A/N: Thanks for reading and reviewing. I read them all and try to reply, but life! Okay, let me shut up before my laptop loses battery. Go read. More soon. Ending soon. Wet kisses from my nephew just now; I send the same to you. Hearts.

Chapter 10 - Blade

Young

It almost feels as if we're back to that nonexistent relationship; the one where we orbit one another in a silent quarrel. I'm a spectator, watching his every move outside my windows.

At school, he watches me from afar, never getting close. Every time I do see him, I envision him hitting Alice or going berserk when we argue. I'm overwhelmed again with dread, horror, and disappointment.

If he doesn't hesitate with her, why would he with me?

I rarely see him, but I feel him.

I take the bus to Dad's shop to cover the receptionist shift and I know I'm followed. I get home from school, and it's the same feeling.

The moment I'm through the door the phone rings. It's usually Pete asking if I got home okay. I begrudgingly answer, or I don't, and hang up.

I go out. Vick and Bree are loud and place shots in front of me. "Bitch, stop being bitter and chug it. Now!" Vick yells over the music. Bree in stitches.

I roll my eyes. I give it a go. Why not? Down it goes. Six shots later I'm swaying on a couch, frown on my face, watching the girls jump around to the music. They pull me in. The room spins. I look around and know that VIP isn't for everyone. They see my face, now they give everything for free. I might as well have 'Cullen' carved on my forehead.

Who knew school associates could be so nice just to get the perks. They're so, so nice. No 'Don't mess with Bella' anymore. It's all smiles and compliments. Then Vick invites them all. The whole VIP section full of dumb school kids, most not school kids at all.

"Anything for Bella," as the club owner says upon arrival.

So, I do get anything … except peace.

I'm in a haze when I feel a breath on my face. He smells of beer and bad intentions. I can't keep my eyes from fluttering closed once in a while. He says things, the kind that would make any ditsy chic fall into his sweaty arms.

Well, not me. This party is solo. I've invited myself and no one else. It's brooding regret, sadness, and menstrual cramps. I tell him that.

"Sexy, isn't it?" I add. He's dark eyes and hair, and all wrong. He grins, with an underlining of confusion. But I guess he's nice. "Just me, this couch, only this piece," I motion around me. "That's it. Room for one." He scratches his head and crosses his arms, but remains on his side with his grin still intact.

I mean, why would he go for me? There are girls all around. Dresses shorter than my patience, and me; jeans and this large jacket I wear just for him. That makes me pissed. I pull it off and slap it on the floor between this guy and me.

He watches.

"Listen," I say leaning in. "It's not worth it, all right? Just go. You'll regret trying. Like, save yourself, and all that bullshit." I slur. I crawl back to my spot. I didn't really lean in, I guess, more like squished myself against his arm to yell in his ear.

He cringed.

I warned him. I cross my arms, too and wait it out. Like clockwork, some chump I don't know who works for the club grabs him by his elbow. Like every single time it happens the guy protests and struggles, confused, asking what he did wrong. Then he's thrown right out the back doors.

It doesn't fail.

Dark eyes are wide now looking back at me from over his shoulder, and he doesn't know. He just doesn't know a thing about me and this … mess. He's just a guy trying, giving it a shot, putting himself out there. Now he's like a trash bag out back, thrown out.

Vick looks and dies laughing. She's impressed now. She didn't know it would be like this. She loves it. Maybe even jealous. That eye she gives me. I see it. I keep her front and center and watch closely.

I look beyond her and Pete is making his way to us from below, by the dance floor. This is the first time he appears in situations like this. Bree kind of goes putty, or pees a little. I don't know. But it's obvious, and she purposely pulls back and gives him this dirty glare while nonchalantly leaning on a railing. Because the railing might flop over? It needs her support? I don't know.

Then I really see Pete through her eyes; tall and all black clothes, boots on his feet and this sharpness to his shoulders. I guess I see it, her fixation. He's no guy like the ones here trying. He doesn't need to try. He's a man and one who's seen a lot of dark shit in his life.

He glances my way like he's checking inventory of my every limb, to see if I'm in one piece. I stare him down. He turns to leave when his eyes catch Bree's from above him. They travel from her ripped stockings to her red lips.

