Standard disclaimer...

This was written for the Support Stacie Author Auction and the winner gave permission for us to post it. The story could continue without it, but we have elected to post it. Consider it chapter 8.5.

BPOV

It was all I could do to look as I pulled off my shirt, confirming what I already knew. They'd seen them…

Scars. The word vibrated through my mind, relentlessly, as I stood in front of the mirror, starting at myself; my body nothing more than a mishmash, hodgepodge of white swirls and lines. The reminders of my childhood; the fear and terror brought on by the very people who were supposed to have protected me – my foster families and their mementos to me. These marks were a testament to my will to live, even as I prayed for death…for my suffering to end. When I looked at them, I saw only more proof of how weak I had been – how weak I still was, if I were being honest with myself. If I'd been stronger, I'd have spoken up, perhaps tried helping myself. I wouldn't have cowered in corners. I'd have been spared.

"Scarred. That's all I'll ever be…all anyone will ever see. No one could ever love a body like this."

My thoughts turned to the Cullens. How they didn't make sense. They hadn't hurt me…yet, but that didn't really matter, though. It was probably time to move on, anyhow. I was still unharmed and desperately wanted it to stay that way. My only problem was that they knew where I worked…where I lived, well, sorta. They could find me if they wanted to. Then, there was the nasty business of basically being homeless. My life really couldn't get any worse. Damned stairs!

Heaving a sigh, I slipped into the green pajama pants and white, long-sleeved tee that Alice had given me before heading off to her room for the evening. She was sweet with how she tried tending me, but I couldn't have that. I couldn't owe them anymore than I already did. I pushed the thought to the back of my mind and hobbled out of the bathroom of the bathroom, flipping the light on my way out, and out into my room.

I was almost to the door to turn off the bedroom light when Carlisle turned into the doorway and paused, looking at me. I gasped, stumbling back a bit before catching myself with my crutches.

"I'm so sorry," he apologized. "I didn't mean to startle you." He took a step back into the hallway. "I was merely coming to check and see how you were feeling. I've been concerned after what happened in the kitchen a couple of days ago, but I've been so busy that I have had a chance, too. I thought perhaps we could…" he trailed off, looking uncomfortable as he waited for my response.

I gave a small, but awkward smile, trying not to let my fear show in my eyes, while making my way over to the chair on the opposite side of the bed and farthest from the door. With no Alice or Esme as a buffer, I was convinced that this was the moment. The moment the torture would begin.

I heard sounds in the hallway, followed by a voice. Edward's voice. NO! Carlisle had said 'we'! how could I have missed that?! What if all his soothing was a lie? What if he was only blocking the door and I was trapped? What if he and Edward decided to…share?

"Carlisle!" Esme scolded from the hallway. "I told you to wait for me!" She looked stern as she entered the room, her face softening as she noticed my position and glided across the room towards me. "I can't apologize enough for Carlisle's scaring you," she said. "I tried to get him to let me explain to you first that he just wanted to check your leg for signs of infection…especially after your 'episode' in the kitchen." She gave me a knowing look. "Carlisle, it seems, has no patience." She chuckled lightly, turning and gazing affectionately at her husband. "If it will help, I'd be glad to stay…perhaps brush your hair while he checks everything?"

My leg was starting to improve, I could tell that much on my own, but I knew I needed to allow the examination in order to keep my panic attack a secret from Carlisle. I didn't know why, but it was very important to Esme that he remain in the dark about it and I couldn't disappoint her. The thought of Esme's gentle fingers running through my hair was just an added incentive. I nodded in agreement, steeling myself for the onslaught. Esme hurried off to retrieve the brush from the bathroom, having me move to sit on the footrest so she could sit on the chair behind me.

As she got herself comfortable, Edward came up behind Carlisle at that exact moment. I stiffened in reaction, cursing myself for forgetting that he'd been in the hall with Esme.

Carlisle, however, beamed, turning to acknowledge his son. "Ah! Good. You're here!"

Oh, no…was this an ambush?

"Edward, I was hoping you'd help me with this."

It was!

"Sure. What do you need me to do?"

They both approached me, slowly, continuing to speak to one another. I couldn't make out what either was saying, as all I could focus on was the sound of blood rushing in my ears.

Esme's touch brought me back. "Bella, did you hear what they asked you?"

