A/N

Thank you to all my reviewers! They mean so much to me! So this chapter is kind of depressing and again, you shouldn't read if you are easily offended or sensitive to certain subjects, such as rape or violence. I hope you all like it! Don't forget to review! Thanks! :)

I don't own the characters.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Chapter 7

I woke up with a start. Holding a hand against my racing heart, I willed the tears not to fall. Nightmares have plagued me all night, all week. I've lived in the same moment every night, over and over again. And now the scene was playing in my conscious mind as well. I can't escape it, the images won't leave me. So I've decided. I know what I'm going to do. I just have to wait for the right moment. When I'm alone, I'll do it. I just hope I don't talk myself out of it by then. This is my last chance at escape. I can't live my life being held prisoner in this house. I can't stay in this room forever. I need freedom. It was taken from me, and now I'm taking it back.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Edward left for work early this morning. He gave me breakfast, then made sure to lock the door as he left. There was a window in here, but there was also an alarm for it. If I didn't believe him at first, I did when he showed me. That wouldn't have stopped me, but it was also locked from the outside. So, the question is, why not break the glass? Well, not only would the alarm go off and alert Edward via a call straight to his cell phone as soon as it goes off, but he also threatened Charlie. Again. That was getting old. But I loved Charlie too much to call him out on his threat. I won't risk my innocent father. So to protect Charlie, and myself in a way, I came up with a plan. It was so, so stupid, and it went against everything Charlie has told me, but it was also the best, easiest plan yet. All I needed was the right supplies.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O

I didn't eat lunch today. Edward wasn't home to bring it, and it wasn't like I was hungry anyway. Sitting around isn't exactly the most difficult or tiring activity.

Edward was home in time for dinner, though. That meal was almost impossible to get through. He tried making small talk. After everything that happened, he wanted to talk. Then he asked about my day. I thought it over a bit before answering. I wanted to make a sarcastic remark, it was a habit. But I knew I shouldn't. Then I wanted to tell him how it really was.

I wanted to tell him how I woke up scared and crying. I wanted to tell him that the first thing I thought was how much I hated him and how I was going to get out of here no matter what. I wanted to tell him how I showered in scalding hot water because I felt dirty. I scrubbed and scratched my skin so I could get the feeling of him off of me. He took what I wasn't ready to give. And now I'll never get it back. It was one more thing in my life that he took control of, one more thing I'll never have a say in the matter. It was a one time thing, one chance to do it right. Now, I wasn't a person who was crazy about waiting until marriage, or wanting that perfect romantic moment. I knew it would never be completely perfect, and I didn't want any false hopes. But I wanted to be able to say I choose the moment. That I gave it up when I was ready. It could have been in the janitors closet at work for all I know, and that would have been fine if it was with the right person at the right time. The where wasn't important. The who and when were. My life has been so out of control and completely mixed up this past week. If he had waited just a little bit longer, I honestly don't think I would feel like this. And that's all it really came down to, waiting. With everything going on at once my mind was in overload, unable to process everything. I was going insane from it all, making bad choices based on my emotions.

But I couldn't say those things. I couldn't stand up to him or tell him my deepest thoughts. What if it wasn't the right answer for him? His mood swings were so random and sometimes violent that I wasn't able to admit what I really did today and tell him how I truly felt. And so I added that to the list; he took away my freedom of speech by instilling fear into me.

I gave the most generic answer I could. After all, I had to try to behave, try to act normal so that he wouldn't suspect what I was about to do. When he brought up dinner I was relieved to see that we were having steak. Steak meant knives. Knives meant freedom. So after dinner I snuck the knife into the sleeve of my sweater.

"Isabella, what are you doing?" He sounded kind of panicky. Oh shit. Please, please don't tell me you know. You couldn't have seen. I was panicking and I tried my hardest not to let it show. Think logically. Play dumb. Maybe he doesn't know.

"W-what? What do you mean?" Smooth. That won't raise suspicions. Stuttering? Really? That's the best I can do? I sighed and looked down. Of course he knows.

"You have to be careful with that. You could really hurt yourself." Well, that was the plan, actually. "Here, give it to me."

