Hey guys!

So I had trouble with the last chapter but I've had the rough draft of this one ready for ages…so all I had to do was fix it up a little bit and post it. Hopefully it's come soon for you guys.

Thank you to my outstanding reviewers who have stayed so loyally by this story! Enjoy.

Oh, and a warning…this chapter is a little more intense then the rest…..finally some action….

It was too lonely being by herself.

Susan discovered that really fast, about five minutes after Peter walked out the door. It was too quiet and the silence was too full of grief for her to want to do anything.

"Oh, Aslan," she said to the emptiness after a long while, "will you keep me this miserable forever?"

There was no answer, as she expected, but three words, just three words, leapt into her head the moment she had stopped speaking, words that spread warmth throughout her body: faith, dear heart.

When Peter didn't come home at his regular time she carelessly thought he was just buying food for the three of them for that night. But as the hours slipped by and the sun started to set, Susan started to panic.

She was livid when he walked through the door at about half past seven.

"Where were you?" she cried furiously as Peter carefully set down a bag of groceries. "I was worried sick! And the gangs are roaming around this time of night, too! I—"

"Relax, Su," Peter said, looking somewhat incredulous. "Gusler wanted me to stay longer today. I told him that my mum knew I was working there now so he wanted to know if it was okay that I worked longer. I told him yes. Now I'm getting twice the pay."

"You look exhausted," Susan said angrily as she seized the bag from the table and riffled through it. Potatoes. Bread. Sticks of butter. Meat. She took out the meat and put it on the cutting board. She grabbed a knife off the counter and started chopping. "I don't want you working that long."

"It's not that long. Only nine o'clock to seven—"

"That's ten hours, Peter."

"Mum works fourteen, sometimes fifteen," Peter shot at her as he sat down.

Susan ignored him. "And when are you going to learn your lessons? You're going to the university next school year, Peter…I thought—"

"I'll find time, Su, you know I will," said Peter, yawning.

"When? In the middle of the night?" Susan asked as she sliced the meat furiously. "I find it hard to believe that—"

"Since when do you care about my studies?" Peter asked, sounding slightly annoyed. "I said I would find a way. Mum needs my help right now. And I'm sure she isn't going to object when I bring home more money."

"And she won't object at all when—AAAH!"

Peter leapt out of his chair as though he had been electrified at her scream, bolting over to her. Susan's eyes filled with tears as pain spread through her hand; she had cut her left index finger open with the knife.

"Good Lord," said Peter in horror as blood started dripping down her finger. Susan gasped with agony and he bolted over to the sink and pulled out the dish rag.

"Did you go through the bone?" he asked anxiously as he wrapped her finger in it. "God, Su, Mum told you to be careful with knives—"

"I know!" shouted Susan as her finger throbbed profusely. "I didn't go through the bone, praise Aslan."

Peter squeezed the rag around her finger so tightly she felt her circulation being cut off. "Dammit, Susan, now I bet this won't close up for a while—"

"Stop overreacting," snapped Susan, even as the blood started seeping through the rag. "Just…let me hold it there for a while…it'll stop…"

And funnily enough it did. Peter finished cooking the meat by her instruction and Susan sat at the table nursing her wounded finger but after ten or fifteen minutes it had stopped bleeding. It gave an occasional throb now and then but most of the pain died down after time.

Peter ripped one of the washcloths and wrapped it around the split skin.

"I think you set yourself up for that one," he muttered as he tied the ends together carefully.

Susan sighed and smiled. "Maybe." Their argument had been long forgotten.

Within the next several days Susan was starting to dread the hours where she was alone. Lucy and Edmund had always been good company, and before Peter had gotten a job and they lived in their own home they had always done things to make the summer days fly by, like going to the park and daydreaming on Narnia, or swimming in one of the lakes near their home. Now all three of her siblings were gone, two of them for a long time, and her life was empty.

Susan threw herself into her studies. Her mother had bought her and Peter their schoolbooks they would have used for their old boarding school, the one they used to go to but where Lucy and Edmund couldn't have gone to that year because it was too expensive. But even though she wasn't technically at school, Susan tried to adapt herself back to studies. She wrote little essays for her mother to read when she came home at night, answered questions about history and did mini experiments in science. She hated math with a passion but Peter, being a year ahead of her, was able to help her though the formulas and strangeness of numbers when he was home. And when her school was over she would sew the clothes her mother brought home for her. She got ten to fifteen orders from her mother per day. She could only imagine what Mrs. Pevensie had to do at work.

"I'll be back soon with some more," Helen told her as she gratefully one day as she scooped up the clothing Susan had carefully sewn. "Are you sure you can do all of this and have time for your studies, Su?"

"Of course, Mum," Susan said, smiling.

"If you say so, dear," Mrs. Pevensie said now. "Do you have things to eat for lunch?"

"Yes, we still have some bread and meat."

"How's your finger?"

Susan held up her hand and let her mother examine it. The night she had nearly cut her finger off, Mrs. Pevensie had nearly fainted at the sight of all the blood on the dishrag. Now her face turned only a little pale.

"Just be sure to be careful," her mother told her, kissing her cheek. "I'll be back in a couple of hours."

Susan went back to her math and was still trying to figure out how the distance formula worked when someone knocked on the front door. Frowning, Susan looked up at the clock. Indeed, several hours had passed…. In disbelief at the amount of time had gone by Susan walked to the front, wondering why her mother didn't unlock the entrance herself, and fumbled with the doorknob for a second before opening the door.

"Did you leave your keys at the—" she started, but her stomach suddenly plummeted to her feet and her voice died at the sight of who stood there in front of her.

