AN: This chapter is dedicated to the story's first reviewer: Sindhura! I'm posting this story as I write it, so please give me your feedback, any kind of feedback is welcome!

Chapter 2: Safe haven

Bella POV

"Where's the rest of your stuff?" Jacob asks.

I blush and wonder what to tell him, how to tell him that this is it, there is no rest.

Shall I make up a story or tell him a different version of the truth?

I suppose, living with him, I will ask myself that same question many times to come. Back when we were neighbors and very close, it was easy to keep my secrets from him, because I simply left them at home, but now he will be in my home.

I decide to make a joke about students not owning as much crap as rich soccer players, although even for a poor student my possessions are pathetic.

He frowns, but then shrugs and continues unpacking his own stuff, while I retreat into my empty room and start changing.

He probably wonders how I ever intend to afford my share of the rent. But that will be another well kept secret.

Maybe I should just come clean about everything, right on day one, when I still have nothing to lose.

I could tell him about how my parents really don't pay for my room, because I cut them off completely after finally realizing their abuse wasn't normal. How I paid my way through college by selling my body, the same way I was taught when I was just a kid. How this 'bad habit' got me kicked out by social services, so I had to look for a place of my own, without any possessions. And how I plan to pay for this apartment by that same bad habit.

Starting this evening, on a date with Peter, a regular client.

In the weeks since Jacob and me ran into each other, I thought about having this conversation with him and I saw two possible outcomes. Either he would be so shocked that he would kick me out and then I'd be back where I was a few weeks ago. I wouldn't get too attached to him, so I wouldn't be too hurt.

Or, the other less likely option, he would take pity in me, and accept the whole story, allowing me to live with him.

Both options seem to have a big advantage compared to all the secrets I force myself to hide. But the one thing that keeps me quiet, is knowing that either option would destroy the image he had of me in his head. The image he clearly still has, even after we drifted apart in high school.

Maybe I'm not too attached to him yet, but I definitely need him to see me as the Bella I once was. The young and cheerful girl, that still was innocent, simply because she had no clue that the stuff going on at home wasn't normal. I long to be that girl again, with a desperate ache deep inside. But most of the time, I don't even remember who she is.

Until I ran into him again that is. In his eyes, I saw the reflection of the cute and funny Bella Swan, the girl I thought I lost.

No, Jacob can never ever find out about my secrets, I'll have to be careful and keep him at distance. Just like I did when we were kids. I held him near, as my one and only safe haven, but never too close. He was never to see into my black soul and I'd never take away that image he had of me.

When I'm finished putting on my make up, I grab my coat and leave my room, to find Jacob standing in the kitchen stirring a large cooking pot.

"I hope you like spaghetti," he starts, "I was too hungry to…" He stops when he sees that I'm dressed to leave and then simply says, "oh."

"I'm sorry," I mutter, "I should have told you…"

"No no," he quickly recovers, "you don't have to do that. I shouldn't have assumed. I mean, I know you're a student and we talked about student life. Go on and have fun."

I know what it looks like. I'm wearing a red dress and high heels, he probably thinks I'm about to go clubbing, and since I can't tell him the truth, I simply mumble "thank you," and pull the door closed behind me. The disappointed look on his face stays with me, until I reach the hotel.

I wait in the lobby in my usual spot, and order a glass of water. Perhaps something stronger would work better for me now, but I have grown to hate alcohol a long time ago.

Peter walks over to me confidently and leans in for a soft kiss on my cheek. The smell of his aftershave makes me feel at ease and feel sick at the same time.

Peter is a successful sports manager I met when he was giving some lectures in one of my classes. I caught his eye, being a promising sports medicine student, but when he invited me after class to discuss my paper about soccer injuries, I quickly noticed it wasn't my physiology talent he was interested in.

He seemed like a gentler version of my usual clients, rich and confident, but ignored by their petty wives. He saw some potential in me, and I saw options as well, knowing how powerful he is, so that's how we came to have our agreement.

"I'm glad you like my present," he says, motioning at the short dress. By the look in his eyes I see that he's already imagining taking it off, but he knows I won't allow that.

He's one of the few clients who actually accepts that I won't be touched, which explains why he's a regular, when most others decide to book real whores instead.

Not Peter.

Peter believes he's in love with me, and believes he's so special that one day, I'll give him all of me.

In the mean time, he patiently treats me well and pays more than I ask.

