I'm so sorry I haven't updated in so long. I'll be more diligant with this story, I promise. Enjoy!

BPOV

The small twin bed was draped in a stuttering map of contrasting colours. Blue, red and puke yellow. The thin filmy curtains matched.

If there were any half decent motels in Orlando, this wasn't one of them. The worn out carpet irritated the skin of my feet as I went to the miniature bathroom to showr. It wasn't as bad as I'd imagined, although the hot and cold taps were confused and there was an ever present smell of damp.

Not that any of it mattered, really.

I felt the relief of being away from my parents as I began to methodically unpack what few things I'd brought with me. I knew that if I left several things at home, my mom would truly believe I was coming home soon, that my level of commitment to gaining some independence was far too rickety to keep me here. She had no idea that I'd left for her sake. I was like a curse under her roof, just as I had been under Charlie's. It would only be so long before something else would try to kill me and I couldn't bring that danger onto my mother's doorstep.

I'd known I had to get out as soon as I'd crossed the threshold. It wasn't just the underlying danger of being Bella; it was also largely the fact that I was mostly a walking zombie again. It wasn't nearly as bad as last time, I knew that. I knew I'd just been thinking of him way too much over the last few months. Doing dangerous things no longer conjured his beautiful, enraged voice. My vices, like the motorcycle, soon stopped posing a threat and I was too tired to pursue more life-threatening activities. I had to put my old life away, anyway, if I were to bring about a new one.

I vowed to myself to let the past become the past, so I could go on with my short existence in some semblance of peace, rather let myself spiral into deep longing again. I had to leave Forks, there was no other option. I no longer have a home there, not without them.

I stepped into the narrow shower, feeling at ease with the now familiar shuddering of the water pipes as I turned it on. After only two weeks here, I knew to step away from the scolding stream for a minute or I'd burn myself.

The heat soothed me as I let myself relax. Today had been tough. I'd tried to apply for welfare, seeing as my savings were almost completely depleted and after two weeks of job seeking I was still empty handed. The most I would get is food stamps.

I needed a job, my own place. I couldn't go back to Jacksonville.

I jumped when I heard the door to my room knock. It had to be the owner.

I turned the shower off, jumping and reaching for the towel. I started drying myself and the knocking persisted.

"Just a second!" I called, hair dripping as I wrapped a towel around myself. There was a knee length summer dress that I could quickly put on, draped over the armchair by the door.

When I hurried into my room, I stopped dead in my tracks with a gasp. The motel landlord, Patrick, had let himself in. He was standing by my poky little twin bed, hands on his overflowing hips. Something about the set of his bushy black eyebrows told me there was trouble.

I didn't speak, I couldn't. I was shocked and embarrassed, standing in front of this strange man in only a towel.

"I need your rent."

I just looked at him, confused. My rent wasn't due until next week.

"You got the money, right?" He stepped toward me, making me unconsciously step back. I looked at my suitcase, which held the measly remnants of the money I needed to live.

"I...I paid you on Monday, though. It's only Saturday," I mumbled. This was inappropriate. I felt far too exposed and now he was asking for more money. It had to be a mistake.

"Yeah, well I'm gonna need an advance on that payment, or you can't stay here."

I should've objected, I knew, but I just needed him out of there. I would take the food stamps and do my best to get a job before next payday. I would find a better motel.

I held my towel tightly as I pass Patrick, feeling a shudder ripple through me. Fear was one of the many emotions I'd hoped to avoid.

"I only have ten dollars," I whispered, fishing for money in my bag on the armchair. I looked at my dress in longing. If I'd been wearing clothes, this would've been a much less tense exchange.

I felt chubby fingertips stroking the back of my neck and stiffened. Oh no.

"Don't worry about the cash, sugar. I got lots of it. I'm sure we can work something out," he murmured, his lips too close to my ear. The sound of his gravelly breathing coupled with his words made my stomach turn.

Bella! Bella, run!