And shit. He gives her a look like she's exactly that. He walks away to do … God knows what.

The poor girl takes it in, looks away like she just might throw up her entire drink.

I yell. She looks at me. "Wanna join me on this pity wagon?" I ask. I pat the couch. She comes over and places her head on my lap. Such a moment for a club scene.

"He wants someone who doesn't play around," is what she says to me. Like I asked.

I scoff.

"Someone not like him?" I laugh.

She shakes her head. "He's really not like that. It's because I've been doing it to him. It was this one time, with his cousin. I was so fucked up." She cries silently. "He's not the bad one. I am."

Really? I sigh and pat her bum. "Then shape up, Don Juana. Don't be like me. Find your happy ending."

What a fun bunch we are.

Slowly, like a time lapse, she does shape up. A week goes by, and her stockings have fewer holes, her makeup is less … well, less. She sits silently at lunch in a dress and a delicate locket around her neck. I wonder if she keeps his photo in there. Boots still adorn her feet; a girl's got to be herself. But she's soft now. Mauve lips and nails looking like a fifty's pin-up doll. She comes in on a Monday with a color I've never seen her wear—her natural born hair color. It's long and goes down to her waist. I never did notice how long she's kept it when it's not in a messy bun. She looks … brand new.

I don't say a thing. Vick just chews on her lunch and gives her a good once over. "What the fuck is up with you? Are your ovaries acting up again?" she asks curiously.

"Hey," I protest. I shake my head at Vick. She rolls her eyes as she sucks her teeth. Bree is the color of her new blush dress.

Well, at least someone is trying to change around here. We could all use a bit of maturity. I look at Edward across the way, watching, head back, leaning it against the wall where he sits. His gaze never leaving me.

Maturity. How true the word. I need to shape up, too. I don't know what I've become under his spell, but whatever it is, it isn't good.

Bree finds new, quiet peace, and a newfound interest in a book I lend. Pete lends his eyes, flickering her way. They linger more each day. I'd nudge her to tell her, but she seems to be on that good part of the book.

I let this express itself, and I let myself find new interests that aren't tied to Edward, just like Bree found hers in a book. I must find my blush dress, too.

….

"What's wrong?"

That's been the question all morning from everyone I run into.

I don't know how to answer that.

Mom asked. Bree asked. Even the science teacher.

I watch the dark clouds rumble out the windows in class making everything gray, slow, and quiet.

What is wrong? Why did my windows at night glow with the lights from the Cullen house at three in the morning?

I was tossing and turning like I have been for weeks—Edward far away, me trying to keep away. But I noticed movement next door.

I peeked and witnessed chaos starting from Edward's room. The lights were on, he was pulling on a shirt and jeans. Emmett's silhouette was at the bedroom door waiting.

They left. The car revved and off they sped.

So, what is wrong? I'm not quite sure. But there's a pit in my stomach that tells me everything is wrong.

The next day he isn't there, nor the next. Still, he's not back. People quit asking me the question. I'm desperate inside. I don't know how to reach him and ask him that question myself.

A week, then a second one passes. I want to crawl at walls with anxiety.

Dad comes home one night, and his eyes say it all. There's news from the Brandon's house where Alice and her mother had gone to live. It was like a release for their mother, peace from the heartache, the pain, and the mourning. While she was there, just weeks, her heart gave out. The Cullen's had another funeral merely months after they had Senior's.

I was speechless for a day. There was nothing I could do.

When he was finally back, I saw a man simmered down to a boy who needed comfort.

He showed up at our door. Dad answered. I was in my Sunday, fresh-start sweater and PJs.

The morning sun cast a glow over his face. Edward was a softened, sobered gentleman with a sore heart. We stood there on the porch when his hand reached out. He ghosted a few fingers over the soft cotton of my sleep dress, right over my chest. Head down, eyes cast, not a word was uttered. He was pale. Eyes bloodshot with no sleep.

Just like for his father's funeral, he wore a suit, polished shoes, a silk tie around his neck that was loosened, as if he ripped at himself to catch a breath.

