A/N: As promised, a Friday update for you! This chapter begins a few moments before the end of the last one, so there's a tiny overlap, but not much. It's purpose is to mostly show you Edward's thoughts on last chapter. I promise you won't be reading the same chapter all over again from another POV. There is more! The cliffhanger I left you on last Friday is continued, as is their conversation. Wait! Why am I telling you all this when you can just read and find out for yourselves?! Thank you so much for reviewing, I'm glad you're as happy as me that Edward now knows! I hope you enjoy!

I'll Always Find Peace In The Meadow

Chapter Forty-four: 'It's despicable' (Edward POV)

Monday 10 July 2017

I can't believe what I have just witnessed. That woman was unrecognisable. Nothing like the woman I met not too long ago. And Bella... I've never seen her so vulnerable. I thought I'd seen her cower into herself because of the kids at school, but that was nothing compared to what I just saw from behind her bedroom door.

So much was revealed to me in that short encounter between Mom and Daughter. I hadn't seen the true Renee until this evening. She said something about pushing Bella, which must link to the reason she was holding an ice pack up to that terribly large bruise she has on her ribs. Her mom was so vile to her. So cold and callous. Nothing like how she was only weeks ago when I met her.

All of what I witnessed tonight made something very clear to me: Bella is abused by her mom. And I've never seen the signs. Or maybe I have, but I've just been too focused on my own problems - which now seem miniscule in comparison - to detect them. I'm the world's worst friend.

"How long, Bella?" I ask her as stoically as I can manage. The emotions surging through me right now are like a tornado.

I wait for an answer. She hasn't spoken a word since her mother left the house. And when she remains silent, I let my anger out. I honestly try not to let it through. Really, I do. Anger isn't what she needs right now. But I just can't help it. I feel so helpless. So unsure. "God dammit, Bella! How long has she been like that with you?"

She looks down. There's a long pause before she gives me an answer. And it's not what I was expecting. "Almost s-six years." I gasp loudly. I was expecting her to give me a number of months, not years! My God!

All I can think to ask next is, "Why?", though I struggle to even manage that. When she looks up at me, my heart breaks at the sight of her glistening eyes. The tears look on the verge of falling. I just want to hug her, but she's barely holding my gaze so I know I wouldn't get far if I tried.

"Because of what I did."

That is too cryptic an answer for my liking. My need to know and my need to be close to her has me stepping forward slowly. Only once at first. "What do you mean? What did you do?" I ask, stepping a little closer once more.

"I..." she stops and closes her eyes for a few seconds. In those few seconds, I take the chance to step a few more strides closer. Her eyes open and they are no less teary than before. "It's my fault my dad's dead."

Her softly spoken words hit me like a freight train and I step back in shock. "What? How?" I thought I'd be speechless. I'm not. "Why would you say something like that?"

"Because it's the truth." She lowers herself to the edge of her bed, slowly. She's moving like every one of her limbs is tied down with tonnes of weights. I keep my distance, sensing her flighty attitude, but also perch myself on the end of the bed. She's at the top, I'm at the bottom.

"It can't be." She doesn't know what she's saying. It's the only explanation. "What do you mean?"

She doesn't say anything at first. Just stares down at her knee that's bent underneath her.

"How did he die, Bella?" I ask, suddenly realising that she's never told me.

"In duty," is all she says. But all that does is confuse me further. If he died doing his job, then how is it Bella's fault?

"Well then, how..."

She sighs and takes her time in moving to the center of her bed and pulling her knees up to her chest. She wraps her arms around them tightly, resting her chin on her non-injured forearm.

