Disclaimer: Twilight, its plot and character, are owned by Stephenie Meyer and her publishing company. No copyright infrigement is intended.
Help
Oh God he's here again.
He's coming through the window, ignoring my pleas, settling into my room as if he owns the place. I try to reason: this is an invasion of privacy, I never invited you, my father's downstairs, please just give me some time alone. He ignores them all.
He settles into the rocking chair, motioning me over to sit on his lap. To be his baby, to be his sweet precious daughter when I already have a dad. I try to refuse, emotions overwhelming me, tears stinging at my eyes.
And he glares.
Oh God those eyes.
He reaches out to me, grabbing my arm, twisting the limb, nearly breaking the bone. I cry out, shuddering visibly, praying silently under my breath. He pulls me towards him, onto his lap. He adjusts himself and what I feel makes me squirm in protest. Tears start to flow liberally now. He shushes me, brushing back my hair.
Shh, baby, shh, love, everything's okay.
Everything's not okay. I told him time and time again that I was not interested, I didn't feel that way, I had to focus on school, I was already interested in another guy. Sure at first I thought he was handsome; but those features I once found endearing are now alien and unsettling.
His hands roam my backside and I try to choke out more protests. I don't want to. I'm not ready. I don't even like you! Why do you bother me like this? Why are you so fucked up?
One hand sidles down my curve and onto my ass. I snap at him, twisting away, almost successful, almost crying for my father.
His eyes narrow, fierce, determined, and… black.
Oh God he didn't feed.
His hands grab onto my shoulders, steadying me, cursing me. Oh Bella, why do you do these things to me? Why do you tempt me so? How come you're such a manipulative bitch?
No, no, I never asked for this. I never wanted this. I try to tell him, but my throat is closed off, body wracked with tears.
Shh, baby, shh, love, I won't ever hurt you.
His hands push back my hair and pull my torso towards his. My head settles under his chin and he hums, pressing kisses into my hair.
Shh, baby, everything will be fine. We'll run away together, we'll get married, you'll be like me.
I don't want to be like you!
But I still can't get these words out. My father's simply downstairs. If only he could stop watching basketball for one fucking second and realize what's going on in his own house!
The hands push me up to his face and his lips press against mine, gentle first, almost even considerate. Then a hunger overtakes them and they push and bruise and part mine without any consent. I stiffen and try to pull away but his hand hold tightly onto my neck, not romantic at all.
He pulls away at last and whispers,
Shh, baby, shh,
I love you.
He holds me against him again and continues to whisper our future, while all I could do is obey and hope something, anything, can save me.