His thumb skimmed my cheek idly as tears brimmed his eyes. One escaped, and I took him in my arms with all my strength.

My condolences came in whispers by his ear as he shook in laments. I could barely hold him up. This was a punch. His mother; the unsung hero who kept him docile and whole. I couldn't even fill that vacant hole in him. This, he'd have to live with unhealed for the rest of his life.

We sat on my porch silently after I asked him the details. He answered through sniffs and sighs as he calmed and ran his fingers through my hand. He caught it and didn't let go. I never saw him like this. Maybe when we were kids, and definitely not when his uncles could see, even now. He hid behind the porch railings, our legs stretched out over the floorboards by the flower pots.

I watched him, with Mom out of view from the window watching, too. Both of us.

Then he stood, he pulled me up and curled an arm around me to ask like he always asks, "Bella, you love me?" Hope in his voice. I hugged him. "Don't leave me again," he added definitively.

Mom didn't react. She wouldn't have. Where she stood, the words were inaudible. But I heard them loud and clear as I leaned on his shoulder.

All she saw was his careful approach. Like a tamed lion running his mane at the shoulder of its lioness. His lashes batting at my temple as his lips skimmed. A nudge of foreheads and then a kiss of amends. The type of kiss she dreaded. The type that made her rest her head in her hand.

…..

He holds my hand now, everywhere we go. There's no secret in school, not that there was, but he wasn't showing it. He kept himself on his side, and I was on mine. Now he finds me in the hallways or waits for me after class and grabs on. I'm escorted to lunch as everyone passes by and watches, eyes full with questions.

In the morning, he waits for me up front by his car. That was the shift. That was how he cut the radio silence between us. He opens the passenger door as I step out of the front door and waits for me to hop in. Not without a lingering morning kiss.

I could feel Mom's anguish from the kitchen window.

Then there was that time, the first time lunch came around, and he pulled me through the doors. I swear I heard the loud murmur of a full lunchroom suddenly quiet when he kissed me. He was thorough, I was flickering lids, fully aware everyone was watching. Vick included. She stared up from her seat, sharp jaw.

I let my shoulders relax and closed my eyes.

When he pulled away, I cupped his chin. "What's all this? What are you getting at?"

He smirked slightly.

"Life's too short," he said with a peck on my lips.

I watched him go to his side of the room, knowing this was his way to cope—on account of me; the introvert hating center stage.

I hoped it would pass. But the hovering became overbearing. He was there all the time.

He'd knock on our door. Dad would always open, and he'd politely ask for me. I was pulled out by the hand, no jacket, not even prepared, and he'd help me in the back of a car to get food because he was hungry. I was in the middle of homework and the dishes.

Mom waited up for me and glared the entire way I went upstairs to my room. I didn't know what to do.

I'm here now, in my bed, my PJs on and staring up at my ceiling. No, I'm not alone. Edward managed to get through the front door, up the stairs, and into my room while Mom was still in the kitchen. The way he did that day he killed Joe.

He lies face down, sans shirt and shoes, over my pillow. He stripped them off the moment he came in. Not even a hello when he did. The covers were pulled down, and he crawled in. His lips touched my arm before he drifted off.

He sleeps. I don't. My nerves are spiked wondering when Mom will shimmy the knob and walk in to see this.

This is a phase, I tell myself.

Just a phase.

Morning comes. I slap the alarm clock before it even goes off. My eyes are burning. I awake, and he's curled around me. The heat coming off him has me with beads of sweat down my neck. I peel his arms away, his face off my tit. I shower and sneak back into my room hoping to God, Mom doesn't awake. Dad's already at work, and I breathe relief over that.

The only slight noises are the creaky wooden floors as I walk around. I'm in a towel and maneuvering some underwear underneath it. He silently watches me from the bed. He slowly blinks awake and leisurely rests his head on his hands. The covers sprawled around his legs. His abs ripple as he breathes and scratches his unruly hair.

His eyes flutter at my bare chest through the mirror. I ignore him as my jaw sharpens. I don't know why I'm angry. I've dreamed of waking up beside him and just having a lazy morning in my room. Now I'm sailing around it and my vanity to moisturize, powder, and grab clothes from the closet.

