A/N - This was a difficult chapter to write as far as subject matter goes. I will lend you a "spoiler" of sorts by telling you it concerns support group therapy. My own experience with this is limited to one session and it wasn't a very good experience. There is little on the internet that describes what actually goes on realistically (aside from the usual generic info and what is written on psychology websites describing different methods/tactics). So, I admit to taking some creative license using my own limited experience. All groups are run differently and everyone involved is unique. This is just one take on it from our dear Bella's point of view. On a side note, there is nothing in this chapter that I feel is overtly graphic or disturbing.

Bella's POV

It's a relatively small building; innocuous really with it's white brick exterior and green awning. There are no markers to label what it is, so I double check the address. I really don't have to. Esme's SUV is parked in the small parking lot along with several other vehicles.

I climb out of my truck and make a dash through the drizzle towards the door. My hand freezes and stills over the knob as I take a deep breath.

You can do this.

Can I?

I have no idea what to expect. I never asked Esme for any details. The pamphlet she had given me, so long ago it seems now, stayed secreted away in the bottom of my book bag. It was by chance or maybe fate, if one was to believe in such things, that it managed to get stuck inside my English homework.

An impulse was born.

I've been making a lot of those types of decisions lately.

Spontaneous, I am not.

Renee was.

I am grounded and deliberating because I've always had to be.

Yet here I am.

Steeling my shoulders, I open the door.

It's an anticlimactic moment.

No one greets me. There is no receptionist sitting at the front desk to take my name and give me direction. No faces at all.

There's just a long, empty hallway floored with generic black and white tiles and a smattering of nature inspired paintings line the wall.

I hear the echoing of voices and see computer printed signs with bold black arrows stating Young Women's Circle Of Healing Group.

Such a benign name for what it really is.

My slow footsteps are filled with trepidation as they lead me towards a large room with plastic chairs that form a large circle. A few young girls and women chat over by a coffee urn until they see me.

They stop and turn with curious, welcoming smiles. My own smile is wan as I duck my head and continue to look for Esme.

The sharp pitter-patter of nervousness takes root and blooms in my stomach.

"So, what's your story?"

Startled, I turn on my heel towards the voice. A girl, maybe a few years older, with a riot of tight red curls, lip ring and tattoos running the length of her bare, skinny arms is staring back at me with open interest…like I'm some sort of oddity.

"I'm sorry did you say, my story?"

She had said it like whatever has brought me here is some tale I made up in my head.

I wish.

"Yeah, you know…why are you here? Father, brother, lover, stranger?" She looks down at where my fingers are gripping the sleeves of my sweater close against my skin and smirks. "Tried that once but tattoos are so much prettier, don't ya think?" She glances at her own arms.

What does she mean? Does she think I'm hurting myself? Intentionally giving myself scars? The very idea is abhorrent to me. I reel back on my heels in obvious distaste. Who is this girl?

Unconsciously, I let my sleeves go.

"No…I…"

"You know the rules, Vicki," says a voice I recognize well. "I don't think Dr. Platt would appreciate the interrogation you're trying to give."

"Rose," I whisper under my breath after the girl, Vicki, gives a twist of her lips and walks away to slump sulkily in a chair still staring at us.

"Hey, Bella," She smiles at me and much of my general unease dissipates.

"Rules?" I ask.

"Rules," she nods. "This place is a comfort zone. No one should pressure you to share…especially like that. Anyway, I'm so glad you came." She hugs me briefly and guides me over to a seat and sits next to me.

I have so many questions to ask her but Esme walks in the room and everyone moves to sit down. Her step falters a bit when she sees me and her face breaks out in a beaming, approving smile as she nods her head in my direction.

"Well, it seems we have a new face joining us today," Esme starts. "I'd like you all to help make Bella feel welcome. As you know, it takes great courage to walk through those front doors."

There's a murmur of 'hello's'. I dart my eyes nervously around the room, trying to take slow, even breaths.

"Hi," I give a slight hand wave, trying to be friendly but it's challenging when I feel like I'm on display.

Rose reaches over and squeezes my hand. "It's okay," she mouths silently.

Esme quickly brings the attention back to her with a simple clearing of her throat. I'm not sure how all of this works so I just sit and listen. It's startling the amount of "should have's" and "could have's" that take residence and permeate around the room. The guilt and shame that lives within me seems to be a universal element that binds us all.

