I watched Bella closely. I made sure she ate lunch, while sitting with her, having my usual meal. She eyed the blood-red steak and spicy jalapeno sauce drizzled over the top, shaking her head vehemently when I offered her a bite. My salad was crisp, the dressing pungent; the way I liked it. My portions were small, but it gave me what my body needed. It was easier to eat at my bar rather than attempt cooking in my home. I didn't enjoy it or the lingering odors.

I disliked the fact she seemed to push more food around her plate than she ate. I'd had my cook make her pasta, which I knew to be one of her favorites. I noticed her appetite decreasing the past week or so, as her nerves took over. Searching my memory, I tried to figure out when she began to hide from me. After I told her the truth, and she'd accepted it and me, I thought things were fine, and we would move forward.

But, something happened. Something I overlooked. I needed to figure it out.

"When did you find out about the back taxes, Bella?"

She looked up from her plate. "Last week."

I thought of her smashed cell phone. "Have they been harassing you?"

She swallowed, shaking her head. "No. They know I am working on it."

I covered her hand with mine, stilling her fingers that worried her napkin. "The bill will be paid tomorrow. They won't contact you again."

She made a small noise in the back of her throat.

I drained my wineglass. "Not that they can, since you don't have a house phone, and your cell phone is in pieces in your backyard."

The shaking in her hand grew more noticeable. I tilted my head, studying her.

"Why did you do that, Bella?" I asked quietly.

"I didn't want it anymore."

"You could have shut it off and put it in a drawer."

"No. That wouldn't work."

"I don't understand."

She pushed away her plate, the food barely touched, her wine not tasted. "I can't . . . I don't know how to explain it, Edward. It's complicated and messy."

"I'm sure I can keep up."

She rubbed her forehead wearily, her shoulders hunched. "I'm not worth it."

"What did you just say?"

With a sigh, she slumped against the back of the booth. "You should probably just walk away. It would be better for you."

"Better?" I snarled. "How, exactly, do you think that?"

She shrugged, shutting her eyes. "Safer," she whispered. It was so quiet I almost missed it among the sound of the static blasting through my brain from her pain.

And fear.

I suddenly saw what I had been missing.

She was terrified.

But not of me. For me.

Her fear stemmed from worry, her anxiety from the intense need to protect me at all costs.

How had I not seen or felt that until now?

How could she hide that from me?

Her fragmented dreams, the terror she felt when her mind refused to let her rest, the distorted images that bled through her memories. It all hit me. Some of them were memories, some of them were plans.

She was thinking of running.

Rage, terror, and panic clawed at my chest.

I wasn't going to lose her, or let her disappear.

And nothing would hurt her. Ever.

Or me.

That was almost laughable. But she had no true concept of how ludicrous it was, and to her, the dread was real. My rage faded as I thought of what it meant. She was terrified because she was as in love with me as I was with her.

I leaned forward, tamping down my astonishment and lingering anger, but I was done. I tapped the top of the table, making my point. "Whatever it is that you're not telling me? I want it today. You're going to tell me everything, Bella. Everything. What the fuck you're hiding from me, why you are so scared, and why the fuck you insist on staying in a house that causes you pain."

She opened her mouth, and I shook my head, narrowing my eyes at her.

"We're going back to my house now. You are going to talk." I stood, throwing down my napkin. "I'm going to get a few things from my office."

She nodded, not moving.

I paused at the bar on my way back. "You covered for tonight?"

Riley looked up from polishing the glasses. I knew his cell phone was in front of him, playing whatever program he liked to follow. It didn't bother me. He did a good job, and it was a mundane task. He always put his phone away once customers started trickling in.

"Yeah, boss. Everything's good. You out of here?"

I nodded. "I'll be back tomorrow. Call if you need me."

"Bella starts tomorrow, right?"

"She isn't well," I lied. "I'm taking her home to rest. Maybe next week."

"Okay. I'll get Leah or Jake to cover."

"Good."

I strode to the booth. Bella was motionless, aside from the trembling I could see racing down her spine. I held out my hand. "Home. Now." She let me pull her from the booth. I wrapped my arm around her, holding tight.

"Do you trust me?" I murmured low to her ear.

"Yes."

"Then know whatever you say to me will not change how I feel, or what happens going forward, except you will no longer be scared." I tilted up her chin, forcing her to meet my gaze. "I will protect you."

"Who will protect you?"

Her words warmed my heart, even as I hid my smile.

"Your love will protect me, Bella." I bent low and kissed her. "That is all I need."

~o0o~

I made coffee, while Bella paced. I hadn't been joking when I told her I was addicted to the stuff. I brought her a mug, adding a shot of brandy to it, hoping to calm her down. Her pulse was rapid, her heart beat erratic. I could smell the tears she held in. The fear so tight within her chest, it was exhausting her.

