Disclaimer: I own nothing!

A/N: I think this is my favorite chapter out of the entire story! I love empowering women! Enjoy! :)

"GIRL" by Maren Morris
If vanity's my vitamin
Well, I don't feel the difference
I don't like myself right now
Gotta find a way out

Girl, won't you stop your cryin'?
I know that you're tryin'
Everything's gonna be okay
Baby girl, don't you hang your head low
Don't you lose your halo
Everyone's gonna be okay

.~.

"The Man" by Taylor Swift
They wouldn't shake their heads
And question how much of this I deserve
What I was wearing, if I was rude

BPOV

It was Monday morning now, which meant going back to school after everything with Mike and everyone knowing that it caused me to go into a mental health hospital. I was not looking forward to the attention or questions.

I got ready quickly and put all my makeup work in my backpack to turn in. My dad let Quil and Jacob come over yesterday, and we all worked on homework at my kitchen table for the majority of the day. Thankfully, I almost had all of mine completed.

I went downstairs and ate some cereal. My dad was drinking coffee and reading the newspaper. He handed me my antidepressant and I swallowed it with some water.

"Nervous?" My dad asked. I hadn't realized I was tapping my nails on the table until he asked.

"A little… just worried about being the center of attention."

"You just gotta get through today, then I'm sure things will calm down."

I sighed. "Yeah, you're right."

My phone vibrated. It was a text message from Jacob:

Good morning, Bells. Remember, we are just smarter than the other people who haven't been in mental health hospitals. ;) Have a good day!

I smiled as I texted back:

Thanks, Jake. I'll call you later!

I shoved my phone into the front pocket of my backpack, told my dad bye, hopped into my truck, and drove the five minutes to school. As soon as I parked, Jessica was at my door. She opened it and grabbed my hands to pull me out of the seat to hug me.

"Bella! Oh my gosh! I've been so, so worried about you. Did you get my messages? I texted you and called, too. I'm so sorry all this happened. Are you feeling better?"

This was the exact thing I'd wanted to avoid – people excessively asking questions, causing a scene.

"Hey, Jess. I got your messages. Sorry, I haven't had a chance to reply to everyone. I'm feeling much better."

"Well, tell me everything! I mean," she lowered her voice. "We all know what happened with Mike, but what happened after that? I mean, I can only imagine the pain all of it caused you."

I pulled my backpack out of my truck and put my arms through the straps after putting my truck keys inside one of the pockets.

"Um, well…"

"Unless it's too painful to talk about." Jessica cut me off.

"No, it's okay… After the stuff with Mike, my therapist said I dissociated, which means I was kind of checked-out. I guess I just felt really low and hopeless."

"Gosh, Bella. Of course you were feeling that way. Mike's a bastard, and he'll get what's coming for him."

"Thanks, Jess."

We walked toward the school entrance now. I had several more people bombard me with hugs, questions, and sympathetic looks throughout the morning. I finally made it to lunch and sat at my normal table with Angela, Jessica, Ben, Tyler, and Eric. The empty seat where Mike would have been made my stomach knot with disgust.

"I still can't believe Mike would do something like that." Eric said.

"Well, he did and now he's gone before he can do it to someone else. Good riddance to him." Jess commented.

"Did you do something to… I don't know, provoke him or something? I mean, what were you wearing?" Tyler asked.

I heard Jessica and Angela gasp next to me.

The disgust in my stomach intensified. I briefly made eye contact with Tyler then let my gaze fall onto the table. Was it my fault? I couldn't remember what I was wearing, but I was sure it wasn't anything different than what I was wearing today – jeans and a T-shirt.

"How dare you accuse Bella of being at fault for this!" Angela spoke up. "Women should be able to wear whatever they want. We just need to teach disgusting men like Mike not to assault women!"

"Exactly! It's never the victim's fault for being sexually assaulted. I bet that comment made Bella feel terrible." Jess said.

I felt a little nauseous all of a sudden. I pushed myself up from the table, slung my backpack strap over my shoulder, and made my out of the cafeteria and out into the cold, rainy courtyard outside. The rain felt good against my face.

I wasn't sure where I was going, but I couldn't stay here. I walked toward the parking lot and got into my truck. I fired up the engine and drove.

. . . . . . .

"I skipped the second half of school today," I sheepishly told Maddie during my therapy appointment later that afternoon.

I'd ended up just driving all afternoon, not going anywhere in particular, until it was time for my therapy appointment. I messaged my dad to tell him I left school early because I felt sick and that I would be home after my session.

"It was your first day back, right? What happened?" Maddie asked.