I hook on a bra, then my jeans, and he watches.

His hips buck slightly, his pants low to his hips, and he's hard, peeking up from his waistband.

I'm not turning around to face that. Not today not any time soon.

We haven't touched that way. Not the intense way we do and get carried away. Not since that day with Alice by the stairs, when she pushed me down them.

It's unspoken, but he knows it's not yet an option. It doesn't mean he doesn't try. I'm yanked as I'm walking by. I'm spread over him. I sigh, and I can't look into his eyes.

He wordlessly pulls on the hip of my jeans and looks at the yellowing skin where the dark bruise used to be. He rubs a hand there, up my back, and over the bra hook.

"Don't," I say through my teeth as he works it. He wraps his arms around me instead.

"So good," he whispers, nose buried in my neck. I seethe. "What's wrong, baby?" he asks muffled.

"What's wrong?" I say exasperated. I flail a hand around me as he waits. "This! You!"

He watches blankly.

I go off.

"What the fuck are you doing coming in here? You're doing this now, right under their noses?" I point at my door. "You take me out at night without even asking me, you kiss me in front of everyone in school, you follow me, you do God knows what to guys at bars who just talk to me?!"

He stares.

"You're insane! That's what's wrong!" I howl.

I pull away from him and scramble to stand.

"You know, I was worried. I worried to death when you suddenly left. You tell me nothing, and I'm sitting here wondering like an idiot. I get it. You're sad she died. I get you're just devastated and feel … lost," I say standing after slipping on socks.

"But you can't just come in here. You can't barge in like you own this place and do what you want!"

I push a T-shirt on and angrily brush out the knots in my hair.

"And the following, the shadowing? I can't fucking take it! Not everything is a fucking conspiracy with me. You're not the CIA!"

"Not a bad idea. I could hire one," he says with wonder.

I growl. My brush goes crashing on my vanity.

"Get out," I say.

He sighs and sits up. "Baby …"

I point at him. "Don't you dare even try it!" I interrupt. "You know what? Stay. Have your breakfast. You know where everything is. My house, your house. Do what you want. You do it anyway." I grab my jacket and backpack and open my bedroom door. "You can explain to my mother yourself why your ass is in this house!"

I stomp down the stairs, and Mom is already there by the railing staring up, hand on a hip.

"Bella!" he shouts. He takes two steps at a time after me.

Mom moves in front of him and crosses her arms. He tries to go around her, but she advances.

He lifts a hand. "Ma'am, I mean no disrespect, even my presence here, but I'd care for you to step aside. This is not about you."

"You could be the Prince of Persia or the fucking president of the United States, whoever the hell you think you are, but in my house, you're nothing but in my way and most certainly unwelcome."

He looks over her toward me. "You have no idea who I need to push out of the way to keep you safe. That's why I do it. You need to understand …"

Mom pushes at his bare chest when he takes a step. His back hits the wall by the stairs, the same one she pushed me against once. And I regret this. This is what she meant. I'm horrified. I could scream and cry.

He shows his palms. "Ma'am, please," he says with suppressed anger.

"You stay right where I can see you."

"Mom, leave it. It's not worth it." Fear crawls up my gut. This is too much.

He takes a breath and calmly speaks. "You have no idea what I have to do to keep all of you safe. Your little house," he says waving a hand. "Your car, your husband, all of it," he says to Mom. "You know this," he says pointedly.

"You have nothing to do with us!" she yells.

He nods. "Yes. You know this very well, Renee."

The slap is hard and loud. His face turns with the blow. She hits him again. And he stands there and takes it. "You little shit!" she spits. He doesn't say a word, but he smolders.

My jaw drops and I've never seen her this way, never have I been behind a blow like she delivered. I'm all balled fists, mortified. She pushes and pushes him. He just stares at her in complete submission, squared shoulders and unwavering.

"I would like to drive your daughter to school. Please, let me do that," he says. Blood slowly pebbles at his lip.

"The hell you will!" she yells. She pushes at him when he dares to move.

"I'm leaving," I say grabbing the door.

He shakes his head, eyes dark through his lashes. "Not without me."

