A/N: Hello again! Last upload of the week. There isn't a POV in the title because I ran out of room. Oops. It is below though. You'll see it. I've not had any reviews this week... is there anything I can improve? I hope people are liking my story.

This chapter is longer than my recent ones, but I still hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight and all connected to it. I only own this story line and any characters not included in her original saga!

I'll Always Find Peace In The Meadow

Previously...

I must doze off during the daydreams of my meadow, because some time later, I'm startled awake by a venomous hiss in my ear.

"Wake up!" the voice hisses. "Wake up, you stupid girl."

Chapter Nine: 'Where do I even begin?' (Bella POV)

Saturday 22 April 2017

Confused and disoriented, I slowly open my eyes, blinking the heaviness from them. At first, all I see is the leaves of the tree that hangs over me. Evening is well underway, the sky at that bright blue-purple stage, peeking through the small gaps between the leaves.

I'm only awake for a few seconds, staring up at the tree and sky above me, before the voice is attacking me again. "Isabella! Wake up. NOW!"

Before I can look to my left - where the voice, that I now know belongs to my mother, is coming from - my view changes, rapidly tipping as I am forcefully swung to my left. I topple over the side of the hammock, slamming into the grass covered floor. It feels as hard as stone, and as luck - or unluck - would have it, I land on my left side. On my bruised arm.

The bruise itself has changed over the course of this week, now a green blotch with dots of brown incorporated into it, but the pain hasn't lessened much. It no longer aches when I move it, like it did in the beginning. But if it's knocked at all, just like now, it throbs, the flesh still tender.

I cry out in pain, squeezing my eyes closed tightly, as my arm takes the brunt of the fall. Instinctively, I roll onto my back, alleviating the pain from my arm, but not eliminating it completely. It pulses sporadically, an overpowering heaviness setting into the top of the limb.

I open my eyes, only to watch as my mother crouches down beside me, an unapologetic look on her face. "Are you awake now?" she asks callously. I hold back my impulsive, sarcastic remarks to her question, instead offering a weak, fearful nod.

"What time is it?" I ask, my voice as quiet as a mouse. Renee rolls her eyes, standing up before brushing her hands down her trousers, as if they managed to collect dirt in the short amount of time she was close to the ground.

"Late. I expected to come home and have dinner waiting for me. But instead you chose to have a nap. Absolutely unacceptable behaviour. You do realise you have other chores left to do? Chores that should have been dealt with hours ago. Now I have to be the one to do them," she says.

Wow. I must've slept for a while. It couldn't have been any later then mid afternoon when I dozed off. I wouldn't know the exact time, because I stupidly left my phone inside.

Renee turns after her declaration, and begins walking towards the house. I stumble in my struggle to stand, attempting to use the hammock, which fails because of its instability. It is a hanging piece of fabric, after all. I eventually get onto my feet, and run after my mom.

"No. You don't have to. I will," I call out as I catch up with her. She spins on the spot, stopping so suddenly that I almost run right into her. Her expression is murderous. Lethal. It's so intense that I cower slightly, taking an instinctual step back.

"You will do no such thing bec-" she starts to argue, but I interrupt her, eager to right my wrong.

"It's okay. Seriously. I'll just change out of my clothes and then I'll do it all," I say, motioning to my grass-stained outfit. "Let me just grab m-" I begin to say that I'll quickly fetch my books and blanket, as I slowly start to turn towards the hammock behind me.

But I don't get the chance. My mom stops me, holding me into place with a tight, restricting grip. Her fingers wrap around my bony left wrist, squeezing to intentionally cause me pain no doubt. I fight the pained expression trying to show itself on my face. I don't want to give her the satisfaction.

She yanks me closer to her, away from my destination, hurting my already damaged arm in the process. Her face is now directly in front of mine, her breath, which contains a hint of alcohol, blowing over me. "You. Will. Do. No. Such. Thing," she says firmly, repeating her last statement, the one she began with before I'd interrupted her.

She now continues with what she was going to say earlier... at least I think so. "You will not be doing any of what you should have all ready done, because you will not be entering my house tonight." Her following smirk is evil. A smirk fit for the Devil himself.

