Just a warning, this chapter and maybe the one after are a bit heavier on the content and might be more difficult to read x

Bree POV

I was interrupted by a sudden voice. I whipped my head around and saw Carlisle coming through the doorway. I'd been playing for more than 3 hours!? Where did that time go?

"I didn't know you played." Carlisle said, setting down his bag and coat and walking across the room to join me.

"I don't. Well, not until about 3 hours ago anyway. It seemed like a fun way to pass the time. How was your day?" I asked, and Carlisle smiled.

"Quiet, which is pretty usual for a weeknight in a small-town hospital."

"That's good, I guess. If a little boring…?" Carlisle chuckled.

"A little boring indeed. But we'd always rather have it that way. The 'Q' word is forbidden in hospitals, for fear of cursing ourselves with a mass casualty event or another source of an influx of patients."

I thought back to our first meeting, the day my human life ended. That had been a quiet night in the hospital too, I guess. My breath caught in my throat as I thought back to that night, something Carlisle did not fail to notice. He moved over to the piano and crouched down in front of me.

"What's wrong?" he asked gently, and I lifted my eyes to look at him.

"Just… thinking about the first time we met, on a random quiet weeknight in the hospital." I tried to keep my tone light, but the pain was evident in my voice, and was probably written all over my face too. Carlisle's eyes were filled with care.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked gently. I pondered his question for a moment. Thinking about my past abuse hurt, but I'd always felt better afterwards. In the past few weeks, I'd definitely noticed myself feeling less vulnerable around the men in the family. I thought about how Esme had said that talking helped her recover from her past. I trusted her implicitly, so maybe it was worth a try? And Carlisle was a doctor. He'd probably heard a million stories like mine over the past few centuries. He'd probably be a good person to talk to.

"Yes. Yeah. I- I think I do." Carlisle gently picked up my hand and led me across the room to the sofas. I settled into a corner seat, cross-legged, and pulled a cushion onto my lap. I looked up at Carlisle uncertainly, unsure of how to start. He seemed to understand my hesitation.

"What made you come to the hospital that night?" he asked quietly from his seat on the other side of the sofa. I took a deep breath in, and started talking.

"It was worse than usual that time. I was pretty good at patching myself up with a first aid kit, I'd been doing that for years, but sometimes it was too much to handle just by myself. That was one of those nights." I paused, unsure of how much detail to go into.

"When you say 'years'…?" Carlisle's question was implicit.

"Since mum left-" I stopped abruptly. "-Since mum died." I corrected quietly. "It started pretty soon after that, when we moved to Idaho. I guess he didn't have anyone else to hit." I wondered darkly, and Carlisle sighed, knowingly. "Nobody ever noticed. I didn't have any close friends at school. Dad made sure of that. Looking back, I'm amazed the teachers never noticed anything. But they didn't. I just slipped under everybody's radar. I was small and quiet and didn't cause trouble, so nobody ever noticed me."

"What was different about that night? Why was it worse than usual?" Carlisle asked, when I didn't break the silence.

"Um… I don't know. I hadn't done anything wrong, I don't –"

"Bree you never did anything wrong." Carlisle interrupted, his voice gentle but firm. I looked him in the eyes across the room. "I don't know what he told you, but there is never anything you could have done that deserved that kind of treatment." He said earnestly, his voice urgent. I took a deep breath, and nodded. They kept telling me this. I wanted to believe it, but I'd spent 12 years of my life being told on a daily basis that I was worthless and deserving of everything I got. "Sorry, I'll try not to interrupt." He apologised, and I smiled slightly.

"That's ok. Where was I? Oh, yeah, that night. I'd just come back from the supermarket and unloaded the food, and he came at me. He grabbed my arm tightly, so I couldn't move away, and hit me with a saucepan repeatedly. I felt my ribs crack on impact, and at some point, my head hit the corner of the counter and I must have been knocked out. When I woke up, it was dark, and there was blood everywhere. It took every bit of strength and willpower I had left to get myself out of the house and to the hospital that night." I paused, wondering what to say next. I realised as I spoke that this was the most I'd ever told anyone, the words rolling off my tongue, and it did feel like a weight was being lifted off my chest. I took another calming breath, and carried on.

"There was nothing in particular that made him angry that time. But that was the day we'd moved from Idaho. We'd moved because people at the hospital had got suspicious. I'd snuck in one time, and he'd found out because he worked there. He was really angry, and we moved pretty quickly after that. He'd been really angry the whole time following that incident, so I guess maybe that was why." We fell into silence again.

"Was it only when he was angry that he hurt you?" Carlisle asked, a quiet curiosity and concern in his voice. A shiver went up my spine, and I pulled my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms across them instinctively.

