DISCLAIMER: SM..YADA YADA.. TWILIGHT.. YADA YADA.. ME.. NADA.

I know you didn't bring me out here to drown
So why am I ten feet under and upside down?
Barely surviving has become my purpose
Cause I'm so used to living underneath the surface.

- Storm - Lifehouse.

Long ago, she trained herself to refrain from glancing at her reflection in the full-length mirror located just inside the bathroom door. Looking in it only confirmed what she was already aware of, all TOO aware of. The girl she was now was not the same girl she was a year ago, let alone three years ago.

She longed to be that girl.

Instead of gazing at that all too visible and painful reminder, she side stepped the mirror and made her way to the large shower Jacob had custom made to fit his large frame. She fiddled with the temperature of the water until it was just right. It was a careful process, ensuring the heat from the water wasn't enough to scald her flesh clear off her bones. Due to Jacob's "nature", a normal water heater just wouldn't suffice. Doesn't get hot enough, he had explained somewhat patiently to her when he was having the bathroom redone. Of course not. Not to someone whose average body temperature ran a good 10 degrees higher than the rest of the human population. So in came that special water heater, industrial sized, that had no problem what so ever achieving the base heat of roughly hell status.

Stepping into the steam enclosed cubicle, (cubicle, of course, being a fair understatement) she took her time letting the water do its magic on her muscles. Perversely, she bit back the urge to turn the left knob all the way to the right, cutting off the heat and allowing the cold to envelope her. It did no good to entertain thoughts like that.

She shook her head, feeling her long hair tickle across her lower back.

It did no good at all.

Chagrined, she reached for the bar of soap in its holder in front of her, wrinkling her nose in disgust at the stray hairs littering the top. How hard was it exactly for him to use a washcloth, or his hand for that matter? Rather than the actual bar of soap straight on his body? It wasn't as if she didn't deal with his filth enough without the evidence of it being located on what she used to clean herself of it.

Throwing the soap back into the dish, she reached for her body wash, trying not to think of why she still bought freesia scented after all these years. Pouring a little out on her cloth (like any decent person would do), she set to work doing her best to clean off all reminders of a drunken Jacob.

It was slow and methodical work, and somewhere deep down, she enjoyed it, even through the occasional stab of pain brought on by her actions. Enjoyed the sensation of wiping the slate clean. Sure, it might find itself marred up again eventually, but for now, at least, the sins, whether they be hers or Jacob's, were wiped clean.

That deadly emotion, Hope, threatened to fill her again, as it often did during this part of her routine.

She kept on cleaning, wiping the upper body slate clean, letting the hope fill her with every pass of the cloth, until she felt as though the body wash did it's intended purpose. She rinsed herself off, relishing the way the hot water and smell of freesia made her feel.

Taking the time to lather up her hair with her favorite shampoo, strawberry scented, still and always, she started on her lower body, careful to finish the job just as thoroughly as she started it. This part was crucial, lest she feel unclean for the remainder of the day.

All was well, until she reached the junction in between her legs, that is. It was painfully sore. As she bit her lip and continued her job, a dull burning set in.

It was just too much.

The heat of the water (had it grown hotter?) was too much like Jacob's body, grunting, sweat gleaming off his chest, on top of her. The smell of freesia was gone, replaced by the harsh smells of beer and liquor burning her nostrils as he spoke harshly in her ear in ragged breaths.

("You're not going anywhere until I say you can.")

While the shower was large, the steam now gave it a suffocating feel. As though she was trapped in all that heat, trapped in an inferno.

("Leaving me for him? He didn't want you then - he won't want you now.")

And the burning between her legs served as a far better reminder of what had happened last night, and many nights before, than that damned shattered porcelain angel had this morning upon waking.

("Do you like this? Tell me. I know you do.")

She was on the ground.

The tiles biting into her underside, knees hugged to her chest, sweat, tears, and scalding water mingling and mixing on her face, making it impossible to see.

She rose on shaking legs, trying her hardest not to think about what had happened, or how long she had spent huddled in the corner of the shower. Quickly she turned the knobs, cutting off the water and stepped out on to the rug, wrapping her body in a large fluffy towel.

She was exhausted now. Though she wanted nothing more than to crawl back in bed, she made her way through the bedroom and back down the hall towards the rest of the house. She was going to call Angela, she was going to go out, and she was going to act like a normal person, dammit. If that episode in the shower proved nothing else, it showed her how badly she needed to get out for just a little while. Clear her head.

Before she reached the kitchen, where Jacob had placed Angela's number for safe keeping, the phone began to ring. Sprinting the rest of the way to the phone where it sat in its cradle, she snatched it up, half expecting her mother to answer her breathless "hello?". It had been about 3 weeks since she had spoken to her, she was due her mandatory 15 minutes to pretend they were still as close as they had always been.

"Bella, is that you?" asked a voice she couldn't quite place, instead.

"Erm, it is," She answered, trying hard to match the voice with a face.

"Hey! It's Angela! Did you get my message from Jacob?"

She pushed back the feelings of embarrassment at not being able to recognize her friend's voice from straight away. "I did! I was just getting ready to call you back, actually. You still want to meet somewhere?"

Was she over doing it? She hoped not.

"Absolutely! Port Angeles at two okay? I really want to do some shopping too," Bella bit back a groan, "Would that give you enough time?"

She glanced at the clock on the stove, it was just after 11 now.

"Sure! Where do you want to meet?" She answered brightly. More brightly than she felt.

"You okay with eating somewhere first?" Always considerate, that Angela.

"That's fine. We can meet at the restaurant if you'd like. Where did you have in mind?"

And somehow, she knew - before the question fully left her mouth. She knew the answer in the same way some people get a feeling right before they are in a terrible accident.

"How about La Bella Italia? It's been ages since I've been there!"

She nodded. She nodded because she had known. With her mouth, she agreed with Angela, and promised to meet her there promptly at 2.

In her mind, she thought bitterly: 'You and me both.'

AN:

Once again, major props to my bestie beta, whose late nights, patient editing skillz and dedicated suggestions have turned this story from sub par at best, to slightly above mediocre. She deserves medals. Gold, shiny ones. And a couple of stickers. Sparkly stickers.

If reading = love.
reviews = sex.

Though, I'm not quite desperate enough to sell my body for reviews yet.. but you get the idea.