I sat on the coffee table, tugging on her wrist, easing her onto the sofa. I handed her the mug, urging her to drink.

She sipped in silence, and I let her gather her thoughts. When the seconds turned to minutes and the minutes began to drag, I spoke. "We aren't leaving here until you tell me."

Her eyes met mine.

"It stops today, kitten. The hiding, the worry, the fear. Tell me. Say it out loud, and we can move forward."

She set down her mug, wringing her hands. I wrapped my hand around hers, shocked at the cold I could feel. "Bella."

She looked up. "Nothing," I reiterated. "Nothing is going to change, except you won't be alone with this anymore."

She dragged in a long breath.

"I was about four when my mother left my father. She left in the middle of the night, while he was at work. She just dragged me out of bed and put me in the car. We drove for what felt like days." Her eyes were wide. "She told me my father didn't want us anymore and told her to leave. He never wanted to see us again."

I frowned. It sounded out of character from the kind of man I had heard Charlie Swan to be.

"We went from place to place, never staying very long. I cried for my dad a lot. He had given me a bunny when I was little, and I still had it. I never let my mom see it, because I knew if she did she would have gotten rid of it. I hid it, and I would take it out when I was really lonely, hold it and think of my dad." She sighed. "I could remember the way his moustache would tickle when he kissed my cheek, or the way he laughed when he would toss me in the air. Or how safe I felt when he would tuck me into bed and sit beside me reading. I missed him so much."

"What happened, Bella?"

She shrugged. "I grew up. We moved all the time. I never knew what I would find when I came home. The places got worse—smaller, dirtier. Sometimes there wasn't enough to eat. Mom would lose another job, and we'd have to move; often running in the middle of the night and driving to a new town. Once the car died, we'd have to hitchhike."

My anger toward her mother began to build.

"By the time I was ten, I was the adult of the house. My mother was out of control. She drank all the time. There was no money for rent or food. I couldn't go to school. There was no heat or clean clothes. It was awful. Then one day, Phil entered our life. Suddenly, we could eat, pay the rent. I could attend school. My mother was in love." She snorted. "Of course she had been in love before. Many times. They never stayed."

"But Phil did?"

A long shudder racked her body. "Yes."

"What did he do?"

She met my eyes. "He was into drugs. He made them, sold them." She swallowed. "He had a temper. And he was very possessive of my mother. And me," she added in a low voice.

Hot waves of rage began to build. "What did he do?" My hands curled into fists as I imagined how this man was going to die for what he had done to my Bella.

"He pushed me around, threatened me, plus the occasional slap to 'keep me in line.' And . . . he did use me."

"He used you." I didn't like the sound of that statement. "How?"

She laughed, the sound bitter. "What better way to get drugs into the school or lots of other places than giving them to a child to carry?"

"He used you as a fucking drug runner?"

"Yes."

"And your mother knew?"

"Yes. She helped him."

Her mother was going to die, as well. There was no question.

"Keep talking."

"He used to threaten me all the time. I knew what I was doing was wrong, and as I got older, I hated him more and more for making me do it. I hated my life. I hated him. Then one day, when I was fourteen, I went home from school early. I wasn't feeling well. Mom had been high the night before, and Phil was in a nasty mood, and I pushed him too hard."

She swallowed, her trembling increasing.

I fisted one hand on the cushion, feeling the material rent under my fingers. "What. Did. He. Do."

"He shoved me into the wall and told me to either shut up and toe the line, or not only would he kill my mother and make it look like an accident, he would start using me in her place—for everything. He promised the pain I had been in would seem like nothing compared to what he had planned."

Blood. Pain. Breaking bones, pieces of his body removed in a slow, careful manner, sure to cause the upmost pain, was what Phil was going to experience when I got my hands on him.

"What happened next?" I asked through gritted teeth.

"The day I went home early, the house was empty, so I went to my room to lie down. I heard them come in, and I stayed quiet so they wouldn't know I was there. Then I heard them talking. My mother was laughing at how easy it was to keep me in my place. Phil agreed, saying he would hate to lose his best drug runner. He told her if he ever had to prove it to me, he'd make sure it was all for show." Bella sighed and ran a hand over her head. "The phone rang, and they went back out."

"What did you do?"

"I knew I had to go. Leave. But I needed money and to get away when they wouldn't suspect. I started looking for where Phil hid the money, and a couple days later, I found a small box in the back of my mother's closet. It didn't have money, but it had my birth certificate and some letters from my dad. I guess he had found her when she first left." Bella raised her eyes to mine. "He begged her to bring me back. He said if she didn't love him anymore that was fine, but to let me come home and he would care for me. He didn't stop loving me."