"No. If I was ever late, or if something inconvenienced him, or if he was just bored, he'd go off on me. The worst was when he'd been drinking, those were the only times he'd – " I cut myself off again, and a look of alarm covered Carlisle's face. I think he realised what I'd stopped myself from saying, so there was probably little point in holding back now.

"When he was drunk, those were the scariest times. I hated the nights he'd go out for drinks with his friends or colleagues. I could never sleep, because I knew what was coming when he got home. He- he said it was my fault mum left, and he had nobody else to- to- …." I didn't know how to say it. I took a shaky breath, and Carlisle moved towards me until he was close enough to hold my hand.

"Bree, you don't have to tell me this if it's too hard." He said, his voice filled with agony. I looked up to his face, filled with sympathy, and took another shaky breath.

"I want to. It's- it feels like a huge weight is being lifted off me… I want to tell you everything… if that's ok?" I added, as an afterthought. A strange look passed over Carlisle's face, almost like he too was in pain.

"Bree, I will listen to whatever you want to say. I want nothing more than to help you, and if listening to you talk about your past is helping, I will never stop listening to you." His voice willed me to trust him, and I took another breath.

"He'd come into my room pretty much straight away whenever he'd been out drinking. Sometimes the need for sleep had overcome my anxiety, and I'd wake up to him undressing me." I shuddered involuntarily, the memories of those horrific occasions coming back to me. Carlisle squeezed my hand encouragingly, and the pressure help ground me again.

"I was really young the first time. I had no idea what was going on, but I knew I didn't like it. It never got any less painful. And the look on his face when he'd see me cowering…" I couldn't breathe. Suddenly, I was back there again, in my childhood room in Idaho.

I could smell the stale alcohol, and I could see the silhouette of my father against my open door. As he advanced into the room, a look of excited anticipation could be seen on his face. He pulled the covers off my bed, throwing them to one side. I instinctively curled into a tight ball, but he roughly pulled my limbs apart. He quickly grabbed my hands with one of his and forced my pyjamas off with the other. I was frozen in fear, unable to move or fight him off. He took this moment of paralysis as an opportunity to rid himself of clothes, before roughly climbing on to me. His rough hand covered my mouth so I couldn't scream, even if I could remember how to. His face was right there, a greedy leer spread across the imposing features. I shut my eyes to avoid seeing the face of my nightmares. And then, the pain, as he forced himself onto me. It hurt so much. Tears were pouring down my cheeks.

"Bree." A voice called urgently. I could feel his hands on my shoulders, shaking me.

"Bree!" I couldn't breathe. I couldn't get him off me, his arms were too strong. I tried to fight but it was no use.

"Bree, it's ok, I'm not going to hurt you." The voice insisted. It didn't sound like my father. A hand gently cupped my face, and I opened my eyes in confusion.

"Bree!" Carlisle said again, one hand on my shoulder, the other gently holding my face as venom tears streamed down my cheeks. I blinked several times, and his hand gently wiped the tears from my eyes.

I wasn't there. I was in the living room. Carlisle was crouching in front of me again, his eyes at my eye level, filled with concern. I wasn't there. I wasn't being raped. It was just a memory. Just a memory. I took a few shaky breaths to calm myself. Carlisle moved so he was sat next to me on the sofa, and lifted me effortlessly into a gentle embrace, my legs across his on the sofa. I let him pull me towards him so my body was pressed against his chest, one of his arms wrapped around my back, and the other gently stroking my hair. I couldn't stop the tears from flowing now, soaking into Carlisle's shirt.

"It's ok sweetheart. You're safe now. I will never let anybody hurt you again. He can't touch you now." Carlisle whispered a constant stream of reassurances into my ear, his head leaning gently on mine. Slowly, my breathing returned to normal, and I realised I felt safe here, in Carlisle's arms. I found I could believe his words. I nestled further into his embrace as my tears slowed, and I felt his arms around me tighten. If I could sleep, I could imagine sleeping peacefully here. I'd never felt so safe in my life.

"I hope you know that what he did to you was inexcusable." Carlisle said suddenly, breaking the silence. His voice was almost a growl. "What he did was despicable, and there is no universe in which it can be rationalised. He was completely and totally wrong in the way he treated you, and there is nothing you did to ever deserve that." I shifted slightly so I could look up into Carlisle's face. There were tears in his eyes.

"And, most importantly," Carlisle continued, "what he did to you does not define your worth. He may have told you over and over again that you're worthless, but you absolutely are not. You are so valued. Your life is precious. You are deserving of all the love this world can offer. Don't ever let anybody make you think otherwise." His arms tightened around me again, and I felt secure. I leant my head back onto his chest, and we stayed that way, in total silence apart from our habitual breaths.

Sorry! I read that again before posting, and man was that heavy going!