A/N- This chapter contains physical, emotional, and sexual abuse, as well as some slight self harm (not the traditional kind, but I still wanted to warn about it). Please consider this when deciding to read. If it could be too much for you, message me and I can give you the trigger-free (hopefully) rundown.
This chapter was once again Beta'd by Dollybigmomma, who helps to make sure my rambling is usually able to be understood, thank you.
It seems you guys are fine with me posting whenever I can, but I will still aim for once a week. I appreciate every bit of interaction I get from this story, so thank you very much! Now on with the story.
Bella
I was thirteen. I'd gone to a middle school dance. I wore my friend Brianna's dress, and she had given me lip gloss. The plan was to tell Phil and my mom that I was going to her house for a sleepover, and then just not mention the dance. Phil had hit me the day before, not a new occurrence, but new enough that he was in the kind phase, where he loosened the reins a bit more and let me do things that hadn't even been a question before. It had been a long time since he'd let me leave the house overnight. I hadn't dared to rebel for a while now, but something inside of me was begging to go, to break the rules and be around kids my age when we weren't just sitting in a classroom.
There was a type of thrill when it came to doing something I wasn't supposed to do. A thrill that had long since gone silent. Whether it was sneaking a snack from the pantry, staying up too late, or talking to boys in school when I knew Phil didn't like it. It was always something small, and always something I knew wouldn't get back to my mom and Phil, but there was a kind of satisfaction in it.
Charlie had called it my rebellious phase, back when I spent summers with him. Back then, the only rebelling I did was not wearing shoes outside, coming home a little late, or wrecking my clothes by spending all day outside with my friends, shouting and whooping with the joy only a child could feel. He never tried to curb it, instead letting me run wild all summer. He said it was healthy for a child to have that kind of spirit.
I guess he didn't know I would turn into this.
At the dance with a group of girls, we were shy, barely able to look at our crushes without blushing and looking away. Eventually, the guy I liked, Ted, came up to me and started talking. Before too long, we went back to hanging out with our separate friend groups.
It was coming down to the end of the night, and when Brianna and I were heading towards the parking lot to wait for her mom, Ted called me over. He pulled me aside and asked if I would be his girlfriend. Of course, at the time, having a boyfriend or girlfriend just meant holding hands in the halls, but it was exciting. Someone liked me, someone I liked, too.
But at that moment, there was the sound of a horn. I turned, but I couldn't make out the car, the headlights were too bright.
"Isabella?" Phil roared. I was in a spaghetti strap dress, a cool breeze keeping a steady supply of goosebumps across my shoulders and arms, but I could feel overwhelming heat building. How had he found me? They were expecting me the next morning, not tonight! Had something happened? Something with my mom?
I rushed away from Ted, his question going unanswered. Phil didn't want to make a scene, but when I got to him he quietly hissed at me, "You're a liar, Isabella. You will learn to not act however you want."
We followed Brianna's mom back to their house, where I collected my overnight bag and changed back into my baggy clothes. On the drive back to our house, Phil spoke too calmly, too cool. He said that Renee had been called in to a work emergency, and he decided to check up on me. When I wasn't at Brianna's house, he came after me.
When we arrived at the house, he told me to go up to my room and wait for him. I didn't say anything. I'd learned from my mom that talking back to Phil led to bad things.
I went to my room, closing the door quietly behind me.
He let me stew for a while. I could hear him in the living room. I expected him to be crashing around out there, but it was quiet. All I could hear was the sounds of a baseball game on the TV, which had been playing when we got hom.
What felt like an hour later, the TV turned off. Slow, daunting steps approached my room. Without knocking, Phil opened my door, closing it behind him much like I had done.
"Isabella, today you lied. You disobeyed me, and your mother. What do you have to say for yourself?"
I stared down at my hands in my lap, nervously wiping the forming sweat on my pants. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"
My head was snapped to the side before a stinging erupted in my cheek. He had slapped me.
"You're lying again, Isabella." I rubbed my cheek, tears forming in my eyes, and I said nothing.
"You were dressed like a whore, a fat whore. Did you do that on purpose? You wanted to look like a whore for that boy you were with?" I was afraid. He hadn't talked about me like this, not this explicitly, only ever about Renee. And he was drunk now. I could hear his words all mushed up in that slimy mouth of his.
"Take off your shirt, Isabella," he commanded, and my eyes went wide. "Oh, come on, don't get modest on me now. I know you liked how that boy looked at you." I froze, and he slapped me again. "NOW!"
