Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight, but Carlisle Cullen owns me.

Scar Tissue

Bella Swan's Point of View

"I don't understand what just happened," I told Carlisle. I was curled up in his lap, cradled in his arms with my head nestled in the crook of his neck. We had been this way for about ten minutes, but this was the first time I had found the nerve to bring up the events of the day.

"Billy is carrying his superstition a bit too far," he murmured softly.

"So far that he would try to force me to stay there, though? That's really not like him, Carlisle."

He hesitated. "It's possible that I have underestimated his dislike for my family. It seems he's very worried for you."

I nodded, tucking closer against him to better smell the scent of his skin. I didn't know what Jacob was talking about. Carlisle Cullen smelled amazing.

"Bella, will you tell me what happened after you called me?"

"I tried to get Billy to give me my keys, but he wouldn't listen to me. Then after a few minutes that guy Sam came running into the house. He started yelling at Billy about a treaty, and he told me to go outside and get in the car so Old Quil could take me home."

"Old Quil?" he asked, a smile in his voice. "You know him, then?"

"He sometimes lends my Dad his boat when he goes out fishing with Billy." I pulled back a little, looking at him. "Do you know him?"

"Yes, Quil and I have been acquaintances for quite some time."

"Is he superstitious too?"

He laughed softly. "I believe he is. But he's always been quite cordial to my family and me, regardless."

"He looked like he was mad at you today," I told him, giving him a skeptical look.

"Yes, he was. He doesn't like tension between my family and the tribe."

I laid my head back down on his shoulder, drawing in a deep breath to savor his scent again. "I'm glad to be back."

He started running his fingers slowly through my hair, making my skin prickle with goose bumps. "I've very glad to have you back."

I was still a little bit lost with Carlisle. I wanted to ask him what we had, what he was looking for from me, but I was afraid that if I did, he would rethink things and decide we shouldn't have anything at all. I was taking whatever I could get from him before he changed his mind.

I rubbed my hand idly over his chest, admiring the way his shirt showed off his shoulders. I loved his shoulders. I slid my fingertips up his chest and over to his upper back, feeling the definition in his muscles through the fabric. He was perfect, solid and strong, and my breathing picked up slightly as I imagined what he looked like beneath his clothes.

"I have a question," I said abruptly.

"What's that."

I lifted my head and leaned back a little to look at him. "How come Edward and that Sam guy weren't wearing shirts today?" And why couldn't you have joined them and taken yours off?

"I believe Edward spilled coffee on his in the car. As for Sam, I'm afraid I don't know."

"It seems kind of cold for Sam to be running around in just cut-offs. He wasn't even wearing shoes."

"I can't imagine he was very comfortable," Carlisle agreed. He leaned forward with a smile and pressed a kiss to my lips.

I moved my hand to the back of his head, threading my fingers through his hair. I parted my lips, practically begging him to deepen the kiss, and he did. His arms tightened around me as his tongue swirled in my mouth, and I moaned softly in response. His breath hitched, and his kiss became more insistent.

I shifted on his lap so I was kneeling over him, straddling his thighs. I pressed my body against him as his hands started slowly roaming over my back. His lips broke away from mine and kissed along my jawline to my neck. He moved one hand to pull away the collar of my turtleneck, and then his mouth was on my throat, kissing and licking hungrily. His other hand slipped up under the back of my shirt, and I shivered from pleasure and from the chill of his cold skin.

He pulled his hand back. "I'm sorry, sweetheart," he murmured against my skin.

I grabbed his wrist, preventing him from pulling away further. "No, don't stop," I begged.

I felt his breath wash over my neck as he laughed softly. He pulled back to look at me, smiling ruefully. "My cold hands don't bother you?"

"I like them." My mind reflexively brought up a memory of Phil's hot, sweaty hands grasping at my chest, and I shuddered.

Carlisle frowned at my response, pulling both of his hands away from me and resting them at his sides. "Forgive me if I misunderstand, Bella, but it doesn't seem like you do."