"If I'm going to tell you then I best give some context," she says quietly, closing her eyes. After fifteen seconds I'm afraid she won't tell me after all, but then she opens her eyes and starts speaking, her voice subdued, monotonous. "We never struggled too much for money, our family. My dad was paid well for his job." I sense that this is the beginning of a long story from Bella, so I get more settled on her bed, moving until I'm opposite her in the center of the foot of the bed. I cross my legs, keeping my attention on her. She's not looking at me. Her watery gaze is locked on the bedspread beneath us. "Renee's never earned a large wage. My dad was always the one to bring the most into the household. He only ever wanted the best for me, tried to give me anything and everything I wanted. He had enough to pay for my piano lessons, which he did from when I was four up until he..." she inhales a deep shaky breath and quickly looks at me with a "you know" expression and a one shouldered shrug. I nod, silently telling her to continue. She exhales just as deeply before going on. "When I showed an interest in the guitar, he did all he could to get me into lessons. But learning a musical instrument doesn't come cheap unless you're self-taught." She goes silent, before bitterly whispering to herself, "Maybe if I'd have done that he'd still be alive."

I want to tell her to not be so ridiculous, that that can't be true, but I don't say a word. She shakes her head, as if to clear it, and then continues. "I didn't know that he couldn't afford the lessons on the salary he already had. Not with me continuing on with my piano lessons at the same time. I had noticed that he began working more, but I was only nine when I started with the guitar lessons. I didn't put two and two together, didn't make the connection that he was working more because he wanted to earn more money to pay for my lessons."

"I found out after he died that... that he'd put himself down for extra shifts at Port Angeles Police Department. Not much goes on in this town crime-wise, so the cops here would often sign up for extra work at PA, usually the ones that needed the extra cash. And along with the extra shifts comes more danger. Much more danger than what they'd find in Forks. He was now one of those men that put themselves in more danger, all because of me. He was on one of his night shifts in PA, patrolling the streets with his partner. They drove by this alley and saw some commotion. A group of men, if you can even call them that, were... attacking a teenaged girl. I don't know all the little details, but I do know that my dad and his partner called for backup but they didn't wait. There were three assailants to begin with, one was armed. My dad and his partner were handling it until a few friends of the men showed up, also armed, further outnumbering them. My dad was shot twice, once in the arm and the final hit was fatal, in his h-head. He died, but not before killing one of the attackers himself. Stuart Davis, my dad's partner, managed to drop one of the men and grab another before the others scattered."

I sit in silent horror, watching as Bella's face streams with tears. With a definitive self-loathing soiling her voice, she whispers darkly, "He was patrolling that street, at that crime scene, working that night... all because of me."

"Bella-"

"Don't," she clenches her eyes closed, holding up a hand to me in demand for me to stop. "Don't tell me it wasn't. The whole reason he started working more is because of my s-selfish desire to learn another instrument. I should have been happy with knowing and learning the piano, but nooo, I just had to know another one."

"Is that you talking or your mother?" I ask her boldly. She opens her eyes to glare at me. I hold her gaze with an impenetrable one of my own. When she looks away first, it's all the confirmation I need that my question hits home.

"It doesn't matter, because it's true. I was selfish and look where it got him. Buried six feet under ground a-at age twenty-nine!" Her tears had burst free of the barrier she'd been holding them behind long ago. They stream down her cheeks and she wipes at them angrily.

"So young?" I ask quietly.

She glances at me with surprise showing on her face, like she had forgotten I was here. "Um, yeah," she says with a sniffle. "I was born the summer after my parents' senior year of high school." I know my eyes widen slightly, but I don't think she notices. She's back to hugging her knees and looking down at the bed.

"You told me once that your father died in 2010. That was seven years ago, not six."

"Yes, well, my mother didn't outwardly blame me at first. She changed with me after he died. I noticed that. But I had my Nana Swan here to mask some of the coldness my mother suddenly had toward me. She was the barrier that stopped my mother from unleashing her blame fully. But then my nana died six months after my dad, and that's when I really noticed something was off with Renee. She didn't begin being... abusive toward me until about ten months after his death. It was only verbal at first. Name calling, shouting at me for no reason. Then, a year after his death she hit me for the first time. It's just never stopped since then, and only gotten worse."