I looked down at my hands in my lap. "Well… I was sitting at lunch and this guy made a comment about how I maybe provoked Mike to… assault me. He asked what I was wearing… I guess I got pretty upset and just left school. I drove around until my appointment with you."

"Oh, Bella," Maddie said with a small sigh. I looked up at her. "There's this stigma around sexual assault in our society. We tend to blame the survivor, which is what that boy at lunch was doing."

"Yeah."

"But it's never the survivor's fault. Ever. You know that saying, 'boys will be boys?'" I nodded. "It should be changed to, 'boys will be what boys are taught.'"

I took a deep breath. I knew she was right; it was just hard to piece it all together. "So, you're saying even if I was naked when I answered the door to Mike, it wouldn't be my fault that he… hurt me?"

"Yes! That's exactly what I am saying, Bella. A woman can wear, or not wear, whatever she wants, and a man should have enough respect and impulse control to leave her alone unless she gives him permission to touch her… Think about it – how often do we see men without their shirts on? Think about the last T.V. show you watched as an example."

"Frequently," I answered.

"Right. Does that make you want to sexually assault them?"

I wrinkled my nose. "Of course not."

"It's the same thing." Maddie responded.

I nodded and looked back down at my hands, trying to organize that in my mind. Men in our society have been taught that women are these sexual objects they have a claim over… Well, I was fucking done being one of them. I felt anger stir up in my body. How dare Mike sexually assault me. How dare Tyler blame me for it. How dare that Derek guy assault me in the social room last week. Fuck all of them.

"I fucking hate them all." I said sourly.

"Good, you should. Anger can be an empowering emotion, Bella."

"How?"

"Well, anger puts us into activation mode, so to speak. That's why, when we are angry, we often want to punch, kick, or throw things. When we use anger to our advantage, we can create a lot of change."

"How can I create change? Haven't women been fighting for change for over a century?"

"Well…" Maddie paused for a second. She looked contemplative. "I think the change starts first with just you, Bella. Don't let that boy scare you away from your lunch table again. Put him in his place, even if that means you're 'rude.' Find a way to take your power back in this situation and never let a man steal it from you again."

Damn, Maddie was always full of so much wisdom. I fished my notebook out of my backpack and flipped to the page where I wrote things down from our sessions.

This time, I wrote: Never let a man, or anyone else, steal my power again; do anything, even be rude, to keep it.

I was feeling more empowered than ever before. I was also looking forward to those self-defense classes Charlie signed me up for. I thought about how good it would feel to know how to protect myself, and how good it would feel to wail on a punching bag that I pretended was Mike. I was supposed to go to the first class tonight.

"Thanks, Maddie." I said after writing in my notebook. "Can I ask you something else I've been wondering about?"

"Of course."

I felt myself blush as I thought about my question. "Um, well, I kind of like this new boy. He's… kind. He would never act like the other guys we were just talking about… But I'm just wondering if what happened with Mike could make me, I don't know, damaged? Will I be able to fully trust someone new and have a good relationship after everything?"

Maddie smiled. "It's Jacob, isn't it?" I blushed even more and nodded.

"First of all, you are not damaged. Remember, Mike is damaged. Not you, right?"

"Yes." As I agreed, I also wrote down in my notebook: I am not damaged. Mike is, and so are all the other guys that are like him.

"Okay, good. As far as engaging in a new relationship after sexual assault, there are many things to consider. First, taking things slowly, or at a pace that feels good for you. Second, making sure you always feel safe. Third, it can be helpful, whenever you feel ready, to explain to your new partner about the sexual assault that happened if you haven't already. That allows them to understand how to best support you, so they don't trigger any flashbacks or memories…" Maddie paused as I scribbled down the words she was saying.

She continued, "When people engage in healthy, safe relationships after sexual assault happens, they can often have what's called a 'corrective emotional experience,' which means it can be healing. It provides a juxtaposition, which is how your brain re-wires pathways. In layman's terms, that just means it might help you heal from some of the trauma associated with the assault."

"So, Jacob could be healing for me, then?" I asked.

"As long as he makes you feel safe, your relationship is healthy, and he respects the boundaries you need, then yes, he could be. Just remember that your number one goal right now is to find your power. And you don't need a man for that."

. . . . . . .

After making dinner for Charlie and explaining the real reason why I left school early, he drove me to the police station to meet his colleague, Stevie, for the women self-defense class. He said he had some business to take care of and would be in his office while I participated in the class. I think he was just worried that I wouldn't go if I drove myself. That might've been true earlier today, but I really was feeling more empowered after my session with Maddie.

My dad walked me to the garage behind the police station and showed me where the class was being held. When I walked in, Stevie looked familiar, but I wasn't sure why. She came up and shook my hand. She seemed nice. She also looked incredibly strong. She had lean muscles and her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She had several tattoos on her arms and had beautiful olive-colored skin. She also gave off a don't-fuck-with-me vibe.

