Chapter 2

In one of the many dark and secluded corners of her father's wooden cabin, Bella Swan sat in the dark on a rocking chair she had had since she was a little girl, one of the few things she had left that reminded her of her childhood. One of the few things she had not chosen to destroy. She sat with her knees pull up to her chin, clutching an ancient mobile phone to her ear as she desperately tried to hear the rough voice of the gentleman – if he could be called that - on the other end of the line, staring into what seemed like space as she caught the ends of sentences through the bad connection.

He was not a polite man to say the least but he spoke with an authority that Bella found endearing and she listened intently as he gave her instructions.

"Do you understand what I'm telling you to do?"

"Yes…" even with the bad connection, the booming voice from the other end of the phone shadowed hugely over the meek sound that came from Bella's lips.

"Yes what!"

"Yes, sir…"

"How many times do I have to keep reminding you, you fucking idiotic child? Believe me, next time I will not be so damn lenient." And with that the phone went dead. This was how many of their conversations went; him being loud and obnoxious while she sat and told him what he wanted to hear even if she wasn't sure what he was talking about. Unfortunately, this was not one of those times – and she was more than aware of what he wanted. She might not have heard the entire conversation but what she had heard, well that had been perfectly clear. Of course, she had told him, it's going to be harder than they thought seeing as the boy in question wouldn't even go near her. And when he did all he did was insult her. He hadn't been happy with that, she could have guessed that before he had even called her but at least most of that conversation had been drowned out by static.

Bella stood up off of the rocking chair and moved towards the mirror above the 80's fireplace, a mosaic of purples and pinks – her father could never be bothered to get it remodelled. It was only as she looked at her reflection that she realised she had been crying. 'No wonder he was pissed', she thought, 'he hates it when I cry'. Bella picked up her well-manicured hand and wiped it across her face to brush away the tears, bringing with it mountains of makeup and false lashes. This was not who she was but it was all she knew. All she had been trained for. Those nights of suffering, days spent sparring with men and women much larger than herself; those days spent crouched in bushes trying to control her breathing and her heart-beat so that he couldn't sense her like the others could. All those skills that she had perfected to the point they were easier than breathing had all lead to this moment, and whether she liked it or not, there was no backing out now.

Staring at the stranger in front of her, Bella straightened her tank top, wiped her eyes one final time and pulled back her shoulders. The steal glint was back in her eyes and the pout back in her lips. No one was getting past this facade, not even herself. One last glance and she turned her back on the mirror, spun on her heel and strode to the small bathroom to fix her ruined makeup and compose herself for the battle ahead of her.