"Edward, stop this," I beg. "I just need one day of peace. That's all."

"You know I can't do that," he replies.

Mom pushes him again. His patience is wavering, but he stands still.

"Mom, please! I'm sorry. Just let it go." I dare to pull on her shoulder, but she's raging.

"You think you own us? You think you can do whatever the hell you want? Well, you got something coming. You mess with my daughter, you mess with me!"

I pull and pull her as she pushes and pushes him.

"You don't know who I am!" she shouts. "I'll tear you limb from limb with my bare hands, you child! A fucking child! Your mother gone, died of a broken heart, and look at you. You should be ashamed!"

He sidesteps her. His eyes downcast at her words. All he does is lift a hand toward me to take.

Mom slaps it away.

"That poor woman," she says. "You all killed her!"

"Mom." I cry. I hold my ears shut. I scramble to her side not knowing what to do. I hold her arms, and she pushes me away.

"Don't you dare hold me back. I'm gonna kill this motherfucker today!"

I sob over my knuckles ... I created this.

"You don't know me. You don't know who I am!" She jabs at his chest. His jaw is sharp to cut. "I have ways inside that house of yours. I've planned it for years. That's what I've got—years! You've got nothing but your arrogance, barely coming out of diapers. I watched your mother bathe you! I could kill you in your sleep, that's how much I know you. Don't think I haven't planned it all! And when I do, I'll find every last living relative of yours and kill them all!" She enunciates.

And right by the kitchen, behind a cupboard, she pulls out a gun I never knew she stashed. My stomach plummets. Blood seems to drain out of me.

Edward's eyes go sharp.

I grab his hand and pull. His focus now is that metal.

"Mom, please!" I step between them. Edward is motionless now.

"Do it," he says suddenly. His chest rises and falls, but his eyes are determined, shadowed. "Take me out of my misery," he says. His throat bobs, he stands arms slightly spread as he beckons.

I look up at him baffled. He's honest.

That makes her hesitate. She, too, stares into his serious eyes.

"It would be perfect," he whispers to himself.

"No! Let's go. Take me to school. Come on," I plead. I grab his stuff by the stairs and push him out the door.

He staggers over the threshold, and still, he watches her. This game between them now, and he seems to want it, beg for it.

He leans toward her from above me. "That's it, isn't it?" he says. "My mother told you something once. I know she did. So do it, Renee. Finish it," he challenges. Her hand trembles around the metal.

Just then, Uncle Jasper steps out of a car across the lawn. He watches the scuffle; Mom pointing a gun at his half-dressed nephew.

He runs.

"Fuck." I cry. More added to this madness.

I pull and pull on Edward, but he's dead weight. He begs and begs her to do it.

"Pull the trigger," he instigates.

Jasper steps between them.

"What did you do?" he howls at Edward. He turns to Mom. "What did the boy do? I'll set him straight for you, Renee. Tell me." He tries to reason with her.

The moment she sees him her eyes darken. He catches her arm and curls his around her robe. He talks in her ear and tears fall down her cheeks.

"Think of Elizabeth. She wouldn't want this," he says. "She'd want you to watch her boy while she's gone. She'd want you to keep him safe, wouldn't she?"

"This boy is nothing but a disease! I'll kill him, I'll kill him if he doesn't get off my lawn!" she answers.

"You heard her, get off her lawn!" Jasper growls waving an arm. "Go!" He grabs hold of her trembling, suspended hand, gun in the air. He sides with her, breathing calming words in her ear.

Edward is silent now. I barely get him down the steps to the sidewalk, and he stumbles as he keeps his eyes on her.

I push him into the back seat of the car Jasper hopped out of. The driver is still behind the wheel. We speed off. I leave my mother behind, still in Jasper's arms.

…..

Tears pour out like rain, and the sky outside is clear and pure blue. I can't hold back. I'm devastated, I can hardly breathe. Edward sits next to me, no shoes or shirt as he stares out the window, watching the street lights and signs passing by. School buses make their rounds and life goes on.

I'd like it to stop—my heart.

The driver pulls up to a sidewalk close to the school, but we don't move. He steps out. I watch as the lighter burns the tip of his cigarette.