"No, it's ok, I got it. I'll just-"

"Isabella, please, I don't want you to overdose." Wait, what? You mean…oh. oh! He was talking about the pills! I had set them there earlier planning to hide a few in the drawers of the nightstand, but I guess I forgot. I was excited now, relief flooding through my system. He didn't know! I could still do this!

I snapped out of my thoughts when he started walking towards me. "These are strong pills, you should have checked with me. Did you take any?"

I shook my head no, and gave a small lie. "I just wanted them there in case I got…sick or something. Umm…I had a headache earlier, but it's gone now." I didn't have a headache, I was going to use those pills to numb the pain. But I guess I'll just have to get over it. The pain will be a small price to pay for my freedom. I'll be able to escape, the way I want to when I want to. He can't control this like he does everything else. My meals, the times I shower and sleep, where I go and when, what I watch and what I wear. Yes, he even picks out my outfits. It makes it so much harder to put on the clothes when he knows what underwear I'm wearing. I know he bought it so he knows what I have, but to have it picked out by him is different. It makes it creepier when he stares at me. He knows what I look like without the clothes, no more guessing. He knows every little detail of my physical appearance and it unsettles me. We've only been together that one time, but i doubt he's willing to wait for me much longer.

"Are you sure? Are you ok? Do you need anything?" Do I look ok? I'm not. If I was, I would never have even contemplate suicide. Charlie had put into my head that suicide was never the answer, no matter the situation, ever since I was old enough to understand what suicide was.

"I'm fine, really. I just-I've been stressed lately, and I've been feeling a bit ill from it, but I'm ok, I swear." No, I'm not. I'm nowhere near ok.

"Just be careful, my sweet. I love you." He smiled at me. How am I to respond to that? I love you, too? But I don't. I could never love him. Unfortunately, he always lost his temper if I never said anything back, or if I voiced my thoughts like that. So I said what I could without gagging.

"I, um, I think…you're, uh…handsome?" It came out as a question. I flinched. Yeah, that's gonna go over well. Good job, Bella. Way to tell him. However, this seemed to make him smile. Don't ask me why, I have no idea.

"Don't worry, love. I know you're not quite ready yet. But you will be soon." Well if you know I can't say it then why don't you act like that every time I don't answer? And with that he left. Normally he doesn't come back for a couple hours, when we go to sleep or watch a movie. He's done this everyday so far, so today shouldn't be any different.

So that should give me plenty of time. I'll wait a while though, just to make sure he doesn't come back up for something before doing whatever it is he does. I think he's mentioned it, but I don't listen. I just nod and say yes or no whenever I need to. I probably say it in the middle of his stories, too, but he never says anything about it.

Thirty minutes later, I have yet to hear any sounds signaling his arrival, or his presence near by. But now there is a chance he will be back sooner than I expected. I have to hurry. So I run to the bathroom, after stumbling from the bed. I get in and lock the door, just in case. Pulling out the knife I take a moment to admire it. Something so small and shiny, so insignificant yet powerful, it could destroy or save me. I wonder if the person who made it would have ever thought it would be used for violence, murder, or suicide. That's such a random, morbid thought, but it seems so important now. Every thought is important, because any one could be my last.

I roll up my sleeves before I take the knife and give it one more glance. Then I place it at my wrist, close my eyes, and dig it deep into my skin. I gasp at the sensation, grinding my teeth to prevent myself from letting out the scream that's working its way up. I move it up the length of my arm, getting as much skin as I can. The way it feels, the pain from the sharp blade, and then the pure bliss, is amazing. Knowing that I have complete control over this action when that past week and a half I've been like a puppet, someone else having power over my every action, is the best feeling in the world. At least for now. I've never been happier to be free.

And then I heard it. That voice. The one that used to make me melt, so velvety and soft, and now it haunts my dreams. Then I hear banging on the door. I haven't answered him and he's suspicious. Why wouldn't he be. I have been acting strange, no matter how hard I tried not to.

After a minute of the banging, and my rushing to clean off the knife and sink, I hear a crack and I freeze. Oh no. No, no no no! Not now. Please not now! I'm so close! Just a little while longer, one more cut, I could have been free. That one word circles in my head. It's the only thing I can think of. And now I can't have it. He ruined it, just like everything else. I hate him!