I shook my head.

"Bella, can you roll up your pant leg for me?" Carlisle asked quietly, bringing my attention to what was unfolding before me. Edward had positioned himself so that he was sitting on the edge of my bed, watching me. When he saw that I wasn't moving, he slowly knelt before me, gently picking up my injured leg. He rested my foot in his lap, rolling up the pant leg to above my knee.

I started trembling, "Please…no…" I sounded so childlike.

"Bella, please relax. No one is going to hurt you. I swear it to you," Edward whispered.

I gulped, hearing his words.

Esme leaned towards my ear and sighed, "Please believe him," before pulling the brush through my hair.

My eyes closed in response and my entire body relaxed back against her legs. Her strokes where smooth and steady. I was in Heaven.

"Bella?" I heard the voice, though it seemed so far away.

"Bella, how did you get this scar?" the voice spoke again.

"Mmmm?" I couldn't pull myself out of the lull I was in. I needed the reprieve from my angst too badly to allow this to stop.

Interpreting my sound to be a request for clarification, the voice manifested itself physically. My eyes flew open and I found myself staring into the face of Edward as his long finger traced the white hairline scar that must have been revealed by Esme's tender brushing.

I stammered, my ability to use any word in the English language flying out the window with the tandem assault that was going on, Carlisle at my legs and Edward at my face. Regardless of how docile the assailants seemed to be, the stimulus was too much, causing me to retreat into my mind.

How funny that I'd been thinking of my scars anyways…

I was sitting at the window of my dorm room. I couldn't bear the stifling heat of the place. The State really needed to invest in some serious repairs to the air conditioning system if they expected us 'wards' to be even moderately comfortable in this stupid 'home' – or at least make sure the damned windows opened.

I guess I couldn't be too upset. This was, after all, my last stop on the 'Foster Care Express,' too old to be sent anywhere worth being, but still too young to let loose on the unsuspecting world. I only had a couple of months left, and then I'd age out of the system forever. No one would ever tell me what to eat, when to sleep, or how many freaking squares of toilet paper I could use when I needed to use the bathroom.

I could taste the freedom on the air, and I liked it.

Thinking back, it really was my fault. I knew that he'd had his eye on me. Some of the other girls had already told me he was interested, which sucked – especially because they were all interested in him! His 'harmless' crush had set me on the outs with most of the girls on my floor. As far as I'd been concerned, they could all have him. I'd seen his idea of affection when he'd corner the new girls and try to touch them up in ways that no one should ever have to contend with. In ways I was far too familiar with…

I was a fool for letting my guard down. I clenched my fists in frustration with myself. I shouldn't have let my mind wander. I knew I wasn't safe yet, and I still…

I'm not even sure how long he'd been watching me from the door before he cleared his throat, alerting me to his presence. I couldn't suppress the shudder that rippled down my spine.

I should have tried harder to ignore him and not given him a reason to come further into the room. I thought I'd trained myself better. Never make a sound! I almost cried out in fear after realizing that I'd gasped in response to his arrival. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!

Of course, he took it as an invitation to come closer, shutting the door behind him, the click sounding rather loud in the quietness of the room. I'd barely blinked and he was standing over me, his eyes dancing with excitement. I couldn't help but look into them. I'd always turned away, before, trying to hide my blushing at his attention – so afraid that he'd mistake my body's small betrayal as a sign of interest.

Maybe I'd been foolishly emboldened by my excitement at leaving, but, my eyes lingered a smidgen too long on his face and a boyish smile stretched across his face. His smile was the only innocent about him. His glorious, cerulean blue eyes that looked back at me were predatory, terrifyingly so. His all-American good looks – the muscles, cleft chin, perfect nose, and strategically spiked blonde hair – were marred by the evil revealing itself in those eyes.

He leaned forward, grasping the back of my neck, keeping me motionless as he ran his nose along the top of my hair, following a trail of brown down to my neck and shoulder. He needn't have held on, as I was paralyzed with fear.

"Bella," he didn't so much say my name, as sneer it. "You smell absolutely delectable today." He inhaled deeply, starting to play with a strand of hair. "I can't get over how," he paused for effect. "Touchable your hair is."

I tried containing my trembling.

He took my silence as his cue to continue. "I keep having this…fantasy, about this hair of yours."

I gulped.