I take some time to think over all that she's said. Every little detail. I have so many questions, I don't know where to begin. But there is one question that's eating away at me more aggressively than the others. It's niggling away at my brain. I need to know.

"Who else knows?" I ask her. Her far away look snaps to me, question in her eyes, like my query is absurd. It's far from it.

"I don't..." she seems at a loss for words as she trails off, very confused.

"Please tell me someone else knows," I plead, sitting forward and bracing my hands on my knees.

She shakes her head, eyes wide and glassy. "N-no one knows, Edward, and no one can know." I'm taken aback by her admission. She is quick to scoot forward until her knees are touching mine, and her hands are braced on the tops of mine. "Do you hear me, Edward? You can tell nobody. Not your parents or a teacher at school or... or the police. No. One."

"But, Bella... why? This is so wrong. What she does to you is so wrong!"

Her eyes are as big as saucers as they stare into mine desperately, pleadingly. "I've told you why! No one can know because of what I did, what I caused. Edward, I can't have people knowing that the only reason my dad was ever in Port Angeles in the first place is because of me. He was so loved by everyone in town. They all already hate me, I don't need to give them another reason."

"Bella, I don't know..." I say uncomfortably.

"Please, Edward." She glances around frantically, like she's physically searching for the right words. "Look, I... I know it's a horrible thing for me to ask of you. It's despicable, I know that. but promise me that you'll keep this to yourself. I've already lived through it for almost six years. I only have another two years of high school left and then I can leave her. And that way, no one will ever have to know."

I want to scream at her, try and persuade her that she has done nothing wrong. All she's guilty of is being a kid and asking for something. All she's guilty of is having a loving father that wanted to give her the world.

But as I look at her tear-stained face, into her big beautiful yet bloodshot brown eyes, I can't find it in me to deny her this wish. I think about it for a long time, all the while watching as more and more fear fills Bella's vulnerable gaze. And finally, against my better judgement, I silently nod my head. My eyes drop from hers, not able to hold them. I feel like shit for agreeing to this. This isn't right. Someone else should know. Someone who can help her. But she's so frantic with the worry of anyone knowing, that she's forced my hand. I can't tell anyone if she's so adamant that I don't. As unfair as it sounds, it wouldn't be fair to her.

When I drop my eyes, they land on the hem of her t-shirt. I slowly raise my hand and skim the material of the bottom of her top. "Bella," is all I say, asking for permission. She sighs and hides her face behind her hands as she wipes away the remaining moisture. When she drops her hands, they grip the hem of her top and she slowly lifts it up and over her head, dropping it to the bed beside her.

I try not to focus on the fact that she's in only a black bra, or on the fact that the mysterious key I know nothing about is once again in sight, just begging for me to find out what it unlocks.

Trying to do both of those things isn't very difficult with the yellow and brown bruise demanding attention from her ribs. It looks nasty, a painful mass of discoloration. "How?" I whisper, lifting my hand but not making contact. My fingers hover over it. I briefly look up to her when she doesn't answer at first.

She sighs, and bites her lip before finally giving me an explanation. "I fell down the basement stairs."

I stare at her for several seconds. "You fell..." I repeat dubiously. She avoids my eyes. "I know about it all now, Bella, so you might as well tell me the truth." She rolls her eyes and huffs.

"Fine. Fuck," she whispers the curse. "She pushed me."

"When?" My anger is barely contained. The hand I have hovering in front of the bruise is shaking. I clench it before bravely putting it on her side, my hand spanning over the bruise. She jumps at the contact but instantly relaxes after briefly looking down.

"The Saturday after we... you know." She blushes as she trails off. Her confession has me thinking back to our conversation in the meadow.

"You weren't acting strange because Renee was leaving you for a week, were you?" I ask, but I already know the answer. Even before she squeezes her eyes shut, a regretful look on her face.

"I am so sorry for lying to you, Edward."