"Wh... Huh?" I ask, totally befuddled.

"You. Will. Not. Be. Entering. My. House. Tonight." she says again, pronouncing each word in a mocking manner, as if I'm incapable of understanding English.

"What do you mean? Why?" I question desperately.

"You will stay outside until morning. If you think being out here is so great, and that hammock is so comfy, then you can stay out here all night and sleep in it," she says. She then let's go of my wrist and makes her way towards the back door. I trip and stumble behind her, trying to stay close enough so that I can slip inside behind her.

She stops at the back door, that is currently open ajar, placing her hand against it as she turns to look at me. "I mean it, Isabella. You can stay out here."

"Wait!" I plead as she goes to step indoors. "Please don't leave me out here. It's cold. And what about dinner? I haven't eaten anything since breakfast," I say, mentally kicking myself for skipping lunch. Why do my decisions always seem to come back and bite me in the ass?

"This is your fault, not mine. You chose to sleep out here, so you will continue to do so all night. You seemed perfectly fine before I woke you, so the blanket should suffice. As for your dinner, I couldn't really care less. You were quite happy to let me go hungry tonight, so now you can. If it troubles you so much, order a pizza or something," she suggests.

"But I don't have any money out here," I argue.

"Not my problem," she says uncaringly, before she steps over the threshold. I'm so shocked, so stunned by tonight's turn of events, that I stay frozen in place. I don't try fighting against the door as she enters. I don't use that as my opportunity to slip inside.

I just don't react.

Not until the sound of the back door lock sliding into place echos in my ears. Then I react. I hurl myself forward, and begin banging on the door with my fists, ignoring the protests of my sore arm.

She doesn't come to the door as I continue to hit and kick at it, crying and screaming for her to let me in. After about five minutes of this, I try the same routine, but against the back windows. There is one to my right, which is the same window I looked out of earlier, in the dining room. After no luck from banging on that one, I go to the only other window on the back of the house. The one at the back of the living room. I thump my hands against it for a while, the impact of my abuse over the last however long I've been locked out so far causing intense aching in my hands, my knuckles and the outer sides of my fists are red and slightly swollen.

Just when I'm about to give up, out of breath and in a great deal of pain, I see the curtain flutter. Delight spreads through me, as it seems Renee is answering my cries of desperation. Maybe she does have a conscience. Her face comes into view first, her expression bored and slightly pissed off. She places a sheet of paper against the window, black ink in her handwriting branding it.

Go to the front door

With a large, tired smile on my face, I nod eagerly, before practically skipping round to the front of the house. I sprint up the porch steps and wait for her to open the door. I wait and I wait, but nothing happens. She doesn't come. That's when I notice it. Resting on the welcome mat at my feet, lies my phone.

Realisation sets in, and my heart drops to my stomach. Tears spring to eyes, threatening to spill over. I slowly bend to pick it up. Oh. This is why she wanted me to come to the front, so she could give me my phone. What? No money? No. Of course she wouldn't give me any money. For one, she can't get access to my own personal stash of money, seeing as I hold the only key to my chest around my neck. And two, that would be too easy, wouldn't it? Not providing me with any cash means she is taking the power of feeding myself away from me. It's further punishment.

An anger slowly forms in my chest, like a tightly wound ball that is about to burst. It grows by the second, gaining in intensity, until I'm all but smashing the door down. My battered fists bang repeatedly against the door, my voice echoing into the night as I holler and shout at the top of my lungs, demanding to be let inside. My muscles grow tired and my voice begins to weaken, but I don't allow either of these challenges to deter me from my rage fueled attack.

My phone pings on the floor, where I had dropped it just before I began my assault on the door. With ragged breaths, I bend to pick it up again. I have one new message from my mother. Anger has consumed every part of my being, but I manage to stop my hands from trembling long enough to read the message.

Stop making so much noise. Think of our neighbours.

My anger immediately dissipates. At least for now. I do think of our neighbours, and what scenarios they must be conjuring up in their minds at this second. It's enough to horrify me. My mother knows exactly how to stop me, how to silence me. I don't want people finding out what happens here, and this scene I'm creating doesn't help that.