Each of them has a different story, all with fundamentally the same residual effects. There's Bree; the shy, quiet girl next to me whose first date was tainted by unwanted lust. Jane, who is probably the same height as Alice, was followed inside her apartment building and attacked in an empty stairwell. And Maria, who for years was subjected to the abuse of her stepbrother and Irina who was stalked for months. She hadn't been physically attacked but she was emotionally scarred, all the same. Vicki, I found out, was passed around like a rag doll in a dark Port Angeles Alley.

She speaks of the brutal attack by knifepoint in a hauntingly robotic voice. My date last night with Edward looms in my mind as I remember the group of guys on the dark street.

I shiver.

Focus, Bella, focus.

But I can't.

I feel sick.

Hearing this tough, inked up girl speak of the heinous things she was subjected to in a tone that was somehow less than human was my undoing.

"Excuse me," I whisper and immediately cover my mouth as I run out of the room.

Where in God's name is the bathroom?

I want to scream as my unfocused eyes frantically search the closed doors scattered about the hallway.

I hear my name being called.

I pretend not to hear it.

There it is; the unmistakable generic symbol of the restroom.

I'm bent over now, stumbling quickly, gagging on my own bile trying to keep it lodged in my throat. My eyes burn with the unshed tears of embarrassment.

Leaning over the white ceramic bowl, I wretch hot, thin, acidic liquid that burns through my throat and my nose.

Why can't you get a grip?

My knees shake and I have to grab the toilet to keep from falling over.

I hear the door swing open and I stiffen.

"I'm sorry…I didn't mean to ruin the meeting…" I say thinking it's Rose or Esme.

"Oh, get over yourself."

Vicki.

Still crouched down, I turn my head. She squats down next to me; her face sympathetic despite her harsh words.

"You think you're the first person to freak out in there? You're not. Last week it was Maria, the week before it was Jane…welcome to the club, Bella."

"Can I withdraw my membership?" I offer a weak smile, trying to swallow away the acid.

She shakes her head with a smile and gets up. I hear the water running and a few moments later, she is handing me water in a paper cup and a wet paper towel.

"Thanks."

I swallow the water greedily.

Why is she here? Why not Rose or Esme? I look towards the door.

"They wanted to come after you," She says answering my silent question. "I think it's up to me though, to make it right. You're pretty tight with them, huh?"

"Yeah…yeah I am."

"Thought so. Rose doesn't go all mother hen for just anyone. I'm sorry I was such a bitch before."

"Why were you?"

"Honestly? I don't know. You just seemed so innocent…so pure…you didn't look like you belonged. But you do, don't you?"

Her face is inches from mine; inspecting, speculating...searching for my hidden secrets.

"I was wrong. You're not a cutter at all, are you? But you've been marked all the same. I bet right now you're fucking terrified of the guilt, of the feeling you're not worth it, that you're dirty…tainted somehow…terrified of the never ending nightmares that are just as scary in the light of day will never go away."

I find myself nodding at her words, no matter how sinister they ring in my ear. No one has ever spoken so crudely and honestly about it before. They all seem to tip toe on egg shells around it…around me.

It's…refreshing. I like it.

Her anger, her bitterness, her direct way of getting to the core…it strengthens me somehow.

There's strength in numbers.

Everything she says is true…one hundred percent, absolutely true. No matter how much I try to hide it with Edward or Alice or any of them…the fear is always there, a dark stain on everything good. I've become adept at hiding it…but this girl…this stranger sees right through me.

She knows.

She's been where I am now. Maybe she still is.

"Do they ever go away?"

She shakes her head. "Not all of them. Some things will live in you forever. But you learn to cope. What happened to you was pretty recent, wasn't it?"

"Yes, right before Christmas."

"Jesus Christ," Vicki hisses under her breath. "Okay, B, I won't ask you about what happened…wouldn't want to break the rules and all…" She snorts and rolls her eyes causing me to chuckle.

How insane this must look; the two of us bonding on the floor of the ladies room.

My eyes drop to her tattoos. The colors take the shape of twisted rose vines, edged with thorns that drip blood.

"They cut me here," She points to her forearm where a tattooed vine now grows. "And here and here." She points to her other arm where the name "Riley" is scripted and then the bottom part of her neck where an inked necklace lies. "I took something that was ugly and made it beautiful."

