Here's chapter 3 of my story. I want to thank Totteacher and ToxicRainfall for beta-ing this for me :)

Disclaimer: I don't own Edward and Bella

So...how did she meet the mistery guy?

Here it goes...

1,2,3

Chapter 2 – In the spring I shed my skin

Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins

I have to find you, tear out all of your tenderness.

Florence and the Machine - Howl

It is 4 o'clock now. I fall back into my chair, relaxing a bit, trying to put myself together, just a little, so I can start complying to the "You know what to do" in his message.

We'd only spoken about this the first time that we met. The only time that we discussed anything, really, and also the only time that we met during the day and in a public space. I had been toying with this idea for over a year. A year of blind pain that I couldn't shake myself of. I knew there was a community of people that liked to receive and inflict pain on each other, consensually. I like to call them legal sadists and masochists, they like to call themselves BDSM-inclined.

They say 'po-tay-to, I say 'po-tah-to'. Same thing. Whatever.

So one day, I just made an account and wrote an ad in which I tried to explain what I was searching for. I said how I was searching for someone with experience, who would have patience with me and my shortcomings, who would put my mental and physical wellbeing above his egoistical desires. I didn't read anything on that discussion forum, I wasn't searching for networking, but for someone to beat the shit out of me and make me enjoy it. I didn't have to wait too long until I started receiving messages. Most of them were either pornographic rubbish or were lacking in any information at all, people just sending me their contact information. I did receive a message from 'perfectionist' and I liked the way he wrote to me . So I ended up in a cafe, waiting to meet a stranger who offered to give me what I asked for.

I remember my amazement when I saw him enter the door, thinking that he probably wasn't who I was waiting for and he was there to meet someone else. But he looked straight at me, intense gaze roaming over my face, my hair, my clothes, matching my real apparel with the description I gave him. I thought of him as beautiful, tall, dressed surprisingly common in dark blue jeans, dark grey shirt and even from the distance I could see how extremely appealing and strong his features were. Pale skin, strong jaw, thick eyebrows over even thicker and long eyelashes, eyes dark in the dimly lit coffee house, gaze intense and piercing. The only thing that softened his look was his hair, rich auburn sticking at odd angles all over the crown of his head, giving an indication that he either runs his hands too often through it, or he just fell out of bed and came straight here. Nonetheless, from the first sight, I couldn't deny his attractiveness. He is a beautiful man and I had no idea how much trouble it will be for me to handle that.

Only after a few seconds he started towards me, his tall figure not walking, but moving fluidly in what I could only define as a stalk. I had to swallow hard to keep myself from jumping from my seat and finding a place to hide, as he was in the path of the only exit.

"Marie?", he asked me to confirm the name I gave him once he got in front of me.

"Y-yes", I managed to get out.

"Anthony Masen", he offered, extending his right hand towards me, still standing, a gesture so common when you first meet someone, but so disturbing to me in that moment, his face not betraying anything, but definitely not friendly.

I looked stupidly from his face to his hand for a few moments, like I didn't know what to do and it was the first time someone presented themselves to me and made to shake my hand. I was looking at his arms and palms and fingers, his skin almost as pale as mine and it was comforting to find this similarity.

I did eventually shake his hand when my social sense finally kicked in, and the next thing I remember was the feeling of not being able to believe that I was sitting across from a beautiful stranger in an empty coffee house at lunch hour, totally and completely shocked of the surreal conversation that I was having in the daylight with the man in front of me. I didn't know what to expect after the few messages that we exchanged on the internet. Surely, I wasn't expecting anything, but this stranger was something different. I could tell from the way he moved and articulated the words, his posture and the way he carried himself that he was a very educated person. And all the while during our conversation I couldn't believe that I was discussing with someone how they could hurt me in inexplicable ways and make me enjoy it.

We didn't exchange pleasantries because we didn't want to know each other. He got straight to the point and I tried to keep up with his business tone, but I couldn't help myself from blushing and I wanted to hit my head on the table for feeling so goddamn much like a girl. The way he looked at me really affected me and it wasn't helping me at all to deal with the situation. I wanted to smother down all my girl-in-front-of-a-beautiful-boy nerves because I knew that was not what this was about. This was not my boy-meets-girl story. Even if I could imagine myself a few years ago blushing in front of this boy only because he deemed me worthy of hearing him talk, I knew that in the real boy-meets-girl story, we would never happen, because people like him are from different universes from people like me. Unless they are brought together by a perverse need to break and be broken, which was the case at hand.

