Just to clarify, most of last chapter was a flashback. I already have some reviews, and I'm surprised anybody has already seen my 'fic, since I uploaded the first chapter just a few hours ago. But that is also why I am uploading the second chapter so quickly! Toodles!

Disclaimer: Who thinks we should go beat Damien up for intruding in the world of Twilight(which, sadly enough, I do not own)?!

I didn't know if it would ever end. Whenever someone asked where I was, he would say I was sick or too shy to come out of the house. The last time I had been outside was on my birthday, two weeks after I had come here, September 13th.

He had let me sit in the yard for half an hour, before my attempt to run away when I had thought he wasn't watching. Ever since my failed attempt, he locked the doors whenever he left.

I got up and opened my bedroom door, poking my head out to make sure he hadn't come home while I wasn't paying attention. Seeing the coast was clear, I walked through the living room to get to the kitchen, where I opened the refrigerator. There was barely anything in there, since he was almost never home. Beer, an orange, some sliced cheese, lunch meat.

I picked the orange, opting for a healthier choice than american cheese and sliced ham, and a more legal choice than beer. I peeled the orange, and began eating. Just for the heck of it, I walked over to the door and tried the knob.

But the knob turned. My eyes widened in shock, and I closed the door and reopened it to make sure I wasn't hallucinating. It opened again. I stepped forward, out of the house and into the light. There were people. There were cars driving by, and kids playing on swings in their yards.

I ran back inside, eager for my chance to escape. I found a duffel bag, dumping the contents of it onto the floor, and ran around my room, gathering my few belongings. A few changes of clothes, my collection of paper clips(which Damien would throw on the floor around the house whenever he had one holding a pile of paperwork together), and my locket.

I packed the clothes because I didn't know where I was going, and how long it would be until I got to a police department, or a woman's shelter, or just somewhere I could spend the night. I took the paper clips because it was the only memory I had of this place that wasn't tainted with bad emotions, and I had made a habit of keeping something from every home I had lived in to remind me of it, good or bad. And in the locket were pictures of me and my mom and dad.

I slung the bag over my shoulder and looked out the window. The sun was setting, turning the sky multiple shades of red and pink. It was a Tuesday, so Damien would be home in 30 minutes or less. He didn't get very drunk in the middle of the week, since he had work the next day. He never worked on the weekends. Lucky me.

I pulled away from the window and did a last sweep of the house, looking for anything that would hint I had left before he actually went to my room. I found nothing, so I went to stand in front of the door.

I was finally going to be free. Away from this horrid place, away from the abuse and the constant torrid smell of nicotine. I suddenly felt energized.

I ran across the lawn, skipping and laughing. People were staring at me, but I didn't care. I suppose it was because I was some strange person no one had ever seen before, running out of Damien Chace's house. I might have cared if they could see my bruises, but I was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and jeans, and my face was mostly fine. The only thing on my face was a small scar above my eyebrow, which he gifted to me a few days ago. It would disappear eventually.

I slowed down after a few minutes, and stopped to think. Where could I go? I knew what he had done to me was highly illegal, and the police would be the best idea, but I didn't know if they would find him. He had a way of disappearing. But would a woman's shelter take me in? Everyone knew who I was around here, even if they hadn't seen me. And they would know it was me because of the unfamiliar face. So I couldn't go to the shelter. And even if they couldn't find Damien, what was the worst that could happen?

I started walking again, faster and with purpose this time, towards town. I passed a few signs, which meant I was getting closer. Once I started going past small stores, I started to jog. Damien would be almost home now, and once he found that I wasn't there he would be in a rage.

I stopped in front of the police station. Looking at the tall building, I wondered if I could convince them how horrible Damien really was without showing them the full extent of my scars and bruises. Deciding that I might as well get it over with, I started up the steps. Before I reached the door, though, I passed a mirror set into the outside of the building, and stopped to look at myself.

I was deathly pale, and skinnier than I thought was normal for a sixteen year old girl. I had large bags underneath my brown eyes, and my hair was messy, having not been brushed for weeks. He hadn't provided me with much other than clothes, a bathroom, and sometimes food.

I pushed open the door to the building, and a police officer looked up at me from behind a desk, presumably doing paperwork. He smiled politely and said, "Can I help you?"

"Yes," I replied hoarsely, before clearing my throat and saying again, "Yes. I need help."

"With what? Do you need directions somewhere?"

"No, I-I need to report something about Damien Chace."

His expression turned troubled. "What has he done?"

"I am-was-his foster child, and he...he was abusive."

The officer's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. "Are you sure? Mr. Chace has always been a model citizen..."

I sighed. This wouldn't be as easy as I had hoped. I took a few steps toward him, dropping my bag on the ground. I slowly pulled up the sleeve of my shirt, exposing the bruises he had made last night but not far enough to show the burns.

His mouth fell open in surprise, before the lines around his eyes tightened, and he took out a cell phone. He dialed, and put the phone up to his ear. Someone said hello on the other end.

"I need you to come down to the station. We have a problem." he said, with a grim set to his face.

I heard the warble of someone speaking, and the officer closed his phone.

He turned back to me and held his hand out. "I'm Greg, by the way."

I tugged my sleeve back down over my arm and shook his hand. "Bella."