Welcome to PAD's battered women's shelter.
Stephenie Meyer owns the Twilight Department of Health and Human Services.
I just want some of her funding to keep it open.
Meticulously beta'd by Chaya Sara and beautifully bannered by Mina Rivera. I remain humbly indebted to you both.
Warning: This story deals with the aftermath of domestic abuse. Although there are not any direct scenes with live physical contact, suggestions of past events and their aftermath are mentioned.
Reader discretion is advised.
There is a happily ever after.
Wake
The sun's too bright. I try to grab the pillow and pull it over me. Ouch! I touch the top of my head, its sides, and under my eye. It feels like I've taken punches in a bar fight, but I know better. He came home last night. Beer, rum, and smoke stank the kitchen. I had just fallen asleep when he grabbed my hand and dragged me out of bed. I try to rotate my wrist; it feels sprained and looks black and blue. I've had worse. I pat my head lightly. Good, no raised lumps, no dried blood, I wish I could say the same of my eye. I remember now. He demanded eggs, over easy. I couldn't flip them; it hurt when I tried. I hold my wrist. He hates broken yolks. Yellow and white splattered the kitchen walls; iron and grease dropped on my feet. Screams and pleas ripped from my lips. At least I can wiggle my toes. My tendons are sore. It looks like slippers for the next few days.
A brush runs through my hair, and clumps come out easily. My head is tender to the touch. I reflect on him yanking, mad that I ruined breakfast. The front door slammed at his leaving . . . shattered glass . . . littered floor. On autopilot with dust pan and broom, clinks and chinks cascade into brown paper left curbside. A sticky sponge slightly resists gliding on wallpaper. Warm water and soap bubbles complete the task. Reality sets in, tears stream cheeks, mental note pops: try harder next time. A blanket and pillow comfort the couch and me while I drift to what tomorrow brings.
.
.
.
Uhhhh. Tomorrow's here. I catch his truck through sunlit hallway panes as I limp towards white porcelain to relieve myself, surprised he made it home. I gaze passed our bedroom door and see his naked form . . . grinding the late-night-diner waitress. My face pales as my stomach lurches; its contents barely make it to the bowl. I feel tears coming but berate myself; he doesn't deserve them. I'm stronger than this. I morning "prep" before leaving my tiled sanctuary. With teeth brushed, cover-up applied, and hair tied, hopefully no one will inquire out loud or ask with their eyes.
With my eyelids squeezed, I tense before opening the door, not wanting to see what I have tried so hard to block out. But, I hear them—all of their grunts, pants, and chants. I blindly make my way quickly to the cellar stairs and descend carefully. Reconciling I will not be entering that room, I gather from the dryer what I will be wearing and think about where I have left all that I need for the day.
Dust falls from the ceiling as the headboard bangs at the wall. Bellowing howls rip from them both. Slight creaks and squeaks fade to nothing. They're done. It's safe to go up now. At least I know he won't be demanding a threesome; I cringe at the thought of all the forced times. I sigh as I know he'll sleep the next couple of hours; he doesn't have to be at the garage until ten.
I dress and tread gingerly up the stairs on bruised feet. Luckily, my purse and moccasins are left by the door. Seth greets me with tail wagging. His whimpers tell me he's as equally displaced. He follows as I quietly exit, tensing at the slightest click the front door makes. I catch the storm door and grab the multi-tool from my pocketbook he gave me for Christmas. "Never know when you're gonna need it," his words echo through my head. I unscrew the empty frame adorned with the few jagged shards and carry it to my truck with my left hand. Seth jumps through the opened window at my right. I beg and plead with my Chevy to start this morning. Thankfully, it obliges me and doesn't disappoint. I bow my head over the steering wheel and tell myself that there's always a reason. That which does not kill me only makes me stronger, right? I hope so. Please let it be a good day. I could really use some help . . . and some hope.
.
.
.
