A promise is a promise, so I present chapter 7 to you! The story is about to get a lot darker, and if you're upset easily, I advise you not to read this chapter. In this chapter, I will be truly introducing the abuse in Esme's marriage. At times, this was very hard for me to write because of the amount of pain. I tend to get weepy easily and did cry a bit while penning. I hope that I accurately portrayed everything because I really want everyone to understand and to be able to feel (not literally, but you know what I mean!) the trauma that Esme is going through.

One more thing before you read; Esme hears two voices for the majority of this chapter. I would like to prevent any confusion. The angel voice that she hears is Carlisle's and the voice she calls "small" or "tiny" is the voice of her survival instinct. Remember it from the wedding?


January 10th, 1919

Columbus, Ohio

Evenson Household

Almost five o'clock, he'll be home any minute now. Faster, Esme! Maybe if you could just have everything clean and dinner ready for once when he entered, you'd save yourself some pain.

Thank you, Lord! Everything's ready. Maybe he'll be happy just this one time.

I heard the ominous sound of tires screeching as he pulled up. I pulled my hair over my left cheek; Charles didn't like to see my bruises. He said it only reminded him of my incompetence. So, like a faithful wife, I obeyed. I straightened out my dress and did my best to look presentable; though appealing to that sense of his was what I feared most.

In the hopes of lightening his mood, I smiled as the door creaked. It made my face ache from my freshest bruise. "Wipe that smirk off of your face. You look as if you're happy that I was gone."

"I'm thrilled to have you back." I stated falsely.

"Don't lie to me, Esme! It makes me angry that you would sin so in my home!

Please, God, I was good today. You know why I have to lie.

"Yes, sir." I whimpered. He yanked my chin up.

"You look at me when you speak! Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir, I understand."

"Good." He kicked off his shoes and threw his jacket on the floor. Like a well trained dog, I raced over to put his things away before he turned around. I then darted to the kitchen to place his food down for him.

I was not permitted to sit until he had eaten and deemed the meal as acceptable. Instead, I would start scouring the pots that I had used earlier.

I'd practically forgotten he was there as I cleaned. "Esme, what the hell is this?"

"Pot roast, Mr. Evenson." I wasn't allowed to use his first name.

"It tastes god-awful!"

"You liked it the last time that I made it for you." I did not just say that.

I heard the chair legs scrape against the floor. "What did you just say?" I did not speak, but my body tensed; readied itself for a collision. "You do not talk back to me like that!" He grabbed a handful of my hair and violently pulled me back before slamming my face forward onto the countertop.

I was dizzy, but he didn't know I preferred when he hit my head first; it made the following blows to the back of my legs painless as I fell. "Get up!" He shouted at me. I had to move, or he'd strike again, as that was the cobra's game.

Surely this man must be Lucifer in the flesh. With his jet black hair and midnight eyes, he could only possess a soul of equal color, assuming he had one of course.

By the grace of God, I pulled myself up. I stared at the floor and saw a pool of red, sticky liquid on the floor. "Look at the mess you've made! Clean it up now!"

I scrubbed; determined for it not to stain. But I was confused. I touched my head; there was no liquid trail there. I finished and looked at the man looming over me. "Wash your face." He growled and turned away. I located a rag and ran to the bathroom.

I saw my face in the mirror and it was horribly obvious that my nose had absorbed most of the impact. I started to cry as the pain began to hit me completely.

I searched for the voice of the angel of my past. His voice had grown frighteningly distant over the years. I could barely remember the smooth tone it had once used to encourage me.

I heard the slam of the front door downstairs.

Just try, Esme. There was my annoyingly tiny voice from years ago.

"Fine, but don't expect much." I spoke to it.

I bunched another rag to hold against my nose to stop the blood flow and raced out the door.

The air was thick and unpleasant on my journey. I sluggishly trekked the mile to my mother and father.

I took a deep breath before knocking on their door. "Esme, my word, what happened to you? Come in!" We sat together in the kitchen at the table.

"Mom," I sighed. "I still don't love Charles, and ever since our first night of marriage, this is what I've known." I lifted away the rag and pulled back my hair.

"Oh, Esme, I can't believe you did this. Love will come with time. Must you cause me such unnecessary worry?"

"What?! You think that I did this myself?"

"Esme-"

"No! Why would I hurt myself?!"