They are beautiful in their own way. I can barely see any knife wounds and I think of my own scars.

There's a soft knock.

"Guys," Rose's concerned voice speaks through the door. "Dr. Platt is going to call for a break in a few minutes."

"Well, that's our cue," Vicki grins and stands up, holding her hand out to me. I grab it and she helps me off the floor. "This bathroom will be packed soon."

She reaches into her tight jeans and pulls out a small, worn business card for a tattoo parlor called "Think Ink".

"My boyfriend, Riley, owns a Tattoo place here in Port A. Maybe he can help make something beautiful for you too."

"Oh, I don't know," I shake my head and try to hand her back the card. "That's not really my thing."

"Keep it anyway, just in case. My number's on the back. Ya know...in case you want to talk," She puts her arm around my shoulder; a friendly gesture from someone I totally misjudged...well for good reason at first. "You smoke, B?"

"No...I..."

She laughs then. "I figured as much. See just like I thought...pure."

When we emerge from the bathroom, Vicki salutes us and goes outside to smoke. Rose's brows furrow in concern as she looks at me and she places her hand on my shoulder.

"Are you okay, Bella?"

"I think I might be," I tell her honestly. "I'm sorry I worried you."

"Please," She rolls her eyes and grabs me in a hug.

My heart pulses rapidly as I finally speak. No more hiding, terrified and afraid in the darkened corners of my mind. It gives him power. Power I need to take back.

"I won't call him my stepfather," I say. "He was my mother's husband."

The room goes still and quiet. Esme leans forward in her seat, her mouth agape at my quiet admission. She has this knowledge already but I think she is surprised that I am openly speaking. I am too. She nods once in approval and I find the will to continue.

"Renee, my mother, met him by accident…literally. I was in the ER again. A common occurrence for me since I suffer from clumsyitis," I smile wryly and nervous chuckles round the room.

"He was charming…very attentive towards my mom and then to me by default. He made Renee happy. That was all I could see at first. Renee had spent years roaming from place to place with me in tow, you see. I was kind of grateful that maybe she had found someone she could settle down with so I wouldn't have to worry about her so much when I went off to college. I thought she found that with him.

"Then I began to notice the little things. Renee wasn't being Renee anymore. She was becoming the carbon copy of everything she hated. Because he wanted her to wear her hair a certain way or dress more conservatively, she did. He never demanded, mind you. He was a lot more cunning than that. That, however, changed drastically the day they were married and we moved into his house.

"It was like I became his as well. He wanted Renee to get rid of all the memorabilia she had collected over the years because he didn't like to think about her life before him. So she did. Even the things that were mine. I threw a fit. He had a whole shrine dedicated to his glory days of baseball; photos of his high school team, trophies, an old uniform, baseballs, caps. I used to stare at it, dreaming of different ways to destroy it."

I take a sip of water with a shaking hand, feeling that old anger come back…picturing his cherished room and curios in my mind. I am telling them things I never told anyone, not even Edward. It feels strange. Briefly, I wonder if Edward would feel betrayed that I told a group of strangers first.

"What a control freak asshole," Jane, the tiny blonde, says. She is angry on my behalf. I couldn't agree with her more.

The others nod, murmuring in agreement.

"Were you scared of him?" Bree asks in an unsure, timid voice that reflects her own experience.

"No. I defied him every chance I got until Renee begged me not to. I began to spend more time out of the house, working, going to the library. I was ignoring it all like an ostrich with his head in the sand…until...until that night."

I shiver and stare off into space at nothing. The walls close in. Claustrophobic fear is a living, breathing thing in me, over me, above me. Its suffocating. My back beads with sweat causing my shirt to stick to my skin.

Why can't I breathe? I want to rip at my throat to open it to the air.

"You're doing great, Bella."

My eyes snap open. When had I closed them?

Rose is leaning towards me, her hand grips mine and her voice is a coaxing balm. There are tears swimming in her eyes and I want to tell her not to cry for me but my voice is being held hostage.

"Do you want to stop?" Esme asks. She is halfway out of her chair at the ready to provide comfort and aid should I need it.

I shake my head violently and find my voice.

"No," I rasp. "I want to continue…I need to continue."

She sits back down but her face says she's still wary. She doesn't want to push me.

Vicki clears her throat. "So, what happened that night?"