"You ask me, every time," I speak up. "And my answer has always been the same. I do love you. I'm deathly in love with you. I always have been. But this ends here."

"I won't lose you, too," he utters not looking at me.

I grab the door handle, he grabs me. He catches my lips with such agony.

"Don't," he pleads. His eyes desperate. His hold tight around my shirt. I pull each finger away.

I cry. "I'm sorry."

I rush out of there as if he'll chase after me.

Bree sees me. She makes her way to my side. One glance his way and she knows. She watches me all day with furrowed brows, but she never asks. No need, this was destined to end this way.

"I think you should go home," she offers by lunchtime. I don't think I've stopped crying all morning.

Mom. Alone. I left her behind. My stomach churns just thinking of it. I grab my things and walk home. And for once I don't feel the weight of watchful eyes.

When I enter the house, Jasper sits in the living room.

"Get out," I order.

He straightens, hunched over on the sofa. He's taken aback. I hold the door open. He compiles, but pauses at my side. He works up to tell me words I don't care to hear. He keeps them to himself. I slam the door shut when he steps out.

I search for her. I melt on my knees, blurred eyes, once I see her sitting by her vanity. The room is dark, saturated with her delicate perfume, and I love her now like I never have. She defended me. She almost killed for me.

"I'm so sorry," I staggeringly say.

She's silent. Her reflection is all she looks at.

"Mom?" I try. I touch her arm. Her eyes close and a tear runs down. "You were right. I'm sorry, all right?"

She shakes her head. "I don't want that man in my house."

I glance at the door. "He's … he's not here. I told him to leave."

I dare ask, breaking the silence.

"Where did you get it, the gun?" I shake my head. "Mom, this is crazy."

"Is it?" she says with a look. "It never did seem crazy to me. It's always been about surviving."

I'm silent.

"My priority was always to protect you, you hear me?" I nod.

"Is it the only one?" I mean the gun. She doesn't answer. "More?" I swallow thickly.

She looks at me square in the eyes. "Baby, they're all over this house. Your grandfather's shotgun is tucked under the sofa."

My eyes widen.

"But, why?" I barely whisper. She gives me a pointed look. "Why didn't you tell me?" I ask hysterically.

She takes a deep breath and says, "Not even your father knows. Just Elizabeth."

I'm dumbfounded. Edward's mother? I always knew she was desperate to be freed. But Mom and her, a bond?

"Who are you?" I ask overwhelmed.

She jabs a finger at my face. "Your mother who is fed up and taking all damn precautions, that's who!"

I almost show my palms the way Edward did.

She flicks her hair over her shoulder. "You know what this means now, don't you?" She tears her eyes away from the mirror to stare at another likeness to hers. "You must leave."

I don't know what to say.

"I won't take no for an answer, you hear me?"

My shoulders drop. "But, go where?"

She sniffs, wipes her cheeks, and runs her fingers through her hair. "Your grandmother's. They already know. It's all set up."

I sink back on my heels. "But … what about school? Mom, I can't leave."

"You will. This is not an argument."

"No," I say abruptly. She looks at me as if I've gone mad. "I mean … I can't leave now. Edward …"

"Will have to live without you. That's it." She leans in. "I'll rip you two apart with my bare hands if that's what it takes."

I blink up at her fury.

Hours seem to pass. We sit there in the dark, and the sun casts shadows through the splits of curtains.

Silently, we go through the plans. I can see them in her eyes. I try to figure out how I'll tell the ones I care about. Then I realize, there's no one. Maybe Ben, Bree? Not even Vick. She wouldn't care. She'd celebrate. I have no connections that matter here. None but Edward. My heart grows heavy. I could disappear, and no one would ever notice.

"Give me until the weekend," I say.

She hears the conviction in my words. She doesn't argue. I stand and head to my room. I grab that duffle bag I've kept for reasons I don't know and dump things inside.

She makes dinner. I can smell it. I could laugh at the absurdity. All the chaos this morning and she goes on with her day. I guess this is her level of normal. Secrets, hiding, all woven into her day-to-day tasks. I suddenly feel utter sadness. All these years and she's just been coping, not living.

