all uncomfortable under my gaze and tilted her head to the side.

"Of course I'm serious, you little slut." She sneered at me.

I sat back in my chair as if I had been physically punched. I felt tears begin to form behind my eyes and I didn't fight them.

"Your husband" I spat out, "raped me." The tears welling in my eyes slipped out and ran down my cheek. I swatted them away quickly, not wanting her to have the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

Renée scoffed at my words. "Oh, please. Phil didn't rape you. He told me what happened. You seduced him. You always wanted what I had. Even as a child you would steal my jewellery and wear it. You are just jealous of me, and what I have, you whore." She hissed.

Each word from her mouth was like a stab with an ice-cold knife.

"I'm sorry?" I exclaimed, standing up as I began to shake with anger. "You spoke to my doctor. You saw my scars. You take me to a fucking psychiatrist because of what your husband did to me!" I shouted, not caring who heard me now.

Renée stood too, pointed her finger at me aggressively. "You always were a little drama queen. Always looking for attention." She tutted.

"Attention?" I bellowed, tears running freely down my face now. "For months I stayed silent and never said a word while your husband and his friends assaulted me. I never told a soul. You knew. You knew and you never said anything. You are my mother. You are supposed to protect me." I shouted, feeling the anger I had held back for so long finally be released.

Renée reached over and slapped me across the face. I jumped back and covered my cheek with my hand.

"Don't you dare make up anymore lies, you bitch." She hissed, venom seeping into every word.

"Did I make this up, mother?" I said, rolling up my right sleeve to reveal the plethora of scars covering my right arm. I still felt sick when I looked at it. If you looked closely, you could see the small tally marks carved into the pale skin of my forearm. One mark for every time Phil or his friends took advantage of me.

I remembered each time he did it. How he would cackle and mutter something about 'keeping score.'

I physically felt my stomach turn as I looked at my arm. Instead I studied Renée, who seemed totally nonplussed by the violent marks on my skin.

"Knowing you, you did it yourself to get attention." She sneered at me.

I didn't say anything. Clearly Renée was fucking mentally unstable. She spoke to my doctor. He told her I had been raped. Instead she chose to believe Phil. Phil, my stepfather. Phil, the man who tormented me for months and made me scared to even be near men.

Renée and I were still standing, staring each other down. The tension in the air was almost tangible. In that moment, I knew. I hated this woman. I hated her with every fiber of my being.

Renée opened her mouth as if to say something more, but she was interrupted with a slap across her face.

Unfortunately, though, it didn't come from me.

"What the fuck?" She exclaimed, looking up at the beautiful blonde waitress, who was now very red in the face, standing next to our table.

For the first time I looked around to see everyone in the diner staring at us with open mouths, shock clear on all their faces. For a while I had forgotten we were in public. I felt myself blush when I realized everyone must have heard our entire conversation.

"Get the fuck out of this diner before I call the police." The blonde said to Renée harshly.

Renée looked taken aback. I noted that one cheek was now a bright red compared to the other. "You can't do that!" She argued. The blonde raised one eyebrow.

"Do you really want to try me? Get out!" She bellowed, pointing to the door of the diner.

Renée huffed and picked up her trench coat and purse. She turned to me. "Don't you even think about coming home. I want nothing more to do with you." She said coldly before sweeping out the door, pulling it behind her with a bang.

I stared after her in shock. Where would I go? I had nowhere to live now.

I didn't even realize I was crying until I was being handed a pile of napkins and being led through a door, out of the main room of the diner and into a back room with a sign reading 'staff only.'

the blonde waitress sat me down in a plastic fold out chair and sat next to me, rubbing soothing circles up and down my back as I sobbed.

"What will I do now? I have nowhere to live." I sobbed, voicing my fears. Oh God, I was going to be homeless.

The blonde tilted her head to the side in thought. "Yes you do." She said softly.

I sniffed and wiped away the tears still streaming down my cheeks.

"You'll come live with me." She stated firmly.

A/N: So that's it. I'm not sure if I should continue with this story. I know it's a very controversial topic, and I don't want to offend anyone. If you have any ideas or opinions, I would love to hear them. Should I go on with this fanfic?

Thanks for reading :)