A cup of water is thrust at me and I take it, drinking greedily before I continue.

"I had a date. My first one. He was a nice guy I met at the library. We went to the movies even though Renee's husband wasn't thrilled about it. I came home about five minutes after curfew. He was waiting for me…just sitting in his stupid armchair, staring at the door and waiting. Renee was asleep.

"I just wanted to go to sleep but he grabbed me. I remember the look in his eyes. It made me feel so dirty…and violated. I demanded he let me go and he got angry. He said he tried to raise me the right way.

"The right way..." I snicker darkly and shake my head to clear the image of him that has infected my brain.

My breathing grows heavy and labored again. I don't know what forces are driving me now, only I feel the compelling need to continue...to finish this.

Maybe it's the demons that lurk just barely hidden by the shadows that never stray too far from me.

Who knows?

I push the visions away and concentrate on the words. I can almost see them floating above my head as I pluck them out of the air. My voice takes on a montotone type quality I don't recognize as my own. Is this what Vicki was doing...how she copes?

"I remember fighting him, using self defense my dad taught me. I remember him warning me not to resist or my mom would wake up and he'd have to hurt her too. I tried...I tried so hard not to scream but the sound came anyway...my mom, she came down the stairs horrified over what was happening and -Oh God," I bury my face in my hands.

"We're here, Bella. This is a safe place." Esme's voice is soothing in my ear. There's a comforting hand rubbing circles on my back. "What happened next, Bella? It's okay. He can't hurt you anymore."

"She attacked him and he...he flung her away like a rag doll. I was just so angry...so scared...I went after him...I don't know...he...I think he threw me against the wall. The next thing I remember was waking up in the hospital. My dad was there, crying. I never saw him cry before," I say in wonder. "They told me, I nearly died and when they said my mom had, I wanted to."

The room is silent and I am tired...so very tired. I've been staring at my hands the whole time watching my fingers shred the meager tissue in my grasp. Slowly I look up at the awed faces surrounding me.

"Oh Bella, I am so proud of you." Esme is beaming through her tears and she envelopes me in a tight hug.

I hug her tighter and cry. I'm sobbing like my heart is breaking all over again. It's a cathartic release.

The goodbyes in the drizzly parking lot are brief but emotional until only Esme and Rose are left.

Vicki urges me to call her once again and I think I will...sometime.

"Is your dad home, Bella?" Esme asks me.

"No...I don't think so."

"Okay. We're going to lunch then. Rose will drive your truck. I don't feel comfortable letting you get behind the wheel after that. We'll meet at Chestnut Cottage."

Rose gingerly climbs up into the driver's seat of my truck and stares at the wheel half in disgust, half in amusement.

She shakes her head. "I still can't believe you drive this beast. No wonder Edward insists on driving you everywhere."

"Don't hate the truck," I tease as she starts it up and and the entire cab shakes as the engine putters and starts to purr loudly. My face turns somber as I think of Edward. "Please don't tell Edward what happened here today."

She smiles at me. "What ever happens in group, stays in group. House rules."

"I haven't told him anything more than he's read in the papers," I admit. "You don't think he'll be upset that I told a group of strangers before telling him?"

"If he is I'll kick his ass," She jokes. " But seriously, Bella, group exists because many of us can't talk to our loved ones about these things for whatever reason. It's a safe place to get together to talk to people who are going through the same thing without judgement and without fear that we are going to hurt the ones we love."

"How long have you been going?"

"Since last year but I'm a volunteer there now."

I take a moment to digest this. It's only now that I realize, she never spoke unless she was giving comfort or direction.

"I want to be a psychologist like Esme," She continues. "Help girls that are in the same place I was. Volunteer work looks really good on a college application. Esme is the one that got me interested in it and she found a place for me here. I help out twice a month."

She sounds so matter-of-fact about it but I know she's a lot more passionate about it than she sounds.

"Well of it means anything, I think you'll be a great psychologist. I don't think I would've gotten through today if you weren't there."

"Oh, I think you would have. I don't think you realize how strong you really are. Much stronger than I was."

"I don't believe that," I disagree.

"It's true. I didn't fight get to back to myself at first...not like you are," She glances over at me. "But for the record, I'm glad I was there for you today too...not just as a volunteer but as your very good friend."

I nod silently and blink back a tear.

For the first time in a long time, I am optimistic that somehow, I'm going to be okay.