I shake my head, giving her the wrong impression, because she instantly hides her face, possibly to shield her new bout of tears. No way am I letting her hide from me anymore. I grasp her chin and force her to look at me. "Do not apologise. You have done nothing wrong," I say forcefully, hoping she detects the double meaning behind my words. "I've promised you something. I promised that I'll keep this to myself. Now I need you to promise me something." She nods immediately. "I want you to tell me everything from now on. Any time she does something to you. Tell me. Please." Her responding nod this time isn't as immediate, but it does come, eventually.

I offer her a smile in thanks, which she reciprocates before leaning forward and hugging me tightly. I return her embrace with a gentler hold, scared to hurt her. When she pulls back, I instantly grab her hands, mindful of the splint my father provided her with.

The splint...

I must stare down at it in my hold for a while, because at some point, Bella speaks up. "It wasn't the door at work," she admits quietly. I glance up at her, but she's staring down at her bandaged wrist just as I was only moments before.

I don't ask for her to tell me all the gory details. I know all I need to; Renee did it. She will be responsible for the bruise she had on her back that I saw that time in my bedroom, and probably lots more I've noticed in passing but never asked about. If I think about it hard enough, I'm sure I'll remember a lot of things that may have seemed strange.

Right now though, I want to get back to hugging her. She needs a good hug after that conversation. I need a good hug. I crawl around her as she watches me cautiously. I collapse onto my back and open my arms as an invitation. She reaches for her top and quickly slips it on, before she moves to lie beside me, on her good side. I maneuver us so her head lays on my shoulder and stare up at the ceiling, stroking her arm back and forth.

We lay like that for a while, until I remember the whole reason I came here. Wow. That seems like a lifetime ago. "I have some good news," I say as cheerfully as I can manage, squeezing the top of her arm gently. She twists her head up to look at me; she doesn't remove her head from my shoulder so I have to pull my head back slightly. "I spoke to my parents and they agreed to have you round for dinner this week." I can't blame her for the wariness I can see in her eyes. "They both agreed," I tell her, hoping to appease some of the apprehension she must be feeling. There's no need to let her know that my mother fought me all she could on the matter first, and that my dad had to pretty much force her to say yes.

"They did?" she asks, shocked enough to pull her head off of me so she can stare down at me with more vantage. I nod, smiling. "Okay," she says, a slow smile of her own forming on her lips. "That would be great. Thank you. When?"

"How does Wednesday sound?" I ask her.

"Just fine," she whispers, smiling as she lowers her head back to my shoulder. As my hand returns to it's delicate stroking, I find that I'm smiling up at the ceiling now, a large improvement from the thoughtful scowling I was performing earlier.

Bella dozes off on my shoulder not long after that. I probably should leave and let her get some sleep, but I can't. For a while, I just continue to stare up at the ceiling, my hand barely brushing her arm for fear of waking her up. At some point I turn my head slightly so I can look down at Bella. I don't find a peacefully sleeping face. Instead, what I see is an expression of pain. Her forehead is creased with the furrowing of her brows, and even in her sleep, she's biting her lip. I hold my breath as I reach up and gently, with my thumb, release her lip from the snare of her teeth. She sighs and shifts restlessly, snuggling further into my side, before becoming still again. It was a pointless thing for me to do, because two minutes later her teeth are nibbling away at that bottom lip again. I roll my eyes but smirk down at her. Still stubborn, even while sleeping.

While she sleeps, I use this chance of privacy to think about all that's happened today. I look over to my bag that I dropped down by her closet once her mom left. I can't believe I brought condoms with me. I won't be letting Bella know that. Tonight definitely didn't go to plan.

I still can't quite wrap my head around all that's been revealed this evening. It's all... unbelievable to me, yet now, as I think back to times where things have seemed off with Bella, it's all totally believable. I know there is still so much that I don't know about her life with her mom, so much that she's been through, but I'll be here for her from now on.

