Author's Note: So finally, a few pieces of the puzzle fall into place. Major trigger warning for this chapter, since it deals heavily with rape and sexual assault.

"I'm not doing it dad. I'm not coming back."

They say that people who has experienced trauma at an early age rarely learn how to break free from it. That is to say, if they have no experience of a normal childhood, they do not consider the trauma as strange or unusual. That it is just part of their life, something that they have to live with.

You have to be strong in order to break away. If you show how you really feel, then it is all over. Then, you will never be free.

But its hard to be strong, or even know how. Especially when the only person in your life you can turn to is also the source of the problem.

The school counselor tried to tell me how to do it. Showed me brochures of where I could go – where I could live until I turned 18 if I went to the police. The bitch made it sound like it was so easy. But you can't really know until you've known nothing else but the taste of blood in your mouth and that constant stomach ache that never goes away, even when he is not in the room with you. And for most of your young life, you consider this normal.

I don't know what came over me when I did it. It was a couple of days after Aro had spent the night at my apartment, after we had made love.

He made me feel so safe, so loved. I was astonished that this could be so, that I could feel the things I felt that night. I thought I could never...enjoy those things. But Aro understood, somehow. It was evident at first in the way he held me, and the way he looked at me with awe and surprise when I was the one getting almost aggressive, craving more of him.

I wanted him. I had never truly wanted someone else like this. Perhaps it was because he was, in a way, a reflection of that dark part of me, the part that was molded after many years into something abstract and unpredictable. Why he wanted me at all was still a mystery. But it didn't matter really.

It is still not simple to sever an old connection, even if it is what you should have done years ago. But I can't back away from my decision now. I cannot allow myself that. I unconsciously start to pace around the apartment, feeling almost lightheaded.

"Sweetheart, what are you talking about? You belong here with me."

"No Dad. You know that's not true." You know that's not right.

"I can't allow you to just stay there. Come home and we'll talk about this." he tries to plead.

"You've forgotten – I am going to be 18 in a month. There is nothing you can do."

He is quiet for a long time then, and I can hear him breathing – I hold my breath, old habit. And its true, even though its about a month away – he still wouldn't be able to get me back. Standing right outside my bedroom door late at night, breathing, considering me through the gap in the door, where I'm lying in my bed, silently begging that he will go away. I could never tell what he will decide.

"And what about your life here? What about me? Honey, I miss you."

It was almost worse the nights when he decided not to. Because then, I knew the chances of it happening again the next night was bigger. But I never felt any fear. Just that thing in my stomach, the ache that had me ending up at the nurses office at school more times than I could count. It was useless to be scared, useless to feel anything at all. Sometimes I came up with excuses, being on my period and so on – but then he kept track of that too.

I unlearn the word for it, because as long as I never say it, it has never happened.

I took painkillers to keep my stomach from hurting too much. But this was all normal to me, even though I knew that other kids lived without this kind of misery.

It started sometime before Mom left. Not a big mystery why she did, considering. Not taking me with her was selfish though. I will never be that selfish.

The hand holding the phone starts to shake.

I've never spoken back to him before. Knew that would only make him more sneaky, more vigilant over my behavior. Make him take precautions. But it's like this thing has taken over me now, and I get the same feeling I felt when I saw that dead little girl at the bottom of the pool – that eerie sense of calm, of clarity. A voice comes out of me that does not even sound like me – or rather, the girl I used to be.

"If you ever contact me again, I will not hesitate to go to the police. I can have Lana pick up my belongings and send them to me. "

I can tell that this is not what he expected to hear – there is another long moment of quiet on his end before he speaks again.

"You wouldn't do that. Not to your own father." he says, sounding so sure, pretending that he still doesn't know what I'm talking about. There are so many things one could say to that. But he wouldn't understand anyway. Instead I decide to be candid. I was prepared for him to say something like this.

"I have a recording of it. It's old, which is better. I took it when you didn't notice – surprised huh? " I start to sound hysterical, almost happy now, and maybe that's good. It sure makes him sound less and less sure of himself.

"Rebecca, I beg you-" he starts but I don't let him finish. My voice keeps getting more and more strained. My mind flashing with pictures from that recording – from the few times that I've made myself watch it.

"And the image is quite clear, despite its age – one can clearly understand what is happening." I say and he sounds near tears now, his voice cracking as he speaks.

"I never meant to hurt you, it was meant to bring us closer togeth-" there is a roar in my ears at the sound of his voice – his pathetic, weepy voice, like a small child who doesn't know what he's done wrong. Like he doesn't deserve this. It makes my blood run cold, and I scream. I say that word that has been banned from my world for so long. And it cannot be kept from me any longer. It tears out of my throat like poision being coughed up.

"Rape never solves anything."

After breathing heavily for several moments, I sit down on the floor, my eyes seeing nothing. And I think to myself – this is the last time I will ask him for anything, this is the last time that I will beg.

"I beg you dad, please. Just let me have the rest of my life. I will not tell them what I know, just let me have it."