It was Byron.

For the few seconds that the two stared at each other, Susan's mind didn't fully register the fact that her landlord—whom she had not seen in ages—had placed himself firmly right there…right there…outside her door, black, threatening eyes already on her. Byron looked straight into her eyes.

"Hello," he said softly. "May I come in, please."

And suddenly he was in; somehow—Susan was too shocked to understand it—he shoved her roughly aside and was in their house, filthy boots tramping on the floor and eyes looking everywhere. Susan's heart started to beat a little faster and her head started spinning once he had shut the door with a solid push; it clicked behind him and Byron locked it. He turned to her.

"Where is your mother?" he asked. He wasn't looking at her face.

Susan swallowed nervously. "Sh-she's at work."

Byron frowned. "I need to speak with her."

"You could…could stop by her shop, maybe…if…if she's there…and they…" Susan trailed off, brain not functioning the right way. Byron at last looked up into her eyes.

"Tell me," he said quietly, eyes unblinking. "Has your mother taught you manners?"

Susan blinked. "Well…I…yes, I mean…"

"Because when you have a guest over to your house it is very important that you make sure they are happy," said Byron very slowly and dangerously. "I am not happy right now."

It occurred to her that Byron was not by any means a guest. Susan didn't know what to say. She took a careful step away from Byron, not taking her eyes off him.

Her landlord's face suddenly changed into a wide smile—something that greatly startled and terrified her. Moments later he took a step closer to her, shortening the distance between them and backing Susan up to the wall. "Did you hear me, little girl?"

Susan felt her hands trembling violently as she tried to speak again.

"Your mother owes me lots of money, girl," Byron hissed. His smile faded. "And I want to know where she is."

"She's at work," Susan choked out. Her heart beat faster as Byron took a step closer to her.

"At which work, you brainless little tramp. There is a great deal of places your mother could be and I want you to be specific!"

Susan couldn't breathe. Her mouth formed words to say but she didn't hear any noise coming out.

"Answer me!" roared Byron with a sudden burst of energy. He was so close to Susan now she could feel the spit flying from his mouth on her cheeks. "Now!"

"At M-Mary's Seamstress Store," she squeaked.

Byron's eyes narrowed. "You lie."

"Why would I lie?" Susan said shakily, chest heaving with every terrified breath she took. "Why can't you just leave my mother alone?"

Byron started at her for a split second more, then suddenly his hand shot upward and he smacked her violently across the face.

Susan recoiled and she hit the wall with a hard thump! before she even knew what hit her. Her jaw and cheek throbbed and smarted as her hand flew upward toward her face out of instinct; her thoughts started jumbling up in her mind so she didn't know what she was thinking.

"Girl," snarled Byron and Susan suddenly felt numb. "Insolent little whore."

Susan felt a harsh blow to her pride at these words. "I'm not a whore," she whispered, more to herself then to Byron.

She turned to look at him and saw, to her horror, another cruel smile spreading across his face. "Allow me to fix that."

Before Susan could even take in the meaning of his words, he grabbed her by the forearms and yanked her to him with such a sudden force she nearly stumbled. Panic erupted in her mind as his hands crept upwards toward the top of her shirt, fingering her chest roughly with dirty hands. Susan's cry was more of surprise then anything else and she yanked against his grip.

"No!" she shouted and she was slammed into the wall again. To her relief he did nothing else but gaze at her, possibly because the shouts of the man and wife across the street suddenly echoed off the walls and startled him. Susan stood there gasping with fear, trembling silently.

Byron stood there a minute without saying anything. Susan's mind was frantically trying to comprehend what had just happened and what to do to get him out of her house…

Suddenly Byron reached into his coat and drew something out of it. Susan screamed.

In an instant he was pressed up against her again; this time a shiny steel switchblade was held to her throat. Susan shrieked again but this time she could not move. Byron's eyes narrowed.

"You will not tell anyone I was here," he breathed into her face. His face was so close to hers she could smell his putrid breath. "Do I make myself clear, little whore?"

Susan found it in her power to make herself to nod. Byron took the knife away from her throat and walked over to the door. As quietly as he had come, he slipped outside and walked away.

Susan collapsed to the floor. Her legs felt weak, her head was spinning, her chest hurt from being so roughly touched. After a second or two both her throat choked up and her common sense kicked in again, and she forced herself up and she shut the door with shaking hands. She locked it frantically. Without thinking anymore she sat down silently on the couch and stared at the wall.

Her heart was pounding. It hurt her chest as it thumped away as though doing a drum roll, and there was sweat on her forehead. Susan sat there and gazed at the picture of her and her siblings, concentrating on their happy faces. Lucy looked so pretty and sweet as a one year old, and Peter, even back then, was so caring and protective. Edmund, of course, had the mischief look in his eyes.

Suddenly tears spilled out of her eyes, and she began to cry. It took her a second to realize that she wasn't crying because she missed her family…she had been assaulted. By her landlord. By someone she could not report to the police without fear of being kicked out of her home.

What had Byron said to her? It was all jumbled up in her mind…all she remembered was being touched where no one ever touched her and that knife, so cold and sharp, pressed up to her throat. "You will not tell anyone…" he had hissed at her.

Susan wiped her eyes and started at the picture once more. Maybe she had nothing to tell. Maybe the whole ordeal had never happened…

Had it?

When she went to her room and took off her shirt and saw the bruises, she knew that somehow it had…and no one could ever find out.

Too intense? Badly written? Tell me your thoughts on this! Please?

Thank you for reading!