AUTHORS NOTE: Just to clear up any confusion, Emma's fiancé is not her brother. TRIGGER WARNING: Any sensitive situations will be marked off with bolded KEKEKEKEKE
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After her peculiar encounter with the Sherriff, and the odd man who was quite obviously, on the other side of the law, Emma knew it was time to head home, like it or not. It was a small town that they lived in, so Neal would surely hear about the incident sooner rather than later. She'd rather be the one that told him.
He'd been careful lately, trying hard not to push her around too much, to avoid hurting the baby. He'd resorted, to other means, of reminding her of her place lately. The abuse hurt, but when you've been in and out of foster homes all of your life, it became the only thing you knew. She walked in the front door, only to find the man in question sitting at the kitchen table, calmly. Way too calmly. Her heart beat quickened as she took in the sight of him, and not in a good way. His hair was slightly disheveled, his bloodshot eyes had a wild look in them. He had a drink in his hand.
"Emma," he acknowledged, his voice sending chills down her back. "Sit." She didn't even think once before complying, dropping her bag and taking the seat across from him. "Not there." Fighting the urge to run, to hit him, to scream for help, she obeyed again, obediently kneeling on the floor beside his chair, ignoring the discomfort and stretch in her belly, or the strain it put on her back. Neal took a took a swig from his drink, before slamming it down on the table, which would've been the only clue to an outside observer that he wasn't as unruffled as he was pretending to be. Emma cringed at the sound.
"So I heard something happened in town today," Neal began, looking down his nose at the girl at his feet.
"Neal, it—it was nothing I sw—" Emma started to say, before she was silenced by a sharp backhanded slap from her fiancé.
"Don't pretend that you didn't enjoy it," he growled. "A slut like you, you like them looking at you don't you?" Emma didn't reply, her gaze fixed on the ground, as he hit her again. "ANSWER ME!" he yelled.
"I don't," she whimpered, but Neal wasn't having any of it. He hit her across the face one last time, this time, his fingers curled into a fist. The sheer force of the blow knocked her to the ground, but he wasn't done. He grabbed her wrist, and dragged her across the floor, towards their old, broken down radiator. He released his grip on her hand, if only for a second, and went to retrieve a pair of handcuffs from his bedside table. Emma tried to sit up, but he was already back, twisting her arm violently, and snapping the handcuffs into place, tightening them enough to leave marks.
"They only look at you like that because of the way you dress Em." Neal chastised, looking over Emma's Bermuda shorts, and loose tee from the maternity department at the local department store. "You need to learn your lesson. So you'll be spending the night here. And remember," he leaned his face close to her, the alcohol on his breath making her feel sick. "You. Are. Mine." And with that, he stood up, casually brushed himself off, and went about his nightly routine of watching the news, and late night TV, before ushering himself off to bed.
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He walked out of the cell bright and early the next morning, offering a dazzling smile to Sherriff Graham.
"I'll be collecting my belongings now Humbert," Killian supplied, trotting over to the discharge desk, like he had done a million times before.
"Sherriff," Graham corrected with a growl, following him, a scowl adorning his handsome features. Killian just chuckled. It was all the same as the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that. It was like the whole damn town was stuck in a loop, but Killian couldn't be troubled with it.
"I know you did it Jones," Graham's scowl deepened. Well, Killian thought. That's new.
"The evidence clearly shows Humby, that I am not your man." Humby? Where did that come from? Oh well, it suits him. The clear anger on Graham's face only added to Killian's pleasure. Finally! Something was different!
"Get out," the Sherriff snarled. Killian took off without another word.
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He didn't see the golden haired girl at all that day, or the day after that, and as much as he willed it not to, it troubled him. He kept his eyes peeled, but he kept coming up empty. If only he could find her address, well, her name might be good. Finally, as he was making his way to the Rabbit Hole, on the afternoon of the second day, he caught sight of a flash of gold in the hospital parking lot. He turned, glimpsing the girl he was searching for being dragged into the hospital by a grungy looking man, if he could even be considered one, for he still had spots, and it seemed his shoulders had yet to fill out, with brown curly hair, and tanned, almost olive skin. Her pretty face was dotted with fresh spots of black, blue, and purple, mixed in with some yellowish discoloration from healing bruises. Her arm was bent at an awkward angle, and she walked with a limp. Killian's heart squeezed painfully at the sight of her. He could tell, no matter how bad she appeared on the outside, the worst of her wounds laid much deeper. But how deep am I willing to go?
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"Well Miss Swan, it looks like the baby's fine. You on the other hand, are a little worse for wear. You have severe bruising on your face, you suffered a compound fracture in your arm, and your wrists are rubbed raw, on top of also being severely bruised. How in the world did you manage to do that?" The doctor—What was his name? Oh that's right, Whale. – Doctor Whale asked.
"I fell," Emma replied meekly, earning a pat on the shoulder from Neal that made her visibly cringe. She looked up at the doctor, praying to any God that was out there that he didn't notice, but she'd always been good at reading people.
"Uh Mr. Cassidy, why don't we have Nurse Schoomahker escort you to the front desk to fill out the paper work, while I get everything in order with your fiancé here," the doctor suggested, his tone wary. Neal, oblivious to the doctor's ulterior motives, complied dubiously, following the nurse without a second thought.
"Emma," the doctor started, looking at the poor girl in front of him. "How did your wrists get like they are?" Emma wracked her brain, as she gnawed on her lip nervously.
"I—uh—I rub them. It's a bad habit, I just can't break," she responded pleasantly.
"Emma, I'm about to ask you a really difficult question, but I need you to be honest okay?" the doctor asked, speaking to her like she was a child.
"Okay," she breathed out, twitching her hands absentmindedly.
"Neal," the doctor started. "Does he—does he hit you?" Emma shook her head a little too quickly.
"No," she stated matter of factly.
"Emma," he said sternly.
"No!" she said, her voice louder now. Her eyes flitted around nervously, and it was obvious that she was lying, but she was adamant about her answer. "With all due respect doctor, you've overstepped. I'll be on my way now." The doctor's mouth opened and closed like a fish, before he followed her out of the room, and halfway down the hall, waving a sling.
"Emma!" he called. "Wait!" Emma paused, and turned back to face the doctor, who proceeded to position her broken arm in a sling. He tucked something into the front of it, as he gave her instructions.
"Rest it, ice it, and elevate it. Come back in two days so we can put a cast on okay?" he instructed. Emma nodded her head, and tore away from the doctor. She continued down the winding halls of the hospital, ducking into the bathroom for a quick second. She took care of her business, and stood for a while in front of the mirror. Oh God, what am I doing with my life? She thought, as she took in her, bruised, battered, broken, and very pregnant self. She reached her good hand into her sling, plucking out the item the doctor had placed there earlier. Her hands met a stiff card. She peered at it closely. On the front, in plain, unmemorable lettering was:
Storybrooke Women and Children's home.
1302 Goose Street.
You've got to be kidding me. Just as she was mulling over whether to throw the card away now, or later, the loud speaker came to life.
"Emma Swan, please report to the front desk, Emma Swan, to the front desk." Emma heaved a sigh, and tucked the card back into her sling.