I covered her hand with mine. "Of course he didn't, Bella. Who could ever stop loving you?"

"My mother did. I was just a means to an end for her. I always had been."

There was nothing I could say to that. Bella wiped her cheek and continued.

"The envelope had this address. I wrote it down, and that spied on Phil for a few days until I found where he stashed the money. It was under a loose floorboard in the coat closet. I waited until Friday, because they always disappeared on Fridays and reappeared on late Sunday. I think that was when they picked up the drugs."

"And?"

"I took all the hidden money, and a backpack stuffed with my clothes and my bunny. I got the first bus out of there. It took me five days, but I made it to Forks. I walked into the Police Station."

"I imagine Charlie was shocked. Did he even recognize you?"

"Yes, he did. He held me so tight, Edward. And he cried. We both did. He brought me to his house, and let me sleep. I was so tired."

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him the truth. That I hated living with Mom and that she had lied and said he didn't want me. I told him things were really bad, and she had chosen Phil over me, but I didn't elaborate more than that. I explained that I found the letters and where he lived. I had no recollection of the name of the town I lived in my first years, so I was grateful Mom still had those letters. He told me he had to let her know I was safe, and I begged him not to. I pleaded until he relented."

"He knew there was more to the story."

"Yes, but the best thing about Charlie was he didn't hover. He knew what I needed, and he left me alone."

"They didn't try and find you?"

"They did, but they never thought to look here. They had no idea I knew about my dad. Until someone posted a picture of me online a few years later. It was just before my seventeenth birthday."

"And?"

"I came home one day and Phil was sitting on the sofa as if he owned the place. He had a gun. He told me I was leaving. I said no—I knew he would never really hurt my mother and he could go to hell."

"Good girl. But?"

"He said he had no plans on hurting my mother. But unless I agreed to go with him, he was going to shoot Charlie. He stood, pointed the gun at me, and told me I was going to convince Charlie I changed my mind and wanted to go back to my mother. I had two days to make it happen or he would be back. He said I owed him the money I stole, plus interest, and I was going to work it off. He laughed—oh God, it was an awful laugh. He said if I refused, he would kill Charlie, hurt me, and I would still end up back with him."

I had to stand. Pace. I shook my arms and fisted my hands trying to work off the anger that coursed through my body. Death was too good for Phil. But still, that was what awaited him when I was done. But it was going to take me a long time to grant him that wish.

"Obviously, you left Charlie."

"I couldn't risk him being hurt. It was awful. He didn't understand why I was leaving, and I had to say some hurtful things to get him to let me go. I walked out of here with my suitcase, the bunny, and my old truck I had bought with money from waitressing. Charlie begged me the whole time to stay. I remember looking in my rearview mirror and seeing him standing in the middle of the road, crying."

Her voice broke and her shoulders began shaking. I sat beside her, pulling her into my lap and let her cry. I knew she had never told anyone this story, and telling it was an emotional thing. Once her sobs stopped, she tilted her head back, her dark eyes red and swollen. I tucked her hair behind her ear. "You went back to your mother and Phil?"

"Only for a short time. It was awful. My mother wasn't even herself anymore—just a strung out junkie. Phil pushed her around all the time, and two days after I got there, he started on me."

"I am going to kill him. You know that don't you, kitten?"

"I won't stop you."

"As if you could. Tell me what happened."

Her words came out fast now. She was tiring, and I could tell, not wanting to relive it anymore. "I took pictures and called in a tip to the cops. They raided the house and arrested both of them. I was across the street in my truck, watching. Phil saw me and started screaming at me—lots of obscenities and threats."

"And they went to jail?" That would make it harder to kill him, but I'd figure something out.

"The police put me in protection while they sorted things out. But there were errors, and the case was thrown out. Both my mom and Phil were released. They put me in witness protection, but somehow, Phil found me. So I ran."

"Fuck, Bella."

She met my gaze, her expression weary. "I hid for the next few years. I moved from place to place. Never settling. I couldn't come back here. I knew Phil would find me and hurt me—or worse—hurt Charlie."

She sighed, the sound low and shaky. "I found out Charlie was sick. I had a fake Facebook account under another name, and I checked in on him. I risked a call to him, and he knew everything. He forgave me because he knew why I left. I wanted to come back, but he begged me to stay away. He promised he'd get better." Her voice caught. "He told me he missed me so much, but he loved me more. He needed me to be safe." She leaned back against the cushion. "He told me to wait until he knew it was safe. He died waiting for me to come back."

A tear slid down her cheek. "His house is all I have left."

"No, Bella. You have the memories of the time you shared with him. Those are way more important than a broken-down house that makes you sad. Charlie wouldn't want that."