"So why do you think this is what you want?", he asked me, a brow arching over perfect and disturbing long-lashed dark eye.

"Like I told you in my messages…I've hurt myself before, but it just doesn't do it. ", I lamely stuttered out.

His perfect lips curved in a smirk. He was appraising me, searching my face with an all but annoying expression. Like he knew what I wanted to say, but still, he enjoyed watching me stumble across my words, making me a sweaty, twitchy, nervous mess.

"Intentionally? How?" he raised both his eyebrows in a quick movement, only to lower them back down until his eyes were cold dark slits.

I scowled at him. Was he getting a twisted kick out of this? Of course he did…I didn't like to be patronized and was close to say "to hell with it" and leave.

I cleared my throat and tried to make some sense of all my jumbled thoughts, determined to do this, whatever it meant or how much I would have to cringe because of the answers he was prying out of me.

"I…I pull my hair, sometimes hit my head with my fists…hit my arms with heavy objects." I said, looking away from him, staring at my hands fidgeting in my lap.

"I see…Are you doing this when you are angry?" he asked, and I could feel his voice changing a little bit, still cold, but softer. I snapped my head up, looking into his eyes, looking for pity and ready to bolt if I was to find any in his eyes. But his steady gaze didn't give anything away. He just looked at me, waiting for an answer, dark eyes looking straight into me, their colour hard to make out in the poorly lit corner we were seated in.

"No. I don't do it because I'm angered by something." I finally answered, not wanting to give anything more away.

Please, don't ask more.

He didn't, instead, he smiled and it didn't comfort me at all, the baring of his teeth making a prickling sensation run along my back. He looked menacing and I knew that my body was trying to tell me to run, bolt, be away and safe from this man who could no doubt be ferocious with me.

After a full cringe-worthy interrogation on how I inflict pain on myself, he changed his laid back position in his seat, bringing himself closer to me, resting his folded arms on the table in front of him and started explaining his conditions, his voice low and sensual, making me blush harder.

"Very good. I think we should give this a try. I understand that what you need right now is someone to… inflict pain on you?" he said, his long fingers gesturing towards my body, but his eyes keeping my gaze.

I nodded and his mouth closed in disapproving grim line.

"You have to use words, Little Girl.", he said, slightly tilting his head and I think that was when he started calling me 'Little Girl'. The age distance isn't so big, I'm sure, maybe 7 years or so but it sounded right. I did feel so little and so much like a girl that it infuriated me.

"Yes." I confirmed, surprised to hear my voice so determined when I have never been more confused in my life. Not even when…oh well, I didn't want to go there with my thoughts, not right now. I focused hard on him, forcing unwanted memories away in the background.

"What else do you expect from our…lets say…interactions?", he continued.

"I want a relationship based on respect and of which I want to be able to set the limits." I started reciting from the stupid text I have written in my online announcement. "I don't want sexual intercourse or a romantic relationship, the rest, any kind of pain is welcome."

I just want you to crush me. Please, crush me so.

He chuckled darkly at my recitation. "Of course. I understand. We'll go from there." He then started to hammer out the details of our unusual arrangement. I was to initiate all our encounters after the first one which he already had ready anytime I wanted to start, even that day. If he could honour my request we would send me the details of the meeting place. I was to present myself there, freshly waxed and showered, no makeup, no perfume, no underwear on. I was supposed to undress and to wait for him kneeling, head bowed, beside the entrance after I have entered and closed the door behind me. That's how it had been since that day. He gave me the picture of him so I can have an assurance he won't hurt me, but if he ever did, I could go to the police with the photograph of his beautiful face in hand. I knew it wasn't very much, but I wanted this to happen so much, that I stopped pondering the risks. Six months along the way and he had yet to refuse one of my calls. He teased me at times, but was all part of the game and he never left me hanging for too long. In the end, it makes me think that he possibly craves for our encounters too, although I'm not sure if he gets too much out of them.

I look at the clock on the wall. Half an hour has passed. I got to get myself going.

Review if I made you curious :D