Twilight character names belong to Stephanie Meyer. All characterizations, plot lines, backgrounds and details belong to the respective author. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without express written authorization.©2010 Marie0912 (Marie .L.A.). All rights reserved worldwide.
Sydney, you are a irreplaceable and simply wonderful Beta, thank you so much!
Mrs. Berry, thank you for the laughs and support!
Aciepey – Your offer to help means the world and so does your fangirling!
A huge thank you to Mrs. The King for creating the #readalong concept on Twitter and another huge thank you to lovesVampStorys for choosing me of all people to read on Valentine's day!
And yet another, though highly deserved thank you to all my new readers, the old ones and especially to Twitters Readalong girls, Caludia and Trixi! I dedicate this chapter to you!
Thus concludes epically long A/N.
WARNING:
The content of this chapter is possible for some to find disturbing and I advise you to read with caution.
Five years ago.
The moss was soaking up the wet moisture as the rain kept falling so heavy it was damn near scary.
She ran as fast as her bare feet would carry her across the unyielding terrain, wincing in pain each time her delicate skin got pierced or cut by twigs or rocks. It was fairly silent, no sound but the wind, breaking branches and her panting breath.
She had one goal as she sprinted across the green earth - the Cabin.
She looked down at her white gown with disgust as she finally, after having run for one hour straight with a bitter copper taste in her mouth and tears on her cheeks, reached the door. She didn't knock. She didn't have to.
She closed the door behind her and leaned her back against it, breathing heavily and sunk down to the floor.
"Maybe he didn't mean it. Maybe he was just not thinking. Maybe it was a mistake?" she mused, her voice barely above a whisper as she wrapped her arms around her legs and rocked back and forth.
Her eyes traveled over the dirty, dusty room she was currently hiding in. It was warm and familiar to her in spite of being grimy, the planks rotten, the wind howling through the cracks and the rain pouring through a hole in the tin roof.
It was her sanctuary.
But tonight there was no peace or security to be found here, no rest for her terrified heart and shameful soul.
Carefully, she let go of her legs, allowing her knees to relax against the cold muddy floor of rotten wood and breathed in the musky air of nature decomposing as if it was the sweetest aroma. Her heart steadied as she slowly meditated herself into a state of blankness.
She had practiced this often; it was a neat technique when suppressing bad thoughts and memories.
The only downside was that it had begun affecting her overall memory, making her forgetful and giving her a hard time concentrating. It was worth it though, worth the kids calling her stupid and her angry teachers
Even worth his anger, in the end.
She had no idea how long she had been sitting there, up against the door in the Cabin before she noticed she was not alone in the room. Something was lying in a dark corner. Something large.
It was breathing, snoring lightly, making a sort of wheezy sound that was scary to listen to when the wind wasn't deafening it.
She screamed. Loudly.
The creature in the corner suddenly woke and jumped to its feet.
It was a very large looking and angry boy.
His eyes looked wild in the darkness, as if he was a caged bear looking for a weak spot in the metal bars so he could break free and attack. Or maybe he just looked like a bear who had been woken from his nap.
Yes, that other alternative seemed more appropriate, she decided though she had no idea why these thoughts crossed her mind in this moment. She should be scared witless. She should be running, screaming, but she was paralyzed.
Today`s events could not be topped by an angry bear boy in the Cabin.
"What are you doing here?" he growled, and in that moment, nothing had looked more frightening or glorious than Bear Boy.
He looked like Beast from Beauty and the Beast, shrouded in shadow and mystery, his face in the dark and his breathing loud and wheezy.
"I'm… I'm not…" she stuttered, flustered. "What are you doing here?" she demanded, switching the tables on him.
"That is none of your fucking business!" he growled loudly, his voice like a snarl in the dark.
She shivered in fear and started to back away, her hand searching for the handle behind her blindly.
"Where are you going?" He suddenly jumped forward, like he was about to attack her, and she did the only thing a person can do in a moment like that.
She ran.
She almost tore the door off its hinges and ran.
Her bare feet were hitting the wet ground with loud splashes and her ankles covered in mud.
But she was tackled about three minutes later.
Something large and heavy slammed her brutally to the ground and she screamed in fear and pain as she tore the skin of her knees. Panting and shivering, she turned around to look at the Beast.
He was a very large, grown boy; his curls the only seemingly innocent part of him and his face torn, cut and bruised. His eyes were blue and brown, a swirl of colors that resembled stormy seas.
"What the hell are you doing out here, Mary Alice?!" he boomed at her, his voice loud and echoing through the woods.
Mary Alice screamed at the use of her name, seeing the boy clearly for the first time and realizing that it was not a fictional character from a Disney movie, but rather Emmett McCarty. The school bully.
That night she confessed her sins, and Emmett his. Neither had ever shared a thing, but during the night they decided to share the Cabin in the woods.
It was built long before either had set foot on this earth, and would still stand, at least its foundations, when they were gone.
There was no use fighting when they could make use of each other instead. She stood for antiseptic compresses and band aids. He stole feminine napkins from his mother for her. And in the dark, they held each other while they cried.
About a year later, Mary Alice Brandon was thirteen and Emmett fourteen, damaged beyond repair and out of control.
Emmett was hanging with the worst of the worst, popping pills like they came from a Pez dispenser, high or strung out most of the time, but nothing settled his edgy nerves or temperament. He lashed out at everyone, at everything. His teachers got his mouth, his fellow students and friends got his fists, and his father got a punching bag.
But for Mary Alice it was different.
Each time he was done with her, telling her to shower and clean her dirty, sinful body, she went into the bathroom and scrubbed mercilessly down there, until it was raw and aching and would certainly not feel even remotely good to be touched, licked or fucked for days.
