A/N: Thanks for reviewing! Enjoy :)

I'll Always Find Peace In The Meadow

Chapter Thirty-eight: 'You conniving snoop' (Bella POV)

Thursday 6 July 2017

I don't get lie-ins any days of the week during academic months, and definitely not on any weekends of the year, so weekdays in the summer are my only opportunity really.

Unfortunately, today I wake at 6:45AM, and it's all thanks to the torrential downpour of rain that's currently pelting against my window. No lie-in for me today. I groan my frustration aloud, rolling onto my front - then I wince.

I quickly pull myself up so I'm now on my knees, with my arms wrapped around my midsection, feeling hella sorry for myself. Ow! I hate moving whilst half asleep, therefore not fully aware or alert enough to be cautious.

I lift the hem of the t-shirt I slept in last night up until it's bunched beneath my breasts, and hesitantly look down in hopes that the ghastly sight from when I checked last night has changed at all. It hasn't. The bruising that covers most of my ribs on the left side hasn't changed at all since last night.

I know the visual process a contusion goes through as well as a Christian knows the Lord's Prayer. I know that, typically, within the first week, a bruise changes colour from it's initial red, to blue and purple and eventually green. The last week is the yellow/brown stage, until it finally fades from view completely and is all healed. And knowing that I first got this bruise less than a week ago - exactly five days ago - it's understandable that it's still a very bold purple/blue. It sucks... now for more reasons than I had a little over a week ago.

I hadn't really taken into consideration how my home life would affect mine and Edward's new... development in our friendship. There's no way I can allow us to do anything like what we did last Wednesday when I'm sporting a shiner like the one on my ribs. I guess it's a good thing we haven't had the chance to repeat what we did Wednesday in the last eight days. I can only give Edward the "I'm clumsy" excuse so many times before he'll begin to get suspicious of my bruises. He seemed to buy that excuse last Wednesday, when he spotted the now completely faded bruise from in between my shoulder blades. I still can't believe I was stupid enough to expose that injury like I did. I was just so caught up in what we'd just done... the fact that I'd left my hair up hadn't even crossed my mind.

Well, I can assure you right now that I will not be making that same mistake again. I need to be extra careful from now on, and try to keep Edward and I out of solitary situations while I have any visible injuries... as saddening as that is, especially now that I know what I'm having to avoid.

I sigh and release my t-shirt, dropping my head forward. And to think, I got this one all because I wanted to drive my dad's old truck...

Flashback - Saturday 1 July 2017 - (five days ago)

I've been in an ecstatic mood since yesterday, all because I PASSED MY DRIVERS TEST! I can officially, legally drive. The first person I told, of course, was Edward, who let me drive his car to the bookstore, where I then told Angela. We popped into Forks' Florist to quickly see Bev and Alan while we were on Main Street - both were happy for me. The one person I should've told first, if this was a perfect world, doesn't actually know yet.

I'm telling her soon, and I'm more nervous than I have ever been because of it. I'm currently sat opposite her, slowly eating some toast while she breezes her way through her Full English breakfast, which I've given her extra of in hopes of buttering her up a bit. She places the last bite into her mouth with a satisfied hum and leans back in her chair while she chews and swallows it.

I place my half-eaten, and now cold piece of toast down on my plate and take a deep breath. "I..." I have to clear my throat and take a nervous sip of orange juice. Let's try that again. I hide my shaking hands beneath the table and fake confidence as I meet her eyes, which are gazing at me with suspicion. "I have some good news." Genuine surprise flashes in her eyes, before the mistrust returns. "I passed my drivers test," I confess, before offering a shaky smile.

"And?" is all she says, sounding unimpressed. I don't even register the slight stab of disappointment, half expecting this reaction, because I haven't gotten past the most nerve-wracking part of this conversation yet.

"Well," I begin, having to pause to take another gulp of juice. "I-I was wondering if y-you'd allow me to drive d-dad's," another pause to compose my trembling voice, "dad's truck that's in the garage."

She stares at me wordlessly for many passing seconds, expressionless. And then she throws her head back and laughs an outrageous belly-laugh. I do register the panic that sparks now. Well that reaction can't be good. Still laughing, she sputters, "Y-you have... got... to be j-... joking!" And then her laughs return in tenfold.

I hang my head, staying perfectly still and silent while she gets her amusement out of the way. What is to replace it, I have no clue.