At barely six a.m., I decide to get the glass replaced first. When I pull into the hardware store, it looks like I'm the first one. The lights are just flickering on. Seth bolts from the truck and runs in the door just ahead of me. I place the empty frame on top of the counter with my strong hand while clutching my cell with the weak one. A crisp shirt, rolled sleeves, blue jeans, and warm smile greet me as our eyes meet. He winces; he knows. I further bury my head into my hoodie by looking down.
"Good morning, Bella."
"Hi, Edward," I reply.
"What may I help you with today?"
He's always so polite; what guy ever says,"May I"?
Pointing to the windowless frame, I gesture to him that I need replacement glass.
"Clumsy me, I caught it with the broom handle when sweeping the porch." He gazes up, wondering why I always play this deceitful game.
"Uh huh."
It's his simple reply as I'm observing him make fast work of measuring, scoring and pinging the glass. He watches me cringe as I hear him breaking it, giving way to the telltale signs of my frequent encounters. I observe how carefully he removes the broken fragments, reframing the delicate replacement, in awe of how gently he moves his hands to do so.
"Thank you. How much do I owe."
"Nothing today. I had this piece left over from when that hawk flew through Mrs. Cope's window."
"Are you sure? I should at least pay you for your time."
"I'm sure. It's always nice seeing you."
I feel a warmth flush to my face. "Thanks, Edward. I promise I'll repay the favor."
"Bella, you can repay me by just letting me help you. You know that, don't you?"
I just nod and smile while peering into his concerning green eyes. He puts out his hand.
"Please, let me have your phone."
I tremble at his request. What's he going to do? Is Jake going to find out? Oh God, Jake's going to see! Nevertheless, I give Edward my phone.
"Bella, what happened to your wrist?"
Uh oh, he sees. "I, uh, was walking Seth and had the leash too tightly wrapped. He saw a rabbit and bolted too quickly."
He set my phone on the counter and began cautiously examining my discolored flesh, noticing the finger-shaped marks.
"This is badly sprained. You should have my father look at it in the clinic . . . or his house if you prefer."
"No, that's okay. It's fine, really."
"Please, Bella, at least let me brace it for you."
He quickly sets off to locate an Ace bandage. Ripping open the package before I can even protest, he already has the tan fabric unfurled and coiling around my injury. His hands are firm . . . warm . . . and comforting.
With my mouth still agape, he grabs my phone off the counter and punches in his numbers under Masen Hardware, named after his mom's dad: one each for the store, his home and cell.
"Please, Bella, promise me that you will call; I will be there for you any time of the day or night."
"I . . . Edward, I don't know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything; I just want you to know that you'll always have a friend and a safe place."
He senses my apprehension.
"Here, let me carry this for you."
He walks me to my truck and places the window on the floor of the passenger seat against the dashboard.
"Can you wait a minute?"
I give him a slight nod.
He runs over to his greenhouse and goes inside. Moments later he strolls over to my door with his right hand hiding behind his back. He slowly pulls it forward and presents me with a stunning pink rose.
"It's from my favorite hybrid, which coincidentally matches the color of your beautiful face whenever you see me."
I felt that very same color returning at that moment. All I could say was, "Thank you, Edward. (For more than you really know) You always have the perfect words to say." With that, another truck pulls in, ready to begin a daily project. Edward reaches in his pocket, gives Seth a dog biscuit, and pats him on the head.
"Take good care of her boy."
In return, Seth licks Edward's face. I mouth the words thank you once again and catch Edward's gaze following me out of his lot. I wave goodbye and drive away thinking that maybe, just maybe, I am getting a little of that help I had asked for. I can only hope that it will be a good thing.
As I drive towards my remaining errands, I pick up the rose, twirl it under my nose and inhale its heavenly scent. It smells very sweet and a bit spicy, just like Edward. I run its petals across my lips imagining they are his and wondering what it would be like to kiss them. He called me beautiful. I don't think I've ever heard those words directed at me. Feeling tears encroaching into my sight, I pull over and sob, knowing I will never find happiness with Jake. I can only pray that I will find the courage to leave him . . . without ever going back.
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