"I keep imaging your hair weaving back and forth on my bare stomach. Do you know why it's doing that?" he pulled back, looking at my face, waiting for the answer while still fingering my locks.

I still couldn't speak.

His gentle play changed. "Bella," his hand fisted in my hair, yanking hard. "When I ask you a question, you will respect me enough to answer." He glared at me. "Do you know why your fucking hair is moving back and forth?"

I shook my head, dumbly. No.

"Well, Bella, it would seem you finally saw that you really aren't any better than the rest of the used up whores in this hole and were giving the best blow job I'd ever received…" He closed his eyes momentarily, relishing in his memory. "Your hair is splayed out while you're going down…and it is so fucking heavy and thick. It's like having an extra set of hands on my stomach." He moaned and started rubbing himself with his free hand.

I felt my stomach churning and prayed that my breakfast wouldn't reappear and further escalate the situation. Damn it! Why couldn't I be tougher!?

I tried sliding back from him while he was lost in his ministrations, but had barely moved an inch when he realized I was trying to get away.

"Oh, no you don't, bitch. I've decided you're mine," he pulled me up by my hair, dragging me over to my freshly made cot and forcing me to sit in front of his straining groin. "I think I've waited long enough for this. You aren't going anywhere." I could feel his spit on my face as he spoke.

I whimpered then, and, for a brief moment, I thought that maybe he'd come to his senses and would stop. I was so wrong.

His hand went behind him and he pulled out a small handle. I'd seen it before and flinched when he pushed down on the side and the short blade flicked up in response. "You never know when one of these crazy delinquents will go ape on your ass, so it's always good to be prepared, right, Bella?" I could feel hairs tearing out of my head as he tugged again.

"Yes," I croaked.

"That's right, bitch. All I want to hear coming out of your mouth is 'yes.' Do you understand?"

I nodded; closing my eyes as he finally released my hair. I just needed to do this and it would be over.

I heard the clink of metal as he undid his belt buckle, the grinding of his zipper being lowered, and the swish of fabric as denim pooled at his ankles.

"Bella, make this good and maybe I'll forget that you weren't so forthcoming in your services…" he ran the flat side of the blade across the bridge of my nose. "Hell, if I enjoy this as much as I think I will, I might even let you do it again…"

I opened my eyes then, seeing his erect penis. I felt the cold metal pressed against my skin. There was no way I was getting out of this one.

Fuck.

He thrust forward, his body demanding attention. His head touched my lips and I had to fight the urge to vomit again as I felt the pre-cum cool on me.

I took a deep breath, smelling his sweat and sex, before leaning towards him…I knew he could feel my hot breath on him because he started rubbing my hair across his stomach. I gagged once, sliding onto him. He moaned in satisfaction.

He had won.

At that moment the intercom sounded and an announcement blared through the facility.

"Dr. Newton, code yellow. Please report to reception immediately. Dr. Newton, code yellow. Please report to reception immediately. Thank you."

I was afraid to move.

"Shit. Fuck. Shit!" Dr. Newton pulled back from my mouth, leaning over to pull up his jeans and slide the knife back into his pocket.

I couldn't contain the tears of relief that poured down my face as I dropped back onto my bed to watch him leave the room. I quickly rubbed at my scalp, relieving some of the pain and pulled my hair forward to curtain my wet and shame-filled face.

He was stepping towards the door when I sobbed, loudly. He froze, then slowly turned toward me. "You don't say a word to anyone, or I'll find you and I will kill you. No one will miss another nobody foster kid. Do you understand?"

I nodded vigorously. There would be no mistaking my comprehension.

He looked at me for another moment, and then strode towards me. "Shit, Bella. I can't get your hair out of my head. I think I need a souvenir to remind me when you're not with me." I willed myself to sink further into the mattress, but my plan didn't work. He was standing over me, pulling out the blade again.

"I'll just take this with me and hold it in my hand as I think of you and your hot, little mouth." He yanked at the hair I was hiding behind and started to…

Actually, I wasn't sure what he did. I felt the tension on my hair being released, but didn't feel any pain. I figured it would be a close shave and I'd be grateful for only that. He straightened, holding his trophy and turning away from me. He was cramming the hair into his pocket quickly, exiting the room, and not looking back.

