STRONG

Disclaimer for all chapters: I do not own Twilight Saga. SM owns it. I do not intend to copy any of her ideas for my own. I only own the plot to this story. And I do not intend to copy any other author either. There are many stories out the re and I have not been able to read all of them.

This story contains mention of physical and emotional abuse, rape and sexual content. Do not read if you are uncomfortable with such topics.

Enjoy and please review.

Chapter 1

I'm Bella Dwyer. I live with my parents, Phil and Renee, in Forks WA where I was born and raised.

My dad was a car salesman but he lost his job. He collected unemployment and tried to look for work but nothing seemed to pan out. To help pay bills, mom got a job. Problem was, she and dad had gotten married right after high school and mom had gotten pregnant with me right away, so she didn't have any college. She qualified for entry-level positions only. She worked in retail sales in the women's section at the department store at the Port Angeles mall, but earning only minimum wage at 40 hours per week wasn't enough for us. After his unemployment benefits expired, he started drinking. My dad was a mean and cruel drunk. He would say horrible things to me and my mom. He constantly told me that I was ugly and stupid. His words really hurt, but I was determined that I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of showing him how I felt. He said worse things to mom. He called her a frigid bitch and claimed she didn't know how to satisfy a man. Mom would yell back and they would get into horrible fights. Phil's drinking got worse and the fights got worse.

One night when I was ten, I woke up to yelling. I was disoriented at first but after a minute as my eyes adjusted to the darkness of my room, I recognized mom and dad screaming terrible things at each other. Then I heard a horrible smack noise and for a split-second there was silence before I heard my mom start sobbing. Scared, I got up and went to their bedroom. The door was open and mom was holding her hand over her check, crying while dad looked at her with fury in his eyes. "Mom, Dad?" I said with a trace of panic in my voice. My voice seemed to snap both of them back to reality. Mom quickly came over to me and said, "Bella, honey, go back to bed. Daddy and I were just arguing. We're done now honey and you can go back to bed." I looked over my shoulder and dad was standing but his head was slumped down over his chest and I couldn't see his face. The next day, Dad was gone when mom and I got up. Mom had a deep bruise on her left cheek. I realized that my dad had hit my mom. After mom realized I noticed, she and I barely looked at each other. We must have both been in shock. Dad came in a few hours later; he had showered and shaved and brought flowers and chocolate. He begged mom and me for our forgiveness. Dad cried, mom cried and I cried and we all hugged. I was so relieved that it was all over and my dad realized that he had gone too far by hitting mom.

I was wrong. That was just the beginning. Since that night, when Dad would drink, he would get angry, get into a screaming match with mom, and then at some point, start hitting. Mom took the brunt mostly but I wasn't spared. Sometimes he would remember what he did and would apologize the next day promising it would never happy again and that he would change his ways. But mostly, he didn't remember. I started trying to protect my mom. I would jump in between them. Most of the time my screaming, "Dad you're killing her, stop!" worked. I got hit and kicked a lot doing that. When dad stopped, I would quickly walk mom away lock us in my bedroom. Dad would drink some more and a few hours later would scream, pound and kick at the door but after a while he would either lose interest or become exhausted.

Dad's outbursts made me very skittish. He drank a lot and often, but I never knew what might set him off into an abusive rage. I had been easy-going but now I was quiet and cautious. My teachers just attributed my personality change to burgeoning adolescence. Even on the nights when dad wasn't kicking and screaming at my bedroom door to reach mom and me, I didn't sleep well. I had lots of nightmares - mostly of being chased, of people trying to get me, of not being safe. I would wake up shivering and scared. Knowing that any more sleep was impossible, I would just turn on my bedside lamp and start reading.

After a few years, my mom started to withdraw. I didn't know what to do. Our family life was out of control and now mom was checking out too. On days when she didn't have to work, she started drinking. She would lay on the couch with an arm over her eyes drunk, and not move or say anything all day. I needed to feel in control of something, so first, I cleaned. I felt better being in charge of something and before I knew it, I was cooking, paying bills and creating grocery lists. I did my own laundry and took care of all of my own needs. I hoped that one day the drinking and fighting would stop and everything would be ready to go back to normal. I felt fearful a lot, but I didn't let anyone know that. I got really good at putting on a perfectly calm face while I felt like I might get sick any minute on the inside. I had only two tells: I would bit my lower lip and I chewed my fingernails to the quick. Otherwise, my motto was, "fake it til you make it."

By accident one day, I started running. I felt overwhelmed by the need to escape. I wanted to run away. So, I put on my tennis shoes, some shorts and a t-shirt and ran and walked around our block for about an hour. I felt more clear-headed and less anxious afterward so I decided to start running every afternoon. It surprised my follks, that's for sure. But unless it was raining really hard or snowing, I ran. I needed the escape and the the temperatures in Forks were never that bad. School was my other haven. Teachers love students who do their work and don't make any trouble, so I kept my head down, answered when called upon, and turned in my homework on time. I blended in perfectly.

But I didn't have any friends. I let them go. The hardest friendship to lose was Angela's. We had been best friends since we were 5. When we were 12, she invited me to my first "teen-age" party at her house for the girls and boys in our grade. The party started at 7 p.m. and her parents were there the whole time. It was a fun party. We drank punch, laughed, and Tyler Crowley had even asked me to dance. The thing about growing up in Forks is that all of us had known each other since kindergarten. My dad came and picked me up around 10 p.m. As we rode home, Dad asked, "how was the party?" I said, "fine," not really knowing what else to say. Dad and I didn't talk much anymore, so I didn't understand his interest in the party. All of a sudden my cheek exploded. He had slapped me hard in the face. Furiously, he said, "don't be such a smart ass bitch. You are just like your mother." I didn't say anything else for the entire car ride home. I was furious and my face hurt. Even sober, he had slapped me for no reason. I wasn't going to cry; I wasn't going to give him any satisfaction.

After that, Angela didn't understand why I withdrew. I had never told her about my parents and my home life. I was embarrassed and ashamed and didn't want anyone to know that my dad was a crazy alcoholic who beat me and my mother, and my mom didn't do anything about it. I stopped sitting next to her on the bus and in class, and I no longer hung out during lunch. I knew she was really hurt, but soon Angela made new friends. She now hung out with Jessica and Lauren. I was happy for her. Even though I was lonely, the fewer relationships I had, the easier it was for me to keep my secret.