With a sigh of indignation, I trudge my way back down the steps and round to the backyard. I stop and stare at the hammock for a few minutes, mortified that this will be my bed for tonight. My stomach growls loudly, reminding me of my food shortage. I sigh in defeat as I climb onto the hammock, trying to get comfy in the cold of the night, with no pillow to rest my head on. I wrap myself with the blanket, wishing I'd brought my hoodie out with me as I attempt to drift off.

My eyes stare into the trees, my mind creating a portfolio of menacing creatures that could be hiding in the dark, each one much scarier than the last. I gulp in fear. This is so dangerous. I'm in a very vulnerable position. Anything or anyone could come out of the tree line and take me. With uneven breaths and a shaking form, I roll to my left, my back to the trees, and try to nod off. My weight rests on my bad arm, but that does little to convince me to turn onto my other side. I'd rather face the pain then face the black of the woods.

Sleep is very scarce Saturday night.

~I*A*F*P*I*T*M~

Sunday 23 April 2017

After falling asleep hours into the night, I wake sometime on Sunday morning in an abundance of pain. My throat is the first thing I notice. It's raw and scratchy, and it constricts in protest as I swallow due to a dry mouth when I wake up.

Next, I notice my hands. As I go to swing my legs over the side of the hammock and sit up, therefore having to use my arms and hands as support, I feel an excruciating pulling sensation running up the sides of them. I instantly look down at my hands, which are stuck in the form of a fist due to cramping. My knuckles are split and red, dried blood that I hadn't noticed last night staining my skin. I tilt my hands, so my closed off palms are facing the sky, to make it easier to inspect the sides of my hands.

The skin covering my hands, from my pinkie knuckle to the inner side of my wrist, is also bright red but with blotches of purple joining the decoration. My hands are swollen along the sides, reminding me of one of those latex gloves doctors use blown up like a balloon.

I cringe at the sight, appalled by what state my hands are in. There is no way I'll be able to write, so I don't know how in hell I'll be able to do any work at school tomorrow. Today will have to be spent on treating my wounds, readying them for a harrowing day of use tomorrow.

I check my phone, my painful hands causing me bother as I press the button that illuminates the screen. 8:45AM. And I see that I have 1 new message from my mother, sent at 8:04AM.

Back door is now open. When you come in don't bother talking to me. Get some food and then leave me alone.

Fine by me, I think as I hop off the hammock, gingerly collecting all my belongings. At least she hasn't banned me from getting any food today. I hear my stomach growl just at the thought of something to eat.

Rushing to the back door, I hurriedly let myself in, sighing in relief as the warm air of the house touches my icy cold skin. Today isn't the warmest outside. When I woke, I was met with a view of the sky, blanketed in a thick coat of clouds. I wouldn't be surprised if I end up sick after last night.

Upon entering the house, I walk directly into the living room. Our house has two living areas. One at the back of the house, with a small TV, a collection of smaller sofas, and a desk beside the back door. And another at the front of the house, with a large, flat screen TV. That is the one we used the most when my father was alive. That one was always the 'family room'.

Now, I tend to stick to the back room, while my mom dominates the former family room. The first thing I do is rush upstairs, not wanting to risk the chance of running into my mother. The TV in the front room is loud, a chorus of blasting explosions coming from behind the closed door, so I assume she's in there.

I briskly enter my bedroom, accidently slamming the door shut in my haste to get out of these freezing clothes. In a less dire situation, I would have frozen in place, listening for any signs that my mother heard the unnecessary force I used to close my door, but it's not important at this very moment.

I practically rip the clothes from my body as soon as my hands are free. They ache due to my actions, but I'm too focused on getting warm to care. I pick up the first knitted item my hands can find.

I end up wearing another pair of black sweatpants and a black chunky knitted turtleneck cable sweater. I'm still cold after putting these on, so I also put on a pair of black fleecy bed socks, and just to be safe, I slip a black slouchy beanie hat onto my head. As I look down at myself, I realise just how much black clothing I own. Is this amount normal for a sixteen year old girl? I look like the perfect candidate for a robbery, all I need is a black bandanna or some form of mask to hide my face and I'm all set.

