Thank you so much for the reviews! The next few chapters might be slightly repetitive and will be mostly the retelling of events, but these two have eight years to get off their chests before they can move on.

WARNING: This chapter does contain a detailed recollection of abuse, both physical and sexual. It's not overly graphic, but it's still disturbing.

A million thanks to my fabulous beta MelissaMargaret for making this pretty.

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or these characters.

Song for Chapter: Only Hope by Mandy Moore

So I lay my head back down

And I lift my hands and pray

To be only yours

I pray to be only yours

I know now you're my only hope

Esme POV

When I could form a coherent thought again, I wasn't sure where I was. I was desperately trying to solve the mystery, but I just couldn't. I didn't worry about it too much since the overwhelming feeling I had was safety. Where ever I was, I felt safe and that was enough for the moment.

My thought process constantly tried to go back to the past, so I let it.

I went back to that fateful August day. The day that would be the catalyst for the rest of my future. The day my life was turned upside down. The day my heart was ripped out.

I stood outside and watched the love of my life drive away. At the time, I was sad, yes. But if I had known what was to come, I would have never let him leave. As soon as he was out of sight, my parents chose to announce to me that we were moving back to Ohio. So I did what any mature, responsible, sixteen year old would do - I threw a fit. To any passerby, I most definitely resembled a two-year-old, just shy of pounding my fists on the ground. I demanded that they tell me why we were doing this and to let me call Carlisle. They flat out refused, telling me to hurry up and pack...Oh yeah, and they had already disconnected the phone line.

I was livid.

But what could I do?

I was a minor, only had my driver's license for a little over a week. I wanted to rush over to Carlisle's aunt and uncle's house and chain myself to the front porch, but I didn't. I wanted sneak out and find a random stranger who would let me borrow their cell phone, but I didn't. I wanted to lay on the floor and die, but I didn't. All I could do was hope and pray that my parents would see the error of their ways and allow me to contact Carlisle after we moved.

Those prayers went unanswered. I was miserable. I knew Carlisle probably thought I ran away from him, that my feelings weren't real, that I was just another flaky teenage girl. None of those were true. I loved him enough to get through each day. I knew he would want me to. Luckily, my high school was quite large, which allowed me to take many design and architecture classes. I worked hard the last two years of high school, needing something to put my energy into. My distraction paid off by earning me a scholarship to the local college.

It was a miracle that my parents allowed me to attend, but I didn't question it. I did, however, wonder when they would take away something else I loved.

My sister met a man who worked with my father and got married. I didn't think it was fair that she was allowed the man she wanted, but I wasn't. In the words of my mother, "Life isn't fair, you petulant child."

I began to wonder what made my parents such hard people. My childhood was much happier than my adolescence, and I didn't know where it had gone wrong. I started snooping in my free time to try to shed some light on their very secretive life. It didn't take long for me to find some incriminating evidence. I didn't understand what it meant exactly, but I learned that my father was mixed up in some shady activity. It connected all of the dots - the secrecy, the moving, the no contact. I couldn't wait until college graduation. That was when I would finally get a job and be out on my own, away from my possibly criminal parents.

They, of course, had other plans for my future. Immediately after my college graduation, Magna Cum Laude, I was basically betrothed to a man I barely knew. He worked with my father and was six years older than me. My parents were obviously hypocrites, and I knew they needed to buy this man off for some reason.

Charles Evenson wasn't a terrible man. At least not in the beginning. During our "engagement" or "courtship" or whatever you want to call it, he would bring me flowers or other little tokens of supposed affection. The flowers were always generic - a dozen roses, or something clichéd like that. I knew no real thought was behind it. Red roses meant true love, but he didn't know that, so it wasn't real. I remembered a time when Carlisle brought me flowers. He brought a homemade bouquet of lavender roses, orchids, and purple lilacs. He explained to me what they each meant- love at first sight, refined beauty, and first emotion of love. Carlisle used the flowers to demonstrate how he felt about me. Charles used flowers to try and buy my love.

I cried all night before the wedding. It wasn't the ceremony I was worried about. I could fake enthusiasm and seem happy about. I had already convinced myself that I would have to. There was no way to get around this wedding.

I was mostly worried about the wedding night. I was saving myself for Carlisle. This man was not Carlisle. He was far from being one iota the man that Carlisle was. This man, if you could even call him that, fantasized about doing awful things to me - things I couldn't even imagine. I knew because he told me so on one of our "dates." So I cried. I cried for my losses, which, in essence, was everything. I had lost the love of my life, my independence, my dignity.

The only thing that hadn't been stolen from me was my Jesus. But frankly, I was a little mad at Him for letting all of this happen in the first place. In the early morning, after much prayer and tears, I eventually conceded that this was what God had planned for my life. Somehow, He was going to be glorified through this and I was just going to have to sit back and watch.

The "ceremony" was very simple - a trip to the county courthouse. I wore a dress my mother probably bought at a thrift store. I cried straight through my vows. Onlookers probably thought they were tears of joy, but I knew they were tears of grief. I was signing a contract with the devil, having no clue how everything was going to turn out in the end. We had sheet cake at my parent's house, and Charles wasted no time in rushing me into his grimy car to drive me to my new home.

The hell hole he lived in was only fitting since he was the devil. He grabbed my arm and pulled me up the stairs, ordering me to strip in front of him. I immediately froze. He noticed my panic and slapped me to "wake me up." I began doing as he requested while silent tears fell from my eyes.