He leaves some money for my drink on the table, and leads me to the elevator, carefully placing a warm hand on my back. We close the hotel room door behind us and he takes my hands, slowly walking backwards to the bed. His reassuring smile is meant to put my mind at ease, but I just want to get this over with.

I'm not in the mood for his role plays, in which he pretends to seduce me. So I gently push him back on the bed and unbutton his jeans. He understands and lays down after switching off the light.

We both prefer the dark: him so he can imagine me naked on top of him, and me because it makes it easier to escape this cold hotel room and the endlessness that I fear.

"Mmm, I'd kill for those blow jobs of yours," he groans, when I free him from his boxers.

"Shhh," I hush him, "just close your eyes and enjoy."

I try to sound seductive, but I really just need him to shut up so I can retreat into my own little world. I allow the memories to seep from my veins, to make me empty and weightless and maybe I'll find some peace tonight.

"Bella, get back here," his dark voice bellowed.

I swear these days, my brother was becoming worse of a threat than my father was, more of a monster. I guess I could try and understand, knowing that he was raised by someone like my father, but there is no sympathy left for him. Just fear.

Back when I was younger, I dreamed of growing up to be a strong warrior, and my brother Edward and me would combine forces to defeat our father. But somewhere along the way, I lost Edward as my ally and he chose the dark side. These days I no longer dream of ever being strong enough to fight them both and escape.

Permanently escape that is.

I hide under my covers and wish that he is too drunk to notice me in here, but my prays are in vain.

With force, Edward pulls my blanket away from my shaking body and grabs me by the hair. I scramble on my feet to follow him, trying to free myself from his grip, but he pulls me closer against his iron strong body. The alcohol stench nearly makes me faint and I resume my prays that he's too drunk to really harm me.

Roughly he turns me around and pushes me down over the small desk, his hips against my butt keeping me in place. He leans down, his heavy weight pushing on me, and reaches around my arms to the front of my chest. His strong fingers squeeze my developing breasts painfully and I can't help but gasp.

"Please Edward," I beg him, but I know better than to count on his mercy.

With a sickening breath, he whispers in my ear, "why are you trying to hide your boobs in these wide T-shirts, did you think we wouldn't notice them grow?"

I panic and imagine the clothes they might force me to wear, so I stutter, "I… I just don't want anybody else to look at me, I belong only to you and dad."

Edward smirks, "that's right."

He stands up to open his belt and in the second he stumbles backwards in his dizzy state, I push myself up from the desk and bolt towards my open window. I hear him swear behind me, but before Edward gets a chance to move, I've already crossed the line between our garden and Jacob's.

I climb their tree expertly and tap his bedroom window three times.

My racing heart calms down, knowing my safe haven is near. I realize that I'll have to pay for this escape later, but I won't worry about that now.

Right now, I'll tell Jacob with a grin that I lied about a science project, and I'll laugh and joke until my whole world exists of Jacob only.

Of his beautiful smile and his endless adoration for me.

I allow these thoughts to take me away, until I'm walking back home again, with bitter shame in my heart and sweet money in my pocket.

Home.

It's weird to already think of the apartment as home, after just one day. Weird in a scary way.

In the past weeks, I've grown comfortable with the idea of living here, with him, but I never thought it would feel this real. It already feels more like home than the studio I got from social services. And I'm not sure I like it.

What's even more scary is this small voice inside my head during the walk that says, "I wonder if he's still awake," and the way my heart speeds up just a tiny bit when I look up to the building and see there's still light behind our window.

He was watching TV but gets up when I enter.

"How did it go, had a good time?" his friendly voice asks.

I wince.

I hadn't expected him to ask about my evening. Clearly I should prepare my lies a little better.

When I just stand there, without answering, he probably decides he had no right to ask me this question and continues in a casual tone, "there's some spaghetti left in the microwave, in case, you know, if you're hungry, or maybe for tomorrow…"

"Thanks, I'm starving," I reply, feeling guilty for making him uncomfortable.

I gather all my courage, and ignore how scared the warmth in my chest makes me, before I ask, "join me?"

He grins cheerfully and starts heating up the spaghetti, while grabbing a plate and a soda for me. It's like he has no trouble adjusting to my presence at all.

And when I finish the tasteful food, while he talks about the progress he made with his injury and the practical jokes his teammates pulled on each other, I find myself adjusting easily as well.

This could work.

If only I could stop being so terrified of feeling alive again.

AN: So what do you think? Interesting or boring?