Dear Leah

A/N; I loathe Twilight, and especially the imprinting. I loathe the misogyny and domestic abuse undertones, and I loathe the supposed true love between Sam and Emily, and I loathe the idea that it's seen as true love to maim your girlfriend when you get angry. This is my first time writing an Anti-Twilight fic, although I have a few in store. Reviews and constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.

Disclaimer; This story is based off situations and characters created by Stephenie Meyer. I own nothing.


Dear Lee-Lee

Lee-Lee. It must be awful for you to hear that nickname. I called you that when we were two and the "eeaaaa" wouldn't roll off my tongue. It was my special name for you until you moved away and met Sam and fell in love with him. You told him everything about you, including our special secret nickname, and he laughed and said he loved it and adopted it for himself and you were Lee-Lee again. So now you're only called Lee-Lee by the two people you hate the most in the world.

I know you hate me. You have every right to. But I have something I need to say, and no one else can know.

I'm terrified of him, Lee-Lee.

I didn't realize it would make him so angry. I never would have mentioned it if I thought it would, but even then, it took a lot of biting my nails and working up a sweat. I told him I didn't want to get married, that I wanted to go to uni, or go travelling, or do something with my life before I promised myself to him forever and had to have his babies and keep his house and cook his food and bake the pack's muffins.

He sounded really upset at first - I felt so bad. It sounded like he was sobbing and saying stuff like how he'd given up everything for me and that I'd really broken his heart and that I didn't understand how he felt and everything he did he did for me and how I should be more grateful. It made me feel so awful, I just had to reach out and hold him and hug him, and tell him that I loved him and I would always be there...

He changed. The moment I touched him he started transforming, his clothes falling off, and black fur sprouted all over him. He wasn't Sam anymore. I fell back, and the wolf sprang on top of me. He howled, so loudly I'm shocked none of the pack heard - or maybe they did, but didn't want to intervene; I don't know - and started biting and scratching and l couldn't breathe. It was horrible - I could feel his saliva dripping all over my face as he chomped at my arms and legs. All I wanted to do was scream.

Well, I think you've got the idea. I'm sorry; I don't like thinking about it, so I guess you don't either.

I cried all evening. I couldn't sleep. Then, at midnight, Sam climbed into bed next to me. He stroked my hair and kissed my new scars and told me not to cry. He said, "I got angry with you, Emily. And you know what happens when I get angry."

I sobbed even more and felt terrible for it. "I'm sorry."

He kissed my forehead and patted my hair. I felt like a child. "I forgive you. But you mustn't make me angry, Emily. I'll hurt you if I get angry. And you don't like getting hurt, do you?"

I sobbed some more and snuffled an apology and whispered, "No."

Sam looked at me very seriously, and placed his hand over mine. But he smiled at me, kind and understanding and gentle. "I don't like having to hurt you, Emily. But I can't help hurting you. I can't help it, I have to. It's who I am. I don't think you understand how difficult it is for me not to hurt you whenever you make me angry. It's hard and tiring and takes a lot of self-control. But I put myself through it because I love you. But," he traced a finger down a scar running through my nose and lip - it's a newer one, one you won't have seen - and said, "I could kill you in one angry, heated argument."

He entwined his hand in mine, like we were locked together forever, "Let's make a deal. If you promise never to make me angry again, then I promise never to hurt you. That seems simple, doesn't it?"

I managed to stop crying long enough to smile and kiss him on the cheek.

I asked Bella Swan for relationship advice yesterday. She's practically my only girlfriend who Sam still lets visit us. I told her about Sam breaking the wheels of my bike and himself and the pack following me when I went shopping.

She laughed. Not that's-hilarious laughter, more of oh-honey-you-have-so-much-to-learn laughter. She told me that it's sweet for him to be so protective of me, that Edward used to do it when she was human, that human girls are "breakable" to werewolves and vampires. She said that I was lucky to have him.

I hope she's right.

Because that would mean that I am wrong and Sam is right and the man I want to love more than my life isn't a monster or a cheater, but a good, sweet, kind man, the man I hoped I would marry ever since I was a kid and used to dress up my dolls is bridesmaid dresses.

She's probably right. I think she is. I hope she is.

In fact, you shouldn't even worry about this email. It's probably just a messy patch in the relationship and it'll all be fine and happy and sunny again when you get this. I might not even send it.

I don't know why I'm even writing this, ha ha ha! I'm breaking all Sam's rules by contacting you, so let's hope he doesn't check my computer history! (I don't think he will, but I'll clear my history just in case).

I just needed someone to talk to. And I've always been able to talk to you, Lee-Lee, ever since we were kids and you shoved Play-Do down Buddy Masen's pants in kindergarten because he was mean and liked to push us down in the playground.

Anyhow, I feel a lot better for writing this. Thank you. I hope you're doing well at college. I hope you're getting lots of A's and going to interesting lectures and go on wild nights out and have a lots of great friends who love you and a new boyfriend who sees you for the brilliant person you are. You deserve it.

From,

Oh, screw it,

Lots of love,

Emily xxxx

PS: I love you. Love you, love you, love you, love you, love you, love you, love you, love you.