When her laughter diminishes to sporadic chuckles, and as she wipes at the tears that have been forced from her eyes, I raise my head. "Please," I whisper, hating the fact that I'm begging, but hoping she takes pity on me.

"You aren't joking, are you?" she asks, all traces of humour vanished. When I shake my head in response, her eyes narrow, her expression turning cold. "Why would you ask me such a thing? I've never indicated that you'd receive that vehicle after passing your test!"

"I-I know," I stutter. "But he told me I could have it," I admit quietly. She taps at the side of her coffee mug with the fingernails of her left hand as she sits in deep thought. I noticed this morning, when she first reached for her cutlery, that she's recently removed her wedding ring. It's not been off her finger my entire life, even for the six years, eight months and three weeks since my father's death. And now, all of a sudden, the simple brass band, with its engraved date of their wedding on the inside, is gone. I have no idea what that means entirely, but it definitely means something has changed.

The tapping cuts off abruptly, and she stands in a sudden and fluent motion, her chair scraping against the floor awfully.

"Yes, well, that was before you killed him," she hisses at me, her expression as dark as a storm as she pivots on the spot and heads for the door.

I try to keep my guilt at bay as I get to my shaky feet and follow her. "Please," I beg again. She stops at the bottom of the stairs and turns to face me, stood in the kitchen doorway.

"It's not possible, Isabella. Even if I wanted to give you it, I don't know where the keys are."

"I do!" I exclaim unintentionally. Her hand tightens around the bannister as one eye twitches.

"Excuse me?"

I step forward with real confidence. "Yeah. They're in the top drawer of your dresser," I inform her, wondering how she didn't remember this. They've been there since the truck was no longer being used.

"Why you little..." she grinds out as she marches toward me, trapping me against the doorframe in my lame attempt to retreat back into the kitchen. She slaps me across the face with enough force to send my head to the side. "You conniving fucking snoop. How dare you go searching through my things!"

"What?" I ask stupidly, earning a second burning slap to my other cheek. Tears sting in my eyes, but I'm so confused that they simply stay as a pool in my eyes, not escaping just yet.

"Don't act dumb with me. Who do you think you are, going through my things? How else would you know where the keys are?" she shouts in my face. How else would I... what? So she did know where they were? Then why would she pretend not to?

"I haven't-"

"I swear to God, Isabella," she growls, pulling her hand back in preparation to slap me again. I raise my hands in defense, stuttering over my plea for her to wait!

"No! Wait! P-please, don't. I haven't snooped. I swear. I know where they are because I have to put your clean laundry away every week. I've seen them in there every week for years." I'm sobbing now. The tears released from my eyes partway through my explanation.

She slowly lowers her hand as realisation reaches her. "Oh." She steps back. "Of course." The anger rapidly leaves her, until she's stood in front of me with her usual, emotionless, cold expression. "The answer is still no."

Against my better judgement, I push away from the doorframe and follow her as she once again heads for the stairs. "Please, Mother. I hardly ask you for anything and I wouldn't be now. You know I'd just fund my own car in any other circumstance, but he promised me. Please."

She pauses with her back to me, one foot on the bottom step. I'm wise enough to keep my distance, in case she decides to whirl around with a swinging left hook or even a flying elbow. After what feels like an eternity, she breaks her tense silence. "Fine," she mutters darkly. "You can have what he promised you. Meet me in the garage." And then she's walking up the stairs, her feet hitting each step with far more force than is necessary.

But I can't find it in me to care. Instead, I cheer silently in my head as I quickly make my way back through to the kitchen. I stop to finish my glass of OJ, move all of our dirty dishes to the sink, before walking to the basement door that's tucked away at the side of the kitchen. I turn the light on after opening the door, and then pick up the half-full laundry basket that's on the shelf by the door. Might as well take this down. Since Mr Cullen told me to rest my left wrist as much as possible, and to avoid heavy lifting, I have been taking it easy. Of course, with my work load, it has been difficult occasionally, but I informed my mother of his assessment of my wrist - that was another conversation I dreaded, though it went pretty calmly all things considered - and she understands... to an extent.

With a smile pulling at my lips, my stinging cheeks forgotten, I start walking down the stairs. I can't believe she's really agreed. I get to drive my dad's truck! She really said yes! That went better than-

A shove at my back sends me toppling down the stairs. Luckily I was close to the bottom, and didn't have too far to fall. But that's hardly important right now; I still fell about five steps. I land on my front, the laundry basket blocking my landing and striking me in the ribs, the plastic audibly snapping beneath me. I cry out, pained beyond articulation as I push myself off of the basket and roll onto my back. Tears are once again falling from my eyes as I clutch at my midsection, frantically checking for blood and an open wound. The amount of pain I received from that landing, I was sure the plastic had punctured my skin as I landed on top of the basket. Thankfully, it didn't, but my God did that hurt.