I peek at her from the kitchen entry. I look at that part of the cupboard and definitely see that metal edge I never noticed. Fully loaded. Ready to do what it does.

I hug her from behind. She hesitates but holds my forearm to her.

"I'm late. Dad will wonder," I say muffled on her shoulder.

"Oh," she says. "I forgot you have to cover for the receptionist." She sighs. "I didn't want you to leave tonight."

"Dad will have five hundred questions."

She sighs again. "I'll drive you."

"You'll have to tell him things eventually," I point out.

She turns off the stove, grabs her keys, and heads for the door. "I will."

The blissfully, ignorant guy smiles in surprise when he sees her. Dad steps out of the shop, the large garage door is up revealing all the shiny new lifts, tool cabinets, and equipment lining the walls. Cars in different level of heights are parked inside being work on and repaired. The floors are filthy, but that's as far as grease goes in this place.

Dad has done more than well for himself. His beautiful wife included. He leans into the car, through her open window, and kisses her. I know he'll ask why she's been crying. I know she'll probably tell him it was the onions.

I want to shake him. Yell at him to wake up. But all I do is sit behind the desk and pile up paperwork and organize them by payments and date. Heidi's work is suffering. But it's definitely her sleep-deprived, new mom stage. Postpartum is a real thing, Mom explained. So, I do the work and tell no one about the mess.

I watch as Dad hops into the passenger seat, leaving his car behind. He decides to head home. It's almost his time anyway. I glare from my spot behind the windows. He just smiles and waves.

Awesome.

"Hey gorgeous," says Harry from the entry. I grumble. The bane of my existence. He's the one here who gets too friendly when Dad isn't around.

Seth whistles from afar, and Harry is distracted. Thank Christ. Seth winks at me from where he stands. Saved by The Seth like always. I wave. He's always watching out for me. The problem is, his shift is almost up, too. That would make Harry and John stay back until nine p.m.

John is a slacker. He's young and cares only for beers and stepping out to grab dinner for an hour and a half on these nights. That leaves Harry hanging out alone in the shop.

Best day of my life continues.

I pray he slacks tonight, too and disappears the way he sometimes does. How the fuck does Heidi deal with this? I make a point to tell Dad to hire another receptionist for these late hours, and a male one at that. No woman should be exposed to this bullshit.

The garage door slams shut. I look up. I guess my luck has turned for the best. They both aren't around at their workstations. I tap a few more bills into the system and sigh with relief. I'm done with that, so I might as well organize the supply cabinet out back and put away the new ones that arrived.

The lights are on and beaming brightly on all the shiny, clean cars. It always smells of grease and gasoline, but I'm so used to being around it since I was a kid ... it's the smell of home.

The problem is, the door doesn't usually shut. Only when the shop closes. I realize this as I'm reaching up to place a roll of electrical tape on a shelf. My arms stay suspended as I think of the last time this has happened.

Never.

The echo of boots slowly making their way across the shop are imminent. So is the pounding of my heart.

I tense; spine to the tip of my toes.

Think.

Metal in abundance around here. I scan my area.

I reach for that piece of exhaust pipe leaning by the shelf, placed there by a sloppy mechanic who's made my speeding heart skip with hope.

If my mother has been fearless for years, I could be fearless for a moment. My speeding heart tells me I'll have to be more than that now.

I turn my head and nonchalantly say, "Harry, stop fucking around. I'll tell Charlie." But my fist is finding purchase on the narrow end of the pipe at my side. A good death grip for the swing.

Whoever it is, stops dead center behind me. "Harry stepped out for the night," the voice says.

I turn. I don't know who he is. He looks calm. I play along. I grab the box, slip the pipe inside of it and walk to the office. "What, you're his parole officer?"

He chuckles. He looks around and takes the strides to the office alongside me. His hands visible, empty. He stuffs them in his pants pockets.

"No."

"So then you must need an oil change," I suggest. He stays at the door to the office. He acts bashful.

"Ah, something like that." He looks up at me with a grin.

He turns, and someone else is out there. He nods briefly. My stomach whirls. I try to calm my breathing.