There were four other women in the garage. They all looked like they'd been here before. They were stretching, reaching down to touch their toes and reaching their arms to one side then the other. I stood next to them awkwardly while Stevie appeared to be setting things up. I looked around the room – there were several punching bags and a lot of other gym equipment. I guessed this was where some of the police officers worked out.

"Hi, ladies," Stevie said. "We have someone new with us today," she nodded toward me. "This is Bella." The other four ladies looked over at me and smiled. I smiled back.

"We are going to go over a few basics again tonight, then we will break into pairs and practice. After that, we will do some strength training with the punching bags."

I watched Stevie closely as she showed us three different self-defense moves. She said that we should always focus on "vulnerable areas" when trying to escape an attacker – eyes, nose, throat, and groin. Then, she showed us three different moves: the hammer strike, groin kick, and heel palm strike.

For the hammer strike, she showed us to clench our fist, bend our elbow, and hold our arm up beside our head. Then she told us we would punch one of the vulnerable areas with the side of our fist. To "spice it up," as she called it, we could hold our car keys and use them as a weapon to jab into the attacker.

The groin kick was self-explanatory.

For the heel palm strike, Stevie showed us how we should get in front of our attacker, flex the wrist on our dominant hand back and jab upward into the attacker's nostrils, chin, or throat.

We broke into pairs and practiced the movements gently, without actually hurting our partners, of course. Since there was an odd number, Stevie was my partner and she showed me no mercy.

I tried over and over again to practice the movements she showed us, but I kept tripping, missing my target, or I was too slow, and she would grab me, trapping my arms and hands. I was getting frustrated as I really tried to implement what she showed us. I was just too dang uncoordinated and clumsy.

"Bella," Stevie finally said, putting her hands up to signal that we were pausing. "Let's take a break. This can be hard to get the hang of… I think we need to help you find your fire, or some passion first."

"Okay," I said, somewhat defeated.

I walked over to a water cooler, grabbed a paper cup and filled it with water. I sipped it slowly as I watched the other women practice. They were so graceful and smooth with their movements. I shook my head; I didn't know how I was going to change my life-threatening clumsiness. I also wasn't sure what she meant by finding my "fire."

After a few more minutes of everyone practicing, Stevie instructed each of us to go to a punching bag. I threw away my paper cup and walked to the punching bag closest to me, in the corner of the room, far away from everyone else. I pulled the gloves on and started to awkwardly hit the bag.

Then, something weird happened. I started to have this strange, almost out-of-body experience… Sort of like a flashback, but I had more control. It was the same memories that popped up when I was in the hospital.

Flashing red and blue lights, bottles of pills, my dad yelling in panic, feeling like I was floating…

I hit the punching bag with more intensity – using all of my strength.

Mike holding my wrists too tight, his hand gripping my hip, him backing me against a wall…

I wailed on the bag, fighting back. I wasn't going to lose control. I was going to win this time.

Mike forcing his lips against mine as he pinned me again the wall, me fighting him the best I could, trying to kick him to get him off of me, him gripping me tighter, me trying to scream…

I did scream this time, though, I wasn't stifled or powerless now. I practiced the hammer strike, imagining that I had been able to strike Mike in his throat, his nose, and his eyes. I started kicking the punching bag too, imagining kicking him in his groin as he collapsed to the floor.

Mike unbuttoning my pants and shoving them down along with my underwear, me trying to scream and beg him to leave me alone as I struggled against his iron grip, but being unable to find my voice, terror flooding my body as he shoved his own pants down, then me going numb and limp, floating…

I imagined Mike withering on the ground in pain, not even getting that far this time. I didn't have to beg him to leave me alone. I made him leave me alone. I wasn't going to float this time. I was fully present, fully capable of finding strength.

I was so absorbed in this experience that I jumped when I felt someone's hand on my shoulder. I whipped around quickly, ready to strike whoever it was, still being in my trance. It was Stevie. My arms relaxed as I came back into the room.

I glanced around for a second, trying to reorient myself. The other four women were staring at me. I realized I was crying. I probably looked like a crazy person the last several minutes. I scrambled to get my gloves off so I could wipe my tears.

"Bella," Stevie said. I looked back at her as she placed her other hand on my opposite shoulder, stopping me from struggling with the gloves. "That was the passion. That was the spark. Well done."

I stared back at her, confused. I looked back at the other women who were now smiling and nodding.

I closed my eyes for a second to organize my thoughts...

Even if I had looked crazy, I didn't fucking care.

This was my fire. This was me taking my power back. No one would ever take it from me again.