My hands trembled, as I took off my shirt. My mom had me in training bras, but I felt entirely naked. I held my bunched-up shirt in front of myself nervously. I hated the locker room before gym class, when it was all girls, all my age, but now?
"Oh, you're embarrassed now? But not in front of that little boy you were with?" He lunged forward, his hand gripping my wrist and yanking my hand away, the shirt falling to the floor. He was squeezing my wrist so hard I thought it was going to snap. I said nothing and tried to keep the tears at bay, he always got satisfaction when mom cried, and I didn't want to give it to him now.
"Isabella, you're a teenager now, and apparently you think that means you can do whatever you want. You can't."
I shook my head. "No, Phil, I promise, I don't. I don't know what I was thinking." I felt desperate. I'd gotten talks like this from him before, but it was different now. Renee wasn't here. Normally, it was spread out between us, his vitriol. But now, it was all on me alone, no one else to distract him, or take away some of his attention.
"We've talked about this before, Isabella. You know that boys only want to get you alone for one reason. It seems you've forgotten, but I'll give you a reminder." He paused for a moment, and I stupidly dared to think he would be done with me. Of course, he wasn't.
"You know what he was thinking and what all the boys were thinking? They were thinking that they were about to get lucky. Because you see, Isabella, now that you're getting older, they're ready to do to you what they've been wanting to do this whole time. It's the only reason boys have ever wanted to be alone with you. Other girls are pretty, other girls are smart, other girls have something else to offer, but there's only one thing they'll ever want from you, Isabella. I haven't ever told you exactly what they wanted. I've hinted, and I've warned, but I think it's time for you to see…"
…
I woke up with a gasp, not fully comprehending what was going on. I was in my room, the one in Forks. My heart was pounding in my chest, like I had just been running a marathon.
Or running from a predator.
My sheets were damp with my perspiration, and when I caught a view of my hair in the mirror, I knew I had been thrashing. Those dreams always did that to me. Even with time and distance, my body had a pure panic reaction. I had panicked the first few times, but eventually, I had learned that only made it worse. Still, in my dreams, I reacted.
Phil had decided after that night that I needed to learn that one lesson again and again. Over the years, he had found excuses to go over it repeatedly. When a boy called the house, gave me a ride from school, or even had a conversation with me, Phil somehow always found out. He would always remind me that boys were only being nice because they wanted something. They were only tolerating me, so they could get in my pants. They were only tricking me, so they could hurt me and use me.
But there was another benefit to his lessons, he had told me, after that first time. Men especially wanted girls untouched. By sullying me, he was protecting me. I knew to keep men away, and the more he did it to me, the more they wouldn't want me.
Before too long, I would avoid boys and men like the plague. I wouldn't smile. I wouldn't be near one for too long, and never alone. When I was paired up in class, I would speak as little as possible, and only ever about the subject. Sometimes, Phil would give me another reminder, just to make sure I never forgot. But I never could. Knowing that that was what was behind all the passed notes in school, the crushes, the flirting. It nearly made me sick. I didn't know why other girls kept having crushes and smiling at boys, but if they were too stupid to protect themselves, I wouldn't make it my responsibility.
I wasn't naïve. I knew Phil wasn't giving me these lessons out of the goodness of his heart, I knew he was doing it for his own enjoyment as well. The message was received all the same: men did only want one thing, Phil included. If this was what he would do to me, what would a stranger do? He told me that strangers wouldn't be able to draw a line and stop themselves. That if they saw the real me, they would kill me, they wouldn't be able to help it. The only man in my life who hadn't hurt me yet was Charlie.
He was my dad, my real father, and I used to love and trust him completely. He had never done the things Phil had done, even when I was bad. Phil promised me, though, that it was only a matter of time.
I couldn't entirely tell myself it was a lie. I had also loved and trusted Phil at one point. He had been my dad once too.
…
After calming my racing heart by taking slow, deep breaths, I got up and went to the bathroom. I didn't turn on the light, instead letting the muted glow from the small window illuminate the room. I didn't want to see myself. Phil said with enough of his lessons, men would want me less, that they would be able to sense him on me. I felt like my body wasn't my own, that it was disgusting and used, and it belonged to Phil. With every mark on my body, he claimed me. With every finger he laid on me, he called me his. And though it felt like he owned me entirely, he said I was still at risk.
The memories of the night before were compounded with my thoughts, and I reflexively turned to the toilet to throw up the little food I had in my system. It was familiar by now, though it didn't make the violent spasms any easier. When I was done, and there was nothing left but stomach acid, I thought to myself wryly that Phil didn't need to remind me to stay as small as possible when he was affecting me the way he was from afar. It hadn't been safe to even appear sick in Phoenix, and the growing anticipation I was facing in Forks meant my stomach never quite settled.