Starting to feel a little warmer, I head back down to the kitchen in search of food. I cook myself some bacon - lots and lots of bacon. I pile it in between two slices of toast and devour it in no time, gulping down a pint of water, and then the same amount of orange juice afterwards. I then make myself a hot cup of tea, needing something more to warm me up.

Full and satisfied, for now, I sit at the breakfast table in the kitchen. My swollen and bruised hands are wrapped around the cup, the heat seeping into my skin. It feels soothing. My hands shake as I raise the cup to my lips. I close my eyes as I take a sip, sighing as the warm liquid slides down my throat, somehow helping the raw pain inside.

I rest the cup back down on the table, keeping my hands firmly wrapped around it. I turn my head to the right and stare out the window. The tree that stands alone in our front yard catches my attention, and that's when I realise... It stands directly outside of my bedroom window, so, I could've climbed up it and snuck into the house last night! Fuck! How did I not see that last night when I went to the front?

I hit the table angrily, not thinking of the consequences beforehand. The side of my hand, the part that I just hit against the table and also used as a tool for my anger last night, bursts with pain. I cry out quietly, clutching my hand to my chest as I scrunch my eyes up tightly in pain.

"Fuck!" I whisper to myself. I tentatively pull my hand away from my chest, to inspect the damage. It hasn't changed at all, since my last inspection. They are still swollen, red and dotted with dried blood. I only now realise that I didn't even try and clean it off before eating. Gross.

With a sigh of reluctancy at what I have to do next, I quickly gulp the rest of my tea down and force myself to walk back upstairs and into the bathroom. After pulling the first aid kit from the cupboard under the sink, I look at what I have to work with.

First, I carefully wipe at my knuckles with warm water and a small amount of soap, to clean them and any open wounds. It stings but isn't as bad as the throbbing. Once the dried blood is cleaned off, I can see that the damage to cause the bleeding isn't major, and will probably - and hopefully - heal itself over time.

Next I look at the sides of my hands. I have no idea how to handle this. It looks appalling; all bruised and swollen. Where do I even begin?

~I*A*F*P*I*T*M~

Monday 24 April 2017

I've decided to walk to school today. My hands are a lot better than yesterday, but to assure they'll be good to go in lessons today, I've decided to forego using my bicycle. Holding the handle bars would be pushing too far, I think.

My knuckles are still red, but it wouldn't be noticeable unless someone was to purposely look at my hands. The sides are still a little swollen, but the redness and bruising has faded so that the damage is less obvious.

Renee was gone when I woke up this morning. No surprise there. I guess she's kept her job after all. I realised as I looked out of my window earlier this morning, and saw her car gone, that I never found out if she had been fired or not. My time was otherwise occupied, what with beating the doors and windows like they were punching bags.

Her unannounced absence gave me the perfect chance to log my injuries from over the weekend. Even though my hands were much better in regards to their appearance, I still had the bloody bandages and grass stained clothes as evidence, as well as the unforgettable memories. So, I spent most of my time before school taking the necessary photographs with my polaroid phone case, and labelling them, as well as writing in my log book all that happened since Saturday evening.

After I'd finished doing all of that, I hurriedly got showered and dressed, before grabbing an apple on my way out the door.

I don't have to rush, but I can't dawdle either. I walk leisurely to school, not speculating about anything that may happen today. My mind has been clear of Edward for most of the weekend, but I know as soon as I step foot in that building, I'll be worrying over how he'll treat me since last week. I wouldn't mind if he continued with his attitude from the end of last week, avoiding me at all costs. It would make my life much easier.

As I step into the school, I know immediately that this week isn't going to begin well for me. People stare. I don't disappear as I lower my head, like I usually do. If anything, doing so makes the staring worse. Every single person I pass gawks at me with judgment in their eyes, with secretive smirks on their faces.