I had always imagined my wedding night as being perfect. I had it planned out almost to the minute. Carlisle and I would check into a hotel and go up to our room. We would lie on the bed for a while, just to be close to each other. We would profess our love over and over with soft kisses and caresses. We would then make our way into the bathroom which had a Jacuzzi tub. After undressing in front of each other for the first time, we would climb into the tub. He would settle me against his chest and rub my shoulders to help me relax. Once I was fully relaxed, he would life me out of the tub, carefully dry both of us off and carry me bridal style into the bedroom. He would lay me on the bed and stretch out beside me. We would turn toward each other and use our hands to explore each other's body, quickly learning exactly what the other liked. He would pleasure me with his hand, making sure that my body was ready for him. After a few minutes, he would carefully hold himself above me, propped up on his elbow, slowly entering me. He would look down at me apologetically, knowing what was to come, but I would look up at him with a smile and tell him that I loved him. Once he pierced the final barrier of my innocence, he would wait, sweetly kissing the lines of pain away from my forehead, before beginning to move again. We would work together, finally finding our climaxes, before drifting to sleep in each other's arms, only to wake up a few hours later.

That was my plan for a perfect wedding night. Making love with my other half, the man of my dreams.

What I was experiencing was nowhere close to that fairly tale. After I was completely naked in front of Charles, he walked around me in a slow, predatory circle, licking his lips. I shuddered involuntarily as the tears continued to fall. He eventually forced me down on my knees and ordered me to pleasure him with my mouth. I had no clue what I was doing, and I was thoroughly disgusted. I gagged on his demon seed which made him slap me again.

He grabbed me off the ground by my arm and shoved me toward the bed. The sheets were vile looking, but I had no choice but to climb into bed. I tried to get under the sheet, but he quickly ripped it off the bed, shaking his head at me. Terror set in as he climbed into the bed on top of me. I could feel his erection pressing into my thigh, but somehow the devil knew I wasn't ready for him. He began grabbing my breasts roughly, his own version of foreplay, I'm assuming. He tried that for a few minutes with me still crying. He finally just shrugged his shoulders and thrust into me. I screamed out but he quickly put his hand over my mouth effectively silencing me, before he began his assault on my body. I had never felt pain like that before. It was horrendous and I was wishing for death.

This was not Carlisle being gentle. This was not him kissing away my pain. This was not two lovers coming together. This was nothing but a man being a parasite, using another body to get what he wanted. He eventually climaxed inside of me before pulling out of me and walking out of the room. I lay still in bed, traumatized and in excruciating pain. There was blood and semen smeared on my thighs, but I couldn't move to get up and wash it off.

I prayed, no, begged God to please have mercy on me. I wanted to get away, far away, but I couldn't move. I knew when Charles returned, he was going to have his way with me again, no matter how sore I was.

Unfortunately, I was right.

My life became hell, which was very fitting. I was only allowed out of the house for grocery shopping. Charles assured me that women only had a place in the house, specifically in the kitchen. I was okay with that for a while. I loved to cook, but he could find fault in anything I made. Burnt, too much salt, not enough salt…his excuses went on and on. I knew he was just looking for a reason to beat me, which he did, repeatedly and often. He carefully avoided my face so no one would notice, not that anyone did anyway.

I thought I had finally found a way out when we went to my parent's house for dinner. I was mistaken. My parents didn't look happy to see me; in fact, they looked indifferent. I wasted no time in pulling my mother aside and tearfully confessing every injustice that was committed against my body. She shrugged her shoulders, told me to lighten up, and be a better wife.

Her words cut a new wound in me. I now understood that I was alone in the world. No one could save me from Charles. I would have to endure his torture until I died, not that it would take long for that to happen.

The abuse continued and was only made worse by Charles' alcohol consumption. The nights he would come home drunk were always bad. Some nights he would fall asleep while still on top of me. Those were the nights I knew I would suffocate to death and welcome it.

Charles used no form of contraception, and I had no access to any. I knew it was only a matter of time before I became pregnant.

I was once again correct in my assumptions. I spent my days while Charles was at work planning my break. There was no way I could bring a baby into that world while I was living there.

I carefully studied his habits, noticing when he went to work, what days he stayed out late drinking, and as many other things as I could pick up on.

Lucky for me, he was a creature of habit. So one day while he was at work, I made me break and ran down to the bus stop. I took the bus into town and asked around until I found a free clinic. My first instinct should have been to go to the police and tell them about my situation, but I had no clue how many police officers Charles had in his pocket.

My instincts had changed, however. My new first instinct was to protect this life inside of me at all costs.

The clinic confirmed that I was pregnant and so far the baby was healthy. They gave me some prenatal vitamins and I ran back to the bus stop as fast as I could. I made it home with enough time to hide my vitamins before cooking dinner.

The following weeks, I carefully shielded my stomach from Charles, both from the beatings and from his eyes. He didn't ever see much, anyway. After that first night, he always had the light off when he used me.

I carefully stole small amounts of money from the cash he gave me to go grocery shopping. I also managed to set up a secret bank account under a false name. I still wasn't sure how I got away with that, but I didn't question it.

Once I had a couple hundred dollars, I made my escape. I only packed necessities and left once Charles was completely inebriated.

I took the bus all the way to Seattle. I felt at home once I was back to the last place I had been happy. Seattle was where the better memories started in my mind.

For some reason my mind flashed forward through all the good memories. Emmett's birth was one of the happiest days of my life, but the memories just skimmed the surface all the way up until the night that left me