At almost 8:00PM, I decide it's probably best to leave her for the night. She's in a deep deep sleep. I try to slip out from under her as carefully as possible.

I manage to remove myself from the bed without waking her. I stand slowly but before I even take a step toward my bag, I stop, not wanting to disappear without leaving her a note. After everything I've found out today, after all that she divulged in me about her dad and her life after his death, I don't want her to wake, see I'm gone and think I can't handle all that I now know.

I need to leave her a note.

I tiptoe over to her desk and look on top of it without moving anything. I quickly glance back to Bella when I hear her moving. She's only rolled onto her back. I release a steady breath and look back at the desk. There is a pinboard hung on the wall above it. A couple pictures are tacked to it, but the thing to grab my attention is a very crinkled piece of paper. It's old, that's easy to tell by the state of the paper and the handwriting.

Telling myself that I'm not snooping - it is out on display after all - I lean closer to have a better look. I'm not really sure I'm reading it correctly. I don't think I want to believe that I'm reading it correctly. It's a chart, colour coded and written in scruffy handwriting. It's not the handwriting of a really young child, but it's obviously been written by a child, probably not a teenager yet.

I read over it all for a second time. On the third time, I carefully pull it's pin out and bring it closer to my face, assessing it carefully. This can't be right. It's a chore chart, that much is obvious, but it's got every chore imaginable. From dusting, to cooking, to cleaning toilets.

"Edward?" Bella's quiet but wary voice is unexpected, and I jump slightly, spinning to look at her. She yawns, all while keeping her wide eyed gaze on the paper I'm still holding with both hands.

She looks extremely tired as she slowly sits up, rubbing at her eyes. "What are you doing?"

"I..." I have no answer. All I can do is look back down at the chart. I slowly walk over to Bella, and sit down on the edge of her bed, still looking at what's in my hands.

"Bella, is this yours?" A stupid question, I know. Of course it's hers. Why else would it be pinned up in her room. I glance up at her when she doesn't answer. She's looking down at the paper with wide eyes. "Bella? Do you have to do all of this?"

I get no verbal reply from her. Just a slow cautious nod. I shake my own head, looking down at the chart yet again. The corner is curled into my tight grip.

"Since when?"

"It doesn't matter, Edward." It's the first thing she's said since I sat down beside her, and the way she says it, like it really doesn't matter angers me. The paper audibly crinkles as my tight grip turns into an angry fist.

"It does matter, Bella. Since when?" I ask again.

"Please, Edward, I've already told you too much."

"Since. When." I hiss out the words through gritted teeth. I don't mean to sound so harsh toward her, but you have to understand, this is really frustrating; not being told anything when all I want to do is help, even if that's just by being someone she can talk to, is the most frustrating thing imaginable.

She sighs, like I'm the frustrating one, and takes the chart from my hands. I have to fight with my own mind to release the paper before it rips between our tug-of-war. "I was eleven when I made this. Happy?" she retorts sassily, clambering off the bed and stomping toward her desk. She stabs the pin and chart back onto the board with so much force that I actually wince. If the pinboard had feelings I'm sure that would have hurt.

She sighs, her shoulders sag, but she keeps her back to me. "Look, Edward. I know you want to be told everything, but it's hard for me to talk about." She slowly turns to face me, but keeps her head lowered. "The... abuse... it's been a part of my life for so many years, and for all that time I've had no one to talk to, no one that knew. I had no friends, no other family, no one. You're the only person outside of me and my mother that knows. I'm sorry that I'm a bit reluctant to speak about it, but it's hard for me. I'll try, but that's all I can promise."

She glances up at me and I nod. She offers me the smallest of smiles and shuffles closer, lowering herself to sit on the bed beside me. Seeing the dark circles under her eyes - I'm not even going to ask what the three red marks on her face are - reminds me of why I went over to her desk in the first place.

I stand, all the while she follows me with wide eyes. "What are you doing?"