"It's actually my buddy here," he says pointing over his shoulder. "Bad night at a bar. You know how it is."

"I don't, actually. Please keep your feet outside my office." I point out. He looks down and adjusts his toes just behind the line. He smiles this time.

I grab the receiver from the desk. "Have to call in for backup since Harry left for the night," I say. "You know how it is."

He chuckles again. He's dirty blonde, cut short, scars of puberty on his face, but he's in his twenties. He occupies himself talking loudly to his buddy outside. I hurry to punch in the house phone. My hands trembling.

It rings and rings and nothing. "Fuck." I look up, and he's watching. His smile is still intact, but his eyes have darkened where he leans at the door.

I punch Edward's house number next. I haven't had to call it for years, maybe since elementary school, and I don't know how I remember it. Adrenaline surges through me.

"Cullen," says a voice on the other end. Then the call is dropped. The door is vacant now, and the receiver is plugged with an index finger.

The dirty blonde tisks at the end of the desk. "You're only allowed one," he says waving said finger.

He snatches my arm. I swing with the other.

The bang is loud against his temple. The pipe barely stays in my hand. I grip and lift it. One hit, two. By the third, I'm jostled. My legs leave the floor. I'm pulled over the desk from behind. Papers shift, supplies and the phone fall to the floor.

I kick. I scream.

I take hold of a head of hair from behind me, but I can't slip out of the tight hold.

Think.

I curl my legs and push hard against the desk. We go tumbling to the floor. A grunt behind me. I scurry off him. He's the buddy from outside.

His knee pops up. My jaw is fire. The blow to my face was sloppy but sharp. I tumble over his legs. I blink.

The pipe. I see it. A blur through the pain.

I crawl to it. My fingers just shy of reaching it when he pulls my hair back. The yank is so hard I find my footing.

"Not gonna happen," he says, a heavy warm breath by my ear. I pant, and pant and a cry makes it out of my chest.

Think.

I suck up all the fear and think of my mother. Her furious eyes. The barrel of the gun in her hand. I think of Edward's chokehold that one time in middle school when he did the same. Showing me, teaching me to have the guts.

Rage swells through my every bone. He pins me to him, and Dirty Blonde is the coward who comes at me.

Bella, anything.

Use anything.

I grab Buddy's head from above and lift my legs. I grunt loudly with the kick. Dirty Blonde's mouth bursts open. Blood spews. He lands on the desk chest first.

I twist around, but I'm cemented. A snarl is loud by my cheek. I turn my head and bite down on his ear.

A guttural growl vibrates against my back. But as soon as I yank my mouth away, I get a blow to my stomach, then my face. I double over and fall to the floor. Pain like I've never felt before surges its way through my skull.

I'm trying to find my breath when a kick delves into my side.

I gasp for air. My lungs burn.

"Fuck!" Buddy shouts. The other looks over his shoulder from above me. Blood is trickling down Buddy's neck from his ear. He frantically palms it and looks down at his hand, only to find blood and half an ear. I spit out the rest.

With trembling hands, I search inside my bra and pull it out. One click, and its long and sharp in my palm.

I drive Edward's blade right into Dirty's thigh and twist. His leg goes limp. That knee touches the floor, and we're face to face. His mouth is gaping as he looks. I drive it through his cheek next. Edward's blade fills his mouth copiously, slicing over his tongue.

Buddy's eyes grow wide. He stumbles back. And that pipe rolls fortuitously toward me with a kick of his boot.

I get a good grip.

The pipe steadily connects to that mangled ear. He goes silent with the pain, eyes rolling up into his sockets. So I turn on the other, and he's writhing and holding his split cheek. I don't stop until my arms burn.

The last swing sends me to the floor, spent and heaving. I crawl over, grab Edward's blade, and pull it out.

It's like he's here with me.

The last split goes around Buddy's neck who begins to stir. It's clean and precise, below where his ear used to be.

The gurgling noises coming out of him are soft. I walk out of the office, and I don't hear them anymore.

I clean the blade off with Harry's grease cloth. I wait as the heavy garage door slowly rises and unlock Dad's Firebird left up front.

I slide in, rev the engine, and drive toward home.

….