And when she was done, bleeding and hurting, she grabbed the razor blade from under the sink and cut a deep, thin line across her lower left or right arm. One notch for each time he had touched her.
If she had liked it enough to… scream, she would pour salt on it when she got into the kitchen.
One day in late June the same year, the old priest died and everyone in town went to his funeral ceremony.
She hadn't been in a church since her mother died when she was five. It was the first time Mary Alice had ever folded her hands and prayed.
Her knowledge where scripture and God were concerned was what he told her each time he stripped her naked and did… things to her body. She was a sinner then, a temptress. She would go to hell if she didn't abide or please him, and she would go to hell if she got pleasure out of it.
That was the worst part about it, her body`s reaction.
She had no control over it, he touched her in a certain way and she got… wet… and he said that it was a sign that she wanted it.
But most times it hurt, and when he was almost done hurting her, he touched her parts. Then something happened and it was good and he would call her all sorts of filthy names and she would scream and believe that she deserved each one.
They sat on wooden benches, the material hard and unyielding, the people crying and the light somewhat pleasant, not too bright. Mary Alice listened intently to what the new priest man said, giggling some at the clearly Texan drawl in his accent.
But when he started on about sins too, she stopped smiling.
She ate up every word, and finally found the one she had been searching for, longing for, for years now.
"Forgiveness."
"To err is human, but forgiveness is Divine. God loves all his children," he stated with confidence.
Mary Alice gaped at him.
She could have forgiveness?
"All is possible through the power of prayer," the man told his congregation.
And as the people streamed out of the church, she remained with the excuse that she needed to use the restroom. She waited in the church's bathroom until she heard the doors close and knew she was alone, sprinted out to the prayer alter and kneeled with a thud that echoed through the large hall.
She took a deep breath and gazed upon the dying Jesus Christ on the cross, not quite knowing where to start. She took yet another gulp of air and just decided that she would pretend Jesus was in that sculpture.
"Hi… Jesus. And God… You know, your … Father," she whispered and blushed shamefully.
Of course Jesus knew who his father was.
Shaking her head, she continued on.
"Um… So I kind of need to talk to you, or … well your dad too I guess…" Her voice was growing unsteady as she unwillingly recalled why she was kneeling.
Images of naked bodies and pain and shame and fear flashed through her head.
"I'm… Um…" She tried to ignore the tears that slipped from her eyes. "My dad says… He says women are tools for… men`s you know…" She blushed again and stupidly gestured to the only part of Jesus that was covered. "For their… pleasure… " she finished, reddened and shamefaced.
"Oh no, I'm sorry. I know it's rude to point and especially to the… At your… Never mind, I'm sorry… I…"
She hiccupped and swallowed hard.
"He does things. Things to my body, to me down… there…" She again gestured to his clothed part and then remembered that she had promised not to do it, so she pointed quickly at herself and shook her head, mumbling another "Sorry."
"It hurts… A lot.... when he does those things with his… body. He says that they are supposed to hurt, that if it doesn't …. that if it feels good, then …" She took a deep breath and averted her eyes from the statue. "Then I will go to hell for being a… whore… a sinner… ugly and disgusting and …" She unfolded her hands and covered her eyes as unbidden images and memories flashed before her eyes. "So dirty… I will never be clean…" she told God and Jesus.
"I … Please… I'm so sorry… I need… I need forgiveness… please." she whispered as her body shook.
What she did not know was that there was another witness in that church, one that walked the earth with her.
His golden blond locks were curly and messy, his eyes large and warm and brown, and his entire body shaking at her confession to the Lord.
Jasper Whitlock had watched her through the whole ceremony, seen her intense stare and wondering eyes as his father spoke of his faith and of death and heaven. She had soaked it up like it was water in the driest of deserts, her delicate and seemingly melancholy features brightened and hopeful for something.
And then she had kneeled and prayed like some children do when there is no one left to turn to.
But unlike most children, who would have prayed for it all to stop, the girl prayed for forgiveness.
She was prepared to endure the torture as long as someone lifted the weight of guilt and judgment from her shoulders when her days were counted and over with.
"Thank you… for listening… I'm sorry to bother you since you are probably a little busy but…" She took a deep breath and stood up on unsteady feet. "Amen."
She ran out of the church like fire was chasing her and Jasper Whitlock stood, open mouthed and horrified behind.
Two days later, Larry Brandon was collected by Chief Charlie Swan in handcuffs, his computer found loaded to the brim with pictures of naked children and movies of unspeakable things.
Father Whitlock never confessed to a soul what schemes he had pulled to save that girl from her hell. Some of it was quite illegal and honestly, morally wrong. But Father Whitlock was not prepared to have a child, well any creature, suffer if he could prevent it, and he would carry the burden of his lies on his mantle proudly until judgment day.
And watching Jasper's relieved smile made it all the more worth it.
A week later, Mary Alice Brandon was offered housing with St. Magdalene's convent on the outskirts of Forks, about half an hour's drive from school.
She accepted immediately.
It might not have been quite the same faith as the one that had lead her to her salvation, but she would find peace and redemption in a place with safe walls and God.
And most importantly: women.
She never knew what Jasper had done for her. Quite frankly, she had never looked twice at his face. About three months later, she became Maybe.
No one knew her address, no one knew her past, and no one knew a single thing about her.
And no one saw past the attention seeking bitch in too tight clothes long enough to notice that she prayed under the table before each meal, or that she snuck off to the locker rooms after school to change into her favorite sweats so she could help out in the garden when she got back.
No one except Jasper Whitlock.
But she refused to notice him.
Emmett McCarty knew the basics, but he didn't count.
They never counted each other.
Thank you so much for reading, reviewing and for recommending. For brightening my day with your awesome feedback, for making me feel treasured and talented.
I simply adore you and I hope you are still breathing and with me!
Marie0912