"I should leave. Let you get some sleep."

She quickly glances at the alarm clock behind her. "Are your parents expecting you back?" she asks, her eyes no less wider as she stares up at me.

"They don't know I'm here."

"Oh." She looks down. I sigh quietly before leaning down to press a kiss to her head. That doesn't go entirely to plan though. My lips are a couple inches from the top of her head when she lifts it, raising her face up toward me. Obviously not expecting me to be so close, her eyes widen comically for a fraction of a second before she stretches the last couple inches until our mouths meet.

Her kiss is hard and urgent, so forceful that it pushes my head back an inch - though that may have been due to the shock of her rapid movements. I'm quick to respond to the kiss. Her hands come up to grip my t-shirt before she pulls back. "Don't go," she pleads breathlessly, eyes closed. I pull away slightly, so I can see her face more clearly. "Please," she whispers, opening her eyes. They flicker back and forth between mine. I don't even have to see the pleading look in them to make up my mind. The kiss was enough.

"Okay. I'll stay a while longer," I say, slowly lowering back down to the bed again. Her hands gradually release my shirt, dropping into her lap. "What do you want to do?" I don't expect anything right now. After all she has revealed to me, I don't think she'd be in the mood for anything more than that kiss.

Without removing her gaze from mine, she slowly drags herself back until she's leant up against her headboard. When she pats the space beside her, my brow furrows but I do as she wants. Perhaps she wants us to watch a movie, like last time?

I mirror her position, and sit up against the headboard, my legs stretched out in front of me. It's only when she sits forward that I realise she left me a majority of the bed, having put herself squashed up against one nightstand so I'd be sat practically center on the bed.

She sits forward, moving away from her corner of the bed, and then in a totally unexpected move, she swings one leg over and straddles my thighs. My eyes go wide, bugging out of my head. This reminds me of our position in the meadow two days ago. I was much bolder then, repeatedly placing my hands on her thighs and hips, though I didn't know then what I know now. I wasn't so unsure of what she wants and what she needs.

Is this right? After the evening we've had so far?

My doubts are pushed aside, however, when she leans forward, cups my face with both hands and kisses me. It's softer this time, less urgent yet more passionate. I wrap my arms around her and return the kiss. She pushes her hands into my hair, round to the back of my head and then down to my shoulders, where she pulls my torso toward her, so I'm no longer leaning against her headboard but now sat up straighter.

Our chests are pressed together for only a moment before her hands are pulling the bottom of my t-shirt up and she's briefly pulling away to whip it off over my head. The kisses quickly restart and I plan to do the same for her, but when my hands disappear beneath her shirt, she tenses up and pulls away.

"My top stays on," she tells me, panting lightly. Her hands are on my shoulders, her cheeks are slightly flushed, yet her eyes are firm, unflinching as I try to assess her emotions. I can tell she won't budge on this.

Not wanting to ruin the moment, I nod silently. She doesn't move for several seconds, probably not expecting me to have agreed so easily. Whatever the reason, it doesn't matter because it's not long before we're back to being lip locked. I shift us down the bed without breaking our embrace, until I have enough room to fall onto my back, taking Bella with me.

By the end of the night, it turns out that bringing the condoms was a good decision after all.

A/N: Let me know your thoughts on this chapter in a review! Was Bella's 'confession' what you were expecting? Do you hate me for having the abuse stay a secret even if Edward does know? It's necessary for the way I plan for this story to unfold.

I'll be back in another week, on Friday, with the next chapter. Though I'm undecided with this because the next chapter is the lemon that follows on from this chapter so I may just post it earlier in the week and then post Chapter 46 on Friday instead. Like I said, I'm still undecided! We'll see. I apologise for this unplanned posting schedule I've got going on at the moment. I promise it shouldn't be too long until I'm back to multiple uploads a week!

Thanks for reading and I'll definitely see you next week! Have a good weekend!