Dad approached. "Esme, don't you yell at your mother!"

"Father, I need your help! Charles, he's-"

"Esme, I won't hear of this any longer. He's a man, and you are his wife. Perhaps this was earned."

"Besides, honey, marriage is made of compromise. Maybe if you gave a little more…"

This can't be happening.

"Compromise?! Give more?! I've given this man everything and this is what I've gotten in return?"

"If you divorce him, you will no longer be our daughter. You will not disgrace the family name like this." Father spoke harshly.

"Compromise to this extreme may work for you two, but I sure as hell deserve more!" A slap to my already swollen face was his response. I yelled through the tears. "Forget I was here! As far as I'm concerned, I was never your daughter!" They ceased to exist in my universe as I trudged home.

When I reached our now dark household, I could tell by the bag on the floor that Charles had a visitor, a mistress. He'd been bringing them home, not six months after our union. The first time it had happened, I was just crushed. Now, I accepted and was sometimes grateful that I wasn't good enough for him. At least it kept him from being intimate with me.

I sat on the sofa and read. It helped take me away from any sounds around me. I had just gotten to Miss Havisham's introduction in Great Expectations when the girl came down the stairs. She looked absolutely petrified. It wasn't enough that he had hurt me, he had to pain this poor thing as well. I felt pity for her and asked her nothing; her eyes spoke for her. I walked her to the door. "Keep away while you still can, don't come back." I quietly pleaded.

The rage was building quickly within me. Her red cheeks caused my own to burn upon noticing. Her unstable shuffle as she fled reminded me of every time I had longed for escape.

Insanity is a funny thing.

One moment I'm watching a woman stumble across the lawn, the next, I'm in the kitchen running my fingers along the edge of a butcher's knife.

My feet carried me swiftly up the stairs and to an open door that led into a dark room, with a sleeping man. "Esme, what are you doing?" The tiny voice in my head asked. It sounded panicked.

"I'm saving myself." I thought to it.

"This isn't you."

"I know, but I can't do this anymore."

"Not like this, Esme."

"But it would be so easy, I'm so close."

"Please, don't." It wept. My conscience broke through my hysteria.

My knuckles began to burn as I came to realize the tight grip I had on the knife. "Damn you!" I sobbed as I fell to my knees.

That floor is where I slept; maybe I did belong here.

I awoke, and to my relief, Charles was still asleep. I forced myself down the stairs and to the kitchen. He would expect breakfast to be prepared. I worked quickly and the aromas soon filled our house.

As I was finishing up, something felt so wrong.

There was a warm breath on my neck, and cold encompassed me. "I saw you last night, Esme." Fight or flight rapidly took over. I ran, he caught me in the living room. "You think you can get rid of me that easily?" He twisted my arm sharply.

"Let go!"

"Nobody even thinks about leaving me, Esme." He pushed me backwards. I fell to the floor with a thud as I hit the back of my head on the unforgiving ground. My hand reached back to touch my scalp. It was already bleeding, bleeding too much. Charles stepped over me. I covered my face, but he kicked me in the center of my chest. Blackness surrounded me and I passed out.

I heard a menacing hiss in my head, "Where are you now, angel?" a new voice had taken over.


After reading this back to my mother, she's wondering where I've gotten all of this "pent up morbidity" from. XD Though writing and reading this chapter is very difficult for me, it is necessary to the story. I'd also like to let you know why I had Charles kick Esme in the chest instead of showing her some pity and just writing her into a quicker blackout; trust me, I wish that I could've done that!

It has been shown that in a physically abusive relationship where a man is the attacker, the two most beaten parts of a woman are her face and breasts because of what they represent. Hence the slamming of her head on the countertop and the foot to her chest. I know that it is a disturbing thought, but I'd like to stay as accurate as I can....P.S. I'd love to know what you think of this chapter! There's an awesome button if you scroll down a bit; all you have to do is click on it and you can review! It would mean a lot to me. =]

Playlist:

The Bird And The Worm- The Used

Breaking The Habit- Linkin Park

Cold As You- Taylor Swift

Face Down- The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus

Going Under- Evanescence

Losing Grip- Avril Lavigne

Nobody's Home- Avril Lavigne

Psycho- Puddle of Mudd

Somehow- Drake Bell

Monster- Meg & Dia