I got back up shakily and stripped, keeping my eyes closed and my back to the mirror. As I stepped into the shower, I found the temperature warm, but not nearly warm enough. I turned it to nearly scalding and just stood under the water for a moment. As I felt the water rush over me, I imagined it burning off Phil's touch, setting fire to every part of me he had ever sullied, ever effected, leaving only fresh and clean skin in its wake.
It was a great thing to imagine, but I knew his touch had gone too deep. He'd been in my life for nearly a decade, he was too ingrained in me. I grabbed my loofa and quickly pumped soap onto it. I began scrubbing my body hard, trying to work my way through every layer that contained Phil, that had ever been touched by him.
I wished I could scrub to my core, to that part that made me wicked, the part that made me deserve it all. If only I could scrub it away, I could live like a normal girl, a girl who didn't have to live in fear of a man being near and taking his rage out on her. I could talk to my old friends; I would be good enough to be worthy of their friendship. If I didn't have that evil inside of me, I could be a good girl, and it would be real, I would really and truly be doing good.
I scrubbed my body until it was raw and red, and the water began to run cold. In my scrubbing mania, I couldn't tell how long I had been in the shower. I hadn't checked the clock when I woke up either, so there was no real way to measure my frenzy.
Turning off the water, I stayed in the shower a moment longer, trying to gather all the thoughts I had let run free. I grabbed my towel and wrapped it around myself quickly, trying to see as little of Phil's work as possible. In the briefest of flashes, all I saw was the fresh layer of skin, irritated and raw. Despite the tenderness of it, a small part of me felt satisfied. Even if it was only a layer or two of Phil gone, it was still gone. Even if it was only temporary, there was a fraction less of Phil on me. I didn't know how long the extra bit of Bella would last before being taken over by Charlie, or Phil again, or some other man, but for now, I felt some relief.
I didn't know if it would take away from the ruin Phil said would protect me, but I found it hard to care. I was conflicted. I wanted to be good, I wanted to avoid tempting or hurting anyone else, but I found it harder and harder to live how I had been living for the past few years.
When I got back to my room, I dressed quickly, occupying my mind with how to spend my Sunday. I wanted to spend it being good, or trying to be, anyway. Charlie was out of the house again, and I decided to use his absence to do laundry. I stripped my sheets and got Charlie's as well, taking them down to the washing machine, where I started the load.
Over the course of the day, I was able to get every bit of dirty laundry in the house washed, dried, folded, and put in its rightful place. I searched for more to do, more good to be done, but I had already spent the day before cleaning.
My homework had already been finished, but I found myself going over it repeatedly, making sure I had made no mistakes. I studied the information nearly religiously, trying to ensure not a single letter would be forgotten.
Good girl echoed through my mind, both disgusting and reassuring me. At the very least, in this house, I could be good. I could serve my purpose, and I could avoid tempting anyone else. Anyone besides Charlie, anyway. I still couldn't entirely figure him out.
He had yet to yell at me, beat me, or even get angry at me. He hadn't laid a single finger on me, outside of hugs, let alone taught me any lessons. He pretty much left me alone, and after years of Phil, it was such a relief. Though, it would be better if I didn't constantly worry about it all changing, but beggars couldn't be choosers.
There was a small chime from my phone, and if I had been in front of a mirror, I knew I would have seen myself go green. Picking up my phone with a slow, controlled breath, I felt only a split second of relief when I saw it wasn't Phil or Renee or Charlie. Instead, it was Angela.
She was asking me about an assignment I had finished and gone over a dozen times. If Phil was checking my texts, it was innocent enough to not upset him. He had long since decided that me being entirely unattached was too suspicious, so he had allowed me to have acquaintances only, though I found myself altogether unsatisfied with that.
I texted her back, giving her a brief explanation on the part of the English paper she was confused about. I went back to the book I had been trying to occupy myself with, but she responded quickly, thanking me and trying to continue the conversation.
There was a moment when I let myself mourn the friendship I would never get to have, craving the connection that normal girls got. In school, I could get away with more, but for now, when I was trying to be good, I ended the conversation, saying something about how I had a bunch of homework to get done.
After I sent off the text message, I set my phone down, promising myself that if she responded again, I wouldn't reply. I would be good, and part of being good was keeping my wickedness from spreading. While I flipped through the book, there was the smallest part of my mind that wondered: Was the price too high to pay, to be this good girl?