She didn't say anything for a moment.

I asked the question I had been wondering about. "Why can't you have children, Bella?"

She sighed. "I always had problems with my periods. They started early and things just never worked right. One day, when I was about eleven, I got sick. Really sick, with lower abdominal pain. But, Phil had no medical and drug plan payments, and I couldn't go to a hospital. He took me to some hole in the wall clinic, and they didn't treat me properly. And . . ."

"What?" I managed to get out between gritted teeth.

"I was left with permanent damage. I suffered for a long time with pain and discomfort, and years later I found out I couldn't have children. There was too much damage."

His neglect had caused this. He was going to scream for a very long time. Then I would rip out his tongue.

I sucked in a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

She nodded, looking sad. "It took me a long time to come to terms with that. I even had surgery when I was here to see if they could remove some of the scarring, but nothing helped." She wiped a tear away. "It is what it is. They said I was sterile."

I let her gather herself, before I asked another question.

"Why did you come back?"

"I heard Renee died. Then Charlie did, too. I was so tired of running, and it had been so long, I thought Phil had given up. I knew the house was mine and it was here. I decided to come back and try to find a life. He had nothing left to take from me."

"It was him who called you, wasn't it?"

"Yes. Somehow, he got my number. All he said when I answered was 'Run, Bella. Run.'" Her voice dropped. "I was terrified. I planned on leaving, but my truck died, and I didn't know what to do."

My hands curled into claws. His death would be long and painful. And soon. I swallowed the venom filling my mouth at the thoughts of what I would do to him. I turned to Bella, incredulous.

"You were terrified, and you kept it from me. Instead, you thought trying to leave me would be for the best?"

"I can't stand the thought of you being hurt."

"That's why you've been insisting on staying in your house? To protect me?"

"I thought if he showed up, he wouldn't know about you, and you'd be safe."

"He can't hurt me, kitten."

"But you're not immortal."

I sat beside her, gathering her shaking hands. I cupped her cheek, the dampness of her tears warm under my fingers. "Bella, the only thing that can hurt me is you. You leaving me is not an option. Opening yourself up to harm is not acceptable."

"He has weapons. Guns, knives."

"Bella," I explained gently. "I'm not immortal, but I'm not human, either. I have been shot before."

"You have?"

"It is one of the things that does hurt. Like a bitch, actually. But all that happens is it burrows into my skin and I have to use needle-nosed pliers to pull it out. My skin fills back in."

Her eyes widened. "And a knife?"

"Do you really want to know? Will it set your mind at rest?"

"Yes."

I went to the kitchen and returned to her. In my hand was a small, very sharp paring knife. She frowned looking at it. Before she could ask, I lifted my arm and slashed at my forearm, using all my strength. She gasped as blood welled from the small cut. It was thick, dark, and slow moving, unlike her bright, free flowing life form. I lifted my arm to my mouth, and lapped at the cut. I held it back out, and she stared at the thin red line—all that remained of the open wound.

"By tomorrow. you won't see it."

She touched it gingerly. "Did it hurt?"

"Probably like a papercut for you. It stings."

"Oh."

I kneeled in front of her, gripping her arms. "He can't seriously hurt me, Bella. And he isn't going to hurt you—ever again. Do you understand me?"

"Yes."

"I need your promise you'll stop keeping things from me."

"I was just so scared, Edward. To think of you being hurt, or losing you because of my past . . . I couldn't even fathom it."

"I love you, Bella. I would die trying to protect you, but that isn't going to happen."

"You–you really love me?"

"Ah, kitten, my silly little human. Yes. I do." I frowned. "No more running. No more hiding. You are safe with me. You will always be safe with me. When Phil shows up, he will be dealt with by me, and you will never see him again."

"What are you going to do to him?"

I swung her up in my arms. "That, my love, I'm not going to tell you. It's not something you need to know. All you need to know is you're safe. I won't allow anything to happen to you, or to me."

She laid her head on my chest as I carried her upstairs.

"You are going to bed. If you can't sleep, you can talk, but you're lying down. When you sleep, I will be there—I won't leave you."

"You have more to say."

"Yes. And I will once you're rested."

I lay her down on my bed, her chestnut hair spread out on my pillow. She looked so small and vulnerable on the large mattress. She also looked pale and exhausted. I snagged the blanket and pulled it over her body, then settled beside her. Like the kitten I called her, immediately, she curled into me, seeking my touch. I wrapped my arm around her, holding her tight.

"Sleep, Bella. You're safe."

Her warm breath drifted over my skin.

"Thank you," she breathed out.

I pressed my lips to her head. "Always."

Thank you for reading. See you next week.