I sobbed for awhile longer, tears streaming down my cheeks and into my hair; relieved that the ordeal was over…for now. I figured it was time to see the damage, so I forced myself to sit on the edge of the bed and pull myself together.

I knew I was a snotty mess, so I quickly grabbed tissues from the side of my bed. I blew my nose and took a deep breath…then I smelt it.

It had been awhile since I'd smelled my own blood. My last home was a 'destroy them from the inside' sorta place, so it had been more than a few months. I tried to think of how hard he had pulled, but the spots where I was convinced I'd bleed wouldn't put off that strong of odor.

I made to stand, swaying a bit with the emotional exhaustion of the morning weighing heavily, and cautiously made my way to the bathroom.

My jaw dropped and my eyes widened in shock as I looked at the gruesome sight before me. There, at my hairline, was a…shit…I didn't even know what to call it. A narrow sliver of flesh had been carved out of my forehead. I'd been scalped and hadn't felt a thing.

Somewhere in my head a voice said, "Well, I can definitely appreciate the benefits of using a well sharpened knife."

I snickered at the thought, then doubled over, lurching towards the toilet and finally gave in to my body's urge to purge; yoghurt, mucus, a cereal bar…then bile…then dry heaves…until my body had nothing left to offer.

I straightened then looked again. The strain of my vomiting had caused the slowed bleeding to resurge, forcing me to go into first aid mode. I grabbed one of my state issued face clothes and we it, determined to clean the surrounding skin and assessing the seriousness of the injury.

It wasn't long before I realized that I could fix this on my own. I went to my bed and pulled out my personal first aid kit. After all, you never knew if you'd have to fix yourself up in a pinch. I opened it and rifled through, looking for the crazy glue I'd bought to close up those slices and dices that would need stitches if I'd been allowed to go for medical help.

It only took a few minutes to get things set. I couldn't be more 'pleased' with the result of my superior healing skills. If I didn't move my forehead for the next week or so, and didn't reopen the wound, I could get off with a barely noticeable scar. I hoped.

At least I didn't have to worry about laughing or smiling. No. I'd never have to worry about that.

I took a quick and careful shower, needing to get the blood out of my hair before someone noticed that something had happened, and then redressed. I moved to the mirror and stared a moment longer, bring my long hair forward to cover the red line. I shook my head, walking back into my room and resuming my position by the window.

Only a couple more months…then freedom…

"Bella?" Edward whispered. "Are you still with us?" He smiled lightly as he saw me come back from my reminiscence.

"I'm here," I whispered back, my cheeks flushed.

He continued speaking to me in hushed tones. "Carlisle thinks the stitches can come out in a couple more days, and there's no sign of infection. Considering everything, you've done a great job taking care of your wound."

I touched my fingers to my forehead. "Yeah, I have some experience with that."

A frown marred his face, so I closed my eyes and struggled to maintain some semblance of control.

I noticed the brush strokes, still steady and even, as Esme continued to care for me. I drew in a deep breath and held it, hoping the pressure welling up in my chest would help to keep my heart rate steady.

I kept thinking about how hopeful I had been at that moment in my life…and how that had been taken away in another long line of crushing events. I was still trapped in that cycle of despair.

Would I ever get out?

"Perhaps we should get you into bed before you fall asleep sitting up?" Esme asked.

I opened my eyes, looking into hers. I could see all the things I wanted within those depths: love, hope, strength…Oh, to have lived her life…

I moved slowly to the edge of my chair, making sure that my legs were steady enough to make the short trip to the bed.

It wasn't long before I was lying under the comforter and Esme was fluffing pillows behind my head. Edward had snuck away after offering a whispered goodnight, so it was just the two of us again.

"Esme," I sighed, rolling onto my side facing her. "I wish I could've had your life."

She looked down at me affectionately. "Bella, everyone has their trials. Don't you dare go and compare the worth of one life to another." She was firm in her statement.

"It's easy enough, Esme," I yawned. "I just wish that…" I closed my eyes, letting my voice trail off. I just wish I could be happy and free.

Esme must have assumed that I was asleep, but she stayed still as she sat on my side of the bed until she was convinced her movements wouldn't disturb me.

She stood and leaned over to kiss my forehead..my scar.

"Sweet dreams, sweet Bella," she whispered. "…and, please, believe me when I tell you this…sometimes wishes do come true."