"Isabella! Isabella, I know you are in there! Why aren't you answering me? Baby, what's wrong? Talk to me! Open the damn door!" God, he's bipolar. First angry, then all lovey dovey, then he's angry again. His mood swings give me whiplash.

Okay, think. Hide the evidence. Answer him! Yeah, I need to do that, too. Thanks inner voice. So. Keep calm, lie. It's easy, everyone does it. No guilt, no stuttering, easy as pie. "Edward, uh...I'm using the bathroom, that's why I didn't answer. I was going to shower, too." Okay, good. Believable. See? That wasn't hard.

"Why do you sound so upset? What's wrong? Are you sick? Let me in, I'll help. I have to make sure you're ok." Shit. Damn. Okay, not good enough. Lie better. Less panic, more…happy. Happy is good, right? People who take showers are happy.

"Um. Sorry, the water was cold. I wasn't expecting you so I got distracted and didn't turn on the hot water."

"I didn't hear the shower." Damn it.

"It was the sink. Your sink has cold water. And hot. But I forgot to turn on the hot. And I was surprised. Adrenaline rush. You scared me." Oh, fuck. I'm so screwed. Why didn't anyone ever teach me to lie? Isn't that something you learn in, like, the third grade or something?

"Oh, okay. Well, are you sure you're fine?" Relief came at me in waves. Tsunami sized waves. I didn't think he would fall for that.

"Yes, I'm sure." I was starting to get dizzy now. It's about time too. Blood has been sliding down my arm and hand during this entire conversation. I've managed to stall. Hmm…I didn't think I could do that. With the horrible lying and all. Maybe it's just my face that gives it away and not my voice.

I snapped out of my musings and remembered to start the shower. I got inside the huge stall. One wall had a bench, the others had shelves of shampoos and soaps, and there were so many showerheads.

Along with the excessive and unnecessary showerheads, there were more knobs than I dared to touch. What happened to good old hot and cold? Did they come up with different temps for each knob? Was there a hot, a cold, and a lukewarm? Maybe a temp that was "hot, but not burning" and a temp for "cool, but not cold". there were also a few for pressure. One was like a stream caressing your skin, while another was like a waterfall for those who liked the high pressure. I used the one I did earlier today. I turned it up half way this time, enough for me to feel the heat, but not burn. I left my clothes on, getting to tired to take them off and actually shower.

The smell of blood was pungent. The loss of it and the stench, not a good combination for me. I felt nauseous. I slumped to the floor in the shower, ready to close my eyes and give in to the unconscious world. I was ready to leave. Right before I fell unconscious the door banged open. In came Edward, red faced and yelling. So maybe he didn't believe the lie. Oh well, that was expected. I didn't care anymore. It was too late to save me now, so why bother caring whether or not he's mad? Isn't he always mad anyways?

He came in the shower screaming something about a "lying, ungrateful little bitch" and "needing to know who's in control". So he was mad. Totally understandable. Then he hit me, harder than ever before. And my face had just started looking normal again. Sigh. Again, it doesn't really matter anymore, I'm free.

He stopped then and looked down at me. Probably wondering why I havent complained, screamed or cried. He saw the blood. The look in his eyes…I can't describe it. It was horrible. I've never seen so much emotion from someone. A little too much emotion, really. Especially from him. He barely knows me. And yet, I felt myself wanting to make it to go away. He looked like he was in pain, but also like he was about to erupt with anger and hate. So vulnerable and open. So cruel and guarded. It was like he was at war with himself, and I couldn't stand it. It was confusing and made me sad.

He was right. I was so selfish, so ungrateful. At least he's fed me and hasn't hurt me too much like some, if not most, kidnappers would. The slaps were like feather touches compared to what could have been. He never beat me, and I truly was thankful, just not enough I guess.

"I'm sorry." I whispered. I meant it. I don't know whether it was to make the pain and sorrow disappear or to appease him and make the hate go away, but both seemed like reasonable answers.

Slowly, I closed my eyes. I faintly heard my name in the background. Then I felt myself being lifted and the water was no longer beating down on me.

After that, I was gone.

O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O

Please review! Be honest but not hateful, and let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!

P.S. Things will get better soon, I promise! Anyone awaiting that happily ever after, well, it will get here eventually. I'm a sucker for any story with an HEA, and this story is no different.