"No, I do," I said quickly. I kissed him again, my hand moving to grip the back of his head, holding him to me. I needed him to make me feel right again, to make me forget the memories that haunted me no matter how far away I ran.

You like that, don't you pretty girl? Tell me you like it.

"I like it," I mumbled against Carlisle's mouth, struggling to hold back the panic that threatened to rise up inside of me. He wasn't here. He was far away in Phoenix. He didn't belong here.

Carlisle's hands moved to my shoulders, and he pushed me gently back from him. He took my wrists in his hands, being very careful with the one that was still in a brace. He pulled them in front of him and held them to his chest.

"Bella, what's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing's wrong." I tried to kiss him again, needing the distraction, but he wouldn't let me get close enough. I groaned in frustration as he maneuvered me off of his lap and onto the couch beside him.

His hands moved to cup my cheeks, and he stared intently into my eyes. "What's going on in that head of yours, sweetheart?"

I closed my eyes, irrationally afraid that he would see behind them and know what was going through my mind. I couldn't stand the thought of him finding out about Phil, about the things he did to me.

"Talk to me, Bella," Carlisle murmured.

I shook my head in his hands, opening my eyes but unable to meet his gaze. "There's nothing, Carlisle, nothing's wrong."

"Did something happen at La Push today?" he asked, and oddly, I thought he sounded nervous.

"Everything's fine."

He sighed and pulled his hands away. "Perhaps things are moving a bit too quickly."

My eyes snapped to his. "What? No!" I clamped my hand instinctively around his wrist, afraid he was reconsidering things already.

He gently unwrapped my fingers from his arm, and he brought my hand to his lips, kissing my palm. "Bella," he whispered, "help me know what to do here. If I touch you, it causes you distress; if I stop it causes you more. Please tell me what you're thinking."

"I'm not," I said quickly. "I'm not thinking. I just want to feel you."

His eyes darkened with desire over my words, and I took advantage of his momentary weakness, mashing my lips against his again. He dropped my hand and his arms came around me, clutching me to him. I pushed my luck and shifted my weight back, drawing him on top of me as I lay back on the couch. He came without resisting, a moan escaping his throat, and once again he was tugging down my collar and devouring my neck.

Tell me what you like, Bella. Say it.

I let out a whimper and clutched at the back of Carlisle's shirt, trying to pull him impossibly closer, needing him to overwhelm me, to block out the sound of that voice.

But instead he pulled away again, pushing himself off of me. "Bella, sweetheart," he breathed pleadingly, his golden eyes begging me for answers. "Tell me what's wrong."

I tried to pull him back down onto me, but he sat up, bringing me with him.

"I think maybe it's time to stop," he said softly.

The rejection hit hard, knocking the wind out of me. I twisted away, feeling my eyes well up with tears and not wanting him to see it.

"Bella," he breathed sadly, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me back against his chest. "Please don't be upset. I'm just worried about hurting you."

"You're not," I said, trying to keep the tightness out of my voice and failing miserably.

"Why are you crying, sweet girl?"

It was too much for me. I just wanted him to touch me, to make everything go away, and he wouldn't do it. I pushed his arms away and bolted up the stairs, running to my room and slamming the door shut behind me. I threw myself down onto the bed, sobbing into my pillow as the memories of Phil crashed down on me. I could feel his weight on top of me, pressing me down into the bed. I could feel his hand fisting around my hair and pulling it hard.

Tell me what you want me to do to you, Bella.

"Stop," I whispered into my pillow. "Please just leave me alone."

That's not the right answer.

I felt the sting of the slap as if he were in the room with me now, and I sobbed harder. "Stop," I whispered desperately. "Go away, please go away. You're not supposed to be here."

But he wasn't going away. The memories wouldn't be forced back. I wrapped my pillow around my head and sobbed, hating Phil for what he was doing to me, hating myself for letting him do it.