A/N: This is the third and final piece in a series of one-shots that include 'Heart of the Lover' and 'Shame of the Sinner'. Nonetheless, this can be read as a standalone. While I love and respect Leah the most as a character, I have enjoyed the creative process of exploring all the different sides of the same story (though I must admit that the rude hate mail made it a teeny bit less enjoyable, haha). Anyway, here it is and as always, feel free to interpret as you will. Cheers :) -Chrys

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or any of its characters. All rights belong to the Stephenie Meyer.

STRENGTH OF THE FIGHTER

They are in her face every day. There is no escape. She cannot run. She cannot hide. Day in and day out, she has no choice but to watch them fawn over each other. It disgusts her; it is revolting, having to see them kiss and hug and hold and touch. They claim to be in the throes of love and it just makes her want to empty the contents of her stomach all over them. They are out of their minds, both of them. Complete strangers do not become star-crossed lovers in the blink of an eye. She doesn't buy their voodoo bullshit. That is not love; that is an insult to love. Love doesn't just appear out of thin air. It is an evolution of feelings, feelings that grow and blossom with time. She knows this because she has experienced it first-hand, and it was beautiful.

He was right there to experience it with her, yet he seems to have forgotten. Everything that they have been through, every special moment spent together, it all seems to mean nothing to him now. It is as if their relationship never really happened. It is as if he sees her as a decision that he regrets, a waste of time, unworthy of being cherished even as a memory. Who the hell is he to deem her unworthy, when it is he who has traded his worth? He is a coward, blaming the universe and hiding behind the skirts of his new woman, all because he is too afraid to own up to his actions.

She hates him. She hates her. They took her heart and crushed it to a pulp, leaving her with nothing but an empty chest that burns with the unbearable sting of betrayal. They can sugarcoat it with magic and call it whatever they want to make themselves feel better, but she calls it betrayal because that is exactly what it is. They chose to betray her, and it hurts. It is that simple, no matter how complicated they try to make it out to be. But they don't understand. How could they, when they're too wrapped up in each other to care about anyone else in the world?

She has learned her lesson. She will never trust anyone ever again. She trusted them both, and look where that has left her – bitter and alone, stripped of her dreams and the future that was almost hers. That future is gone now, lost to the wind because the man she loved, the man she loves still yet hates with a vengeance, has abandoned her. He has chosen someone else, someone he regards as superior, someone who was, not long ago, as good as a sister to her. But a sister she is no more, for no sister would ever commit such treachery against her own kin.

In her eyes, they are both the scum of the earth. She resents them for filling her with so much hate, when once she had nothing but love to give. Now she has nothing left to give. A part of her has died, and the part of her that remains is unsure of how to live. Her world is different now, darker, emptier, gloomier. She struggles to find meaning in it when she has so little to smile about, so little to look forward to, just so little. What could she possibly have done in her life to deserve this?

The answer is nothing and she knows it. She doesn't for a second believe that she is deserving of such cruelty. She is no meek victim resigned to her fate. They wronged her, and she's not about to beat herself up over why he left her to be with that pusillanimous priss of a woman. She doesn't care about the whys – the reasons do not matter, for there is no justifying their actions. The fact is that they were able to do it and live with themselves. The rest is irrelevant.

Even if they were to get down on their hands and knees to beg for her forgiveness, it would make no difference. She scoffs at their selfish apologies. They do it for themselves, not for her. Talk is cheap, and she can do nothing with a useless pile of guilt. Their guilt does not ease her pain. Their remorse does not soothe her sorrow. It infuriates her that he tries to check in on her, as if hoping to catch her in a vulnerable moment. With a tirade of angry words laced with only the most derogatory of expletives, she takes his pity, shoves it up his ass, and sends him back to the arms of his bitch.

She doesn't need him.

Not anymore.

For years, she devoted herself to him. She gave him everything, her time, her dreams, her heart, her innocence, and he squandered it all away for an unreality. A whole chunk of her life is now marred forever by the darkness he has cast over her soul. Those beautiful memories will always be tainted by how easily he threw them away. It leaves her cold and unforgiving. Silently she mourns the loss of the girl she used to be and the man she thought he was. Both are now dead to her, and it brings her to tears.

But she refuses to let them see her weep; she will never give them the satisfaction of knowing the true extent of her pain. She is strong, and she wants them to know that she is. Her strength is the one thing they cannot take away from her. She will not escape or run or hide, because that is what they would have done, and she is better than them. Instead, she chooses to stay. She will to stay and make them watch her as she has had to watch them, and it will be the best revenge. She may be broken, perhaps beyond repair, but even broken things can find new purpose, and she is determined to find hers. No matter what it takes, she vows to find a way to live again.

She will live.

And she will show them what it means to live.