I gasped at the sound of a new voice. My adrenaline brought with it the crystal clear voice of him. He was back, fierce as ever.

If I hadn't been so afraid of my disgusting man behind me, I would have lapsed into bliss.

Come on, Bella. Move!

I did as the sweet voice bid, turning on my heel. I tried to make a run for it but strong arms curled around me, pulling me back.

"Come on, baby. It's not my fault you ain't got the money. Now just be a good girl for me, would you?" He breathes the horrible words in my ear, pinning me to him as I struggle. My reclaimed voice growled continuously as Patrick dragged his rancid tongue from my ear to my collarbone. I couldn't breathe. This was about to happen. I couldn't stop it.

Scream, Bella! Don't you dare give up. Scream!

Once again, I followed his angry commands. Sucking as much air in as physically possible, I gear up for a good scream.

I feel Patrick stiffen as I howl in his arms, surprising both of us by how high pitched I can go.

"Help me!" I screamed again, just before he could slap his hand over my mouth. I squeezed my eyes shut, struggling against his hold. There was no way I'd get out unscathed.

I felt the breath whoosh out of me. Maybe he'd kill me. Then all of this pain, all of my anguish would end. I went limp, refusing to fight. I didn't have it in me.

The air rushed past my ears as Patrick pushed me down onto the bed, the mattress creaking in protest against our weight. It would all be over soon. That's all I could ask.

No! Bella, you have to fight. My cheerleader was roaring, full of beautiful rage.

"I can't," I whispered to him, my eyes still closed against the sight of my attacker.

"It's okay," he hissed, pressing himself against me, assuming my resignation was directed at him. "I'll do all the work, honey."

BELLA!

I revelled in the sound of his voice, falling into the perfect abyss of his anger. I can perish bathed in his artificial care.

"I love you, Edward," I murmured, pretending not to feel my towel being ripped away.

"Who's Edward?"

Just then, we both heard the door fly open, slamming against the wall. My eyes flew open.

"On your knees, motherfucker!"

Patrick's hands flew up as soon as he saw her. She was African American and almost six feet tall, with a gun in her hand.

"I said get on your knees," she hissed, never taking her eyes off him. I watched in amazement as he slithered down onto the floor. The woman didn't move a muscle.

Her eyes flickered to me for the briefest moment and I realised I was naked. My arms felt like unyielding when I hurried to cover myself with the towel. My teeth chattered as my adrenaline pulsed through me.

"Are you okay?" Her dark eyes were soft on me and burning on him. She was saving my life.

"I'm okay," I whispered, my voice breaking. I stood up quickly, hurrying to the other side of the room. Patrick narrowed his eyes at me.

"There has been a big misunderstanding. That girl, there? She's my girlfriend, you insane bitch," he spat.

"You expect me to believe that girl is your girlfriend?" She laughed a genuine, guttural laugh. She shook her head, keeping her pistol firmly aimed at his chest. "I'm sorry dude but I just don't see it."

Patrick looked at me, as if he expected me to defend him. I think something in my eyes made the young woman angrier than she had been before.

"If you don't get the fuck out, I'm calling the police. Leave, now."

He shakily got to his feet, spitting in my direction before reaching for my bag.

"Put that down, you sleazy ass motherfucker," she said, calmly pointing her gun at his face. I felt myself sinking down onto my knees, without meaning to. I had to swallow down the vomit. I don't think I would handle it if she shot him right in front of me.

He dropped the bag, scowling at her. She backed away, giving him room to leave.

"Bitch," he growled, keeping his harsh eyes down as he walked out the door.

"You bet I am. Touch that push-chair, fuckface and I'll shoot you in the head. I'm not kidding around here."

She stepped outside, watching him no doubt retreating. When she seemed satisfied, I saw her turn and reach for something. I watched in amazement as she wheeled in a little toddler in a push-chair, pashing it to the side. The little boy gazed at me with wide, dark eyes before busting out in tears.

"Okay, sweetie. Get your stuff. We've got to get out of here ASAP."