Just as I start to wonder what has caused the scrutiny, I am stopped dead in my tracks. I've just reached the corridor that houses my locker. Stuck on every available surface - every locker, blank wall or door - is the same poster. It has a drawing of a stick person with an emoji in place of the head. It's a 'crazy' person emoji, that has the emoticon's finger orbitting his temple - the sign for a screw loose. It's obvious, just by this image, what the creator is trying to say. But if that isn't enough, lining the top and bottom of the poster, is the message:

BELLA SWAN

FORKS'ES FRUITLOOP

The words are displayed in bold black letters, the counter part of the letters A, P, O, and B are filled in black.

I feel angry at first, urged to run through the hall and rip down every poster in sight. But, as I quickly walk to my locker with my head lowered as far as physically possible, I start to see the humour in the situation. I come to a stop in front of my locker, where I am faced with another one of the posters. I read it again.

Forks'es...? I cannot even comprehend how someone thought this was correct. Whoever created it obviously didn't think to check before printing them all out and plastering them everywhere.

My giggling starts off small, my attempts to keep it quiet working. However, as I read and reread the words on the poster, I can't hold in the bellowing guffaws threatening to burst free. They tumble out of my mouth, unwelcome, but I can't find it in me to care. My laughs drag more attention to me, but I am too far gone, the laughs are uncontrollable now. I continue to laugh as I finally get the things I need out of my locker and walk to my first class.

By the time I reach my English class, my laughing has resided back to giggling. People continue to stare, and point, and some even laugh. I choose to ignore them, still in my own little world of entertainment, giggling and smiling at the thought of the statement that was meant to hurt me. Instead, the attempt to do so backfired, and actually gave me a much needed laugh. I should really be thanking whoever put the posters together.

~I*A*F*P*I*T*M~

When I enter the cafeteria a few hours later, I feel exhausted. My classes so far have been filled with snide comments thrown my way, along with ridiculously obvious mocking. I've been greeted with a pile of those damn posters on my desk in every single class since English. I've seen that emoji so many times, that I'll probably be dreaming about it tonight. That's if I can sleep.

Edward was acting strange in Biology. I couldn't help but look over at him when he entered, and when I did, I noticed him acting a lot like I do. His head was lowered, his hands gripping the straps of his bag, showing his agitation. He didn't meet anyone's eyes as he quickly went to his desk. He even ignored Jessica and Lauren's attempts at interacting with him.

It doesn't bother me. What he does has no affect on me at all. I don't care what has upset him, or what has gotten him to act this way. I shouldn't care. I don't care!

As I step foot in the cafeteria, all eyes turn to me. It's like people were just waiting for me to appear. The whispering begins, then comes the pointing. And finally, the giggling and chuckling. I roll my eyes and start to walk to the lunch line, determined to grab some food and go sit by myself, at my usual table.

I had contemplated hiding in the library this lunch. I haven't been there since last week. But after thinking about it, I've decided against it. Hiding away like that would show them that I'm affected by these posters, right? It would be completely pointless, and just fuel their want to do something like this again.

I'm about three tables away from the line when I notice people aren't just staring at me and finding amusement. They are alternating their glances between me and their tables. I stop walking towards the line, and instead make my way over to the nearest table, full of chuckling Freshmans.

Nudging my way between two of them, I look down at the table and see several of the posters spread out across it. I hurry to the next table, this one surrounded by Seniors. After pushing two shrieking girls out of the way, I see that this table is also covered in copies of the poster.

The laughing increases as people watch my distress, as I frantically look around at the other tables. I come to the conclusion that every table has a bunch of the posters on, and I haven't even had to go to them all to know this. After the first few, it was pretty clear.

My eyes narrow as I continue to stare at the posters on the table close by. Anger. That's all I feel. I'm not embarrassed or upset. I can't find any amusement in this anymore, either. I'm nothing but angry. Seething at everyone in this room.

Snatching up one of the posters from the nearest table, I spin on my heel, eyes zoning in on the center table. The whole group is sat around it, except Edward. He's absent, for some reason that doesn't really matter right now. Every one of them, even the new girl, Alice, is evidently amused at my expense.

They are all either smirking, grinning widely, or sniggering at me. My anger builds at the sight. I have no inhibitions as I march towards them. The laughter filling the room immediately dissolves as I draw closer to the center table. It seems people's curiosity is more important than making fun of me.