I force myself to look up at the blurred figure that stands on the third step from the bottom, towering over me. "Here are the keys to your dead father's truck. Congratulations," she mumbles, her voice void of anything as she hurls the keys down at me. They bounce off of my head, before landing on the floor beside me. My mother, the one that has shocked me inconceivably with her most recent actions, disappears back up the stairs and slams the basement door shut, locking it.

I lay on the basement floor, in a pained, shocked silence for a long while after that.

End of Flashback

I was so preoccupied by my elation at getting what I wanted, that I hadn't even heard her follow me down the stairs. My Saturday was spent locked down in the basement. Theoretically, I could've used what is now my truck to get out of there, maybe have gone to see Edward or gone to get some food, but physically, that wasn't possible.

She left me down there all day, so I had no way to treat my excruciating ribs with ice, no way to get any pain relief, no way to log my newest injury, and no possible way to get any water or food.

I didn't have my phone on me, nothing to keep me occupied... not that I was really in the mood to do anything but sit against the wall at the bottom of the stairs and feel sorry for myself.

She let me out in time to cook her some dinner. It's safe to say we ate separately Saturday night.

I avoided meeting up with Edward Sunday and Monday, telling him that I had a cold - "in the summer?" he'd asked - and didn't want to pass any germs on to him. I was in too much pain to act otherwise around him. We met up at the Diner for lunch on Tuesday, where I rolled up in my new blue 1964 Chevy pick-up truck. My father always took special care of "his baby", and I know he had it serviced just before he died, so it ran perfectly from the moment I turned the keys in the ignition this Tuesday - which was my first time driving it. Edward was speechless when I pulled up in the pick-up truck. I don't know whether he was amazed or appalled (it's very different from his choice of car), but I love it so I couldn't really care. If Edward has noticed me moving around gingerly in the last couple times we've met up, then he's kept it to himself.

The rain is still beating against my window. Here in Forks, rain holds off for nothing - even summer days which you'd expect to be all blue skies and sun and rainbows. That's just not how the weather here works. It actually hasn't rained like this here in a while. I know I'm not the only one in town that's been shocked by that.

I make my bed before exiting my bedroom. I decide to go and make Renee's bed, too, knowing she'll be already down stairs, having something to eat before work.

My plans are forgotten, however, when I enter her bedroom that's across the hall from mine and am met with the sight of a very messy bedroom. A small suitcase is open on her bed, and what has to be every single item of clothing is out of the wardrobe and drawers and now either on the floor or on the bed. It's like a bombs gone off in here.

"What are you doing?" I gasp and whirl around, coming face to face with my mother, who's already dressed for work.

"I was going to make your bed, but..." I slowly turn back to the mess.

"You don't have to do that today," she says, not elaborating any further.

"Are you going away?" I ask, eyeing up the suitcase. Renee sighs heavily as she steps around me and walks over to her bed.

"Yes. I was going to tell you this weekend, but seeing as you have to know everything at this very moment," she says, pausing to heave another sigh, "I'm going away with a friend next week. I'll be leaving work a little early Monday and won't be back 'till Saturday. I expect you to stick to your chores and curfew. No fooling around while I'm gone. I mean it, Isabella."

I nod, not knowing what to say. A week? I can't say I'm not shocked. She doesn't go away. Ever. Not without her family before my dad's death, and not at all since it. "Okay," I finally say. "Going anywhere nice?" I ask, trying and failing to keep the curiosity out of my voice.

"Anywhere is better than here," she says, and her tone tells me all I need to know: this conversation is over. That statement was her way of dismissing me. I nod silently and leave her room, going to the bathroom to shower and begin my day.

A/N: For the purpose of this fictional story, we're going to pretend that the truck was ready to drive immediately. I know a vehicle that has sat idle for a long time would need some work done to it before being used, but for the sake of this fic, it's not needed. And let's just assume she sorted out insurance and registered the car before driving it, okay?

Anyway, what did you think? Evil Renee is off for a week soon, I wonder what will happen? Big things coming up soon!

Thanks for reading. Please review! See you Monday!