I storm up to them, placing myself between Tyler and Lauren, opposite Rosalie. Looking her dead in the eye, for I know she's the main instigator of this prank - she almost always is - I slam the poster onto the table. Hard. I feel the pulse of pain it causes in my hands. I stare into her eyes for a second, wanting to show her how pissed off I truly am.

Rosalie being Rosalie, she doesn't react to my sudden burst of anger. She looks at me blankly, her arms crossed over her chest and no expression on her face. She looks completely unfazed.

My anger continues to build, her indifference only adding to my raging emotions. My hands clench and release repeatedly at my sides, the pain in my knuckles making my movements slower than normal. My jaw tenses as my anger hits it's pique. Just as I am about to turn and walk away, sensing that I need to get away and calm down, Rosalie smirks. It's the first bit of emotion she's shown since I arrived beside her table.

The smug look slowly creeping onto her face is unbearable to watch. Before I really think it through, I say what I first thought of the stupid, immature posters. "Just to let whoever wrote this know, it's wrong. It should be Forks', without the 'es'." I keep my eyes locked with Rosalie's as I speak, searching for any change in her expression.

I turn away, satisfied when I see the slight twitch of her left eye. I remember from my time of hanging around with this group, that the twitch is unavoidable for Rosalie when she's peeved about something.

Before I am even a meter away from the table, she stops me, speaking loudly for all to hear. "Excuse me, but you must've mistaken me for someone who actually gives a shit."

I turn to face Rosalie, who still has her arms crossed over her chest, but now has a scowl on her face. Trying to fight the smirk that is close to appearing, I arch an eyebrow. "I'm assuming it was you then?" I ask. When I get no response from her, I let the smirk through and slowly walk towards her, stopping in between Tyler and Lauren again.

Everyone is watching our exchange in silence. You could hear a pin drop as I walk towards the table. Acting as confidently as I can, I lean forward gradually, far enough to firmly plant my hands onto the table top. My eyes remain on Rosalie the entire time. I am now bent forward slightly, my eyes almost on level with hers.

"Here's the thing Rosalie, if you're trying to be a smart ass, first you have to be smart, otherwise you're just an ass."

And then I turn and walk away. People gasp, while others laugh quietly, not wanting to face the wrath of Rosalie, but still unable to stop their natural reactions. I continue walking away, heading for the cafeteria doors. I don't feel like sitting in the same room as these people. They all make me sick.

I feel happy with myself, proud that I stood up to the blonde bitch. But that happiness doesn't last long.

"NOW!" I hear her holler from behind me. Before I can turn back around, to see what she's going on about, two students who are strategically stood at either side of the cafeteria's double doors pull on ropes that are set up for some strange reason.

A large banner, stretching across the top of the doors, drops down from the ceiling. It's a blown up version of the posters, with the words in the center and different emojis, all indicating 'lunatic', at the sides.

I'm speechless. It all happens in slow motion to me. I did not expect this. Not for one minute did I think they'd be capable of doing this. How did they even set this up without a member of school staff finding out? Or are they in on it, too?

I'm unsure of what to do. The laughter starts up again, only this time it's ten times louder. The mocking is aimed at me in tenfold. All the pride and bravery from moments ago vanishes, until I'm left shaking and upset, tears pooling in my eyes.

I do the only thing I can think of. I run.

I run as fast as I can out of the cafeteria doors. There's only two places I can go: the toilets, or the library. I don't care which one I end up in, I just know that I have to get away before someone sees me upset and affected by this. I hate giving them ammunition.

However, my plan doesn't play out well - then again, when does it ever? Just as I reach the end of the first hall in my escape from the cafeteria, turning right, I crash into someone. They are on their way to the cafeteria it seems. As our bodies collide, the person instantly wraps their fingers around my arms, holding me up and preventing me from falling, which would have been inevitable otherwise.

I keep my head low as the pressure of my tears grows stronger. All I want is to get far away from everyone as quickly as I can.

"Sorry," I mumble to the person, as I try to pull away, but they don't let go. If anything, their grip tightens.

"B-bella?"

A/N: Who do you think it is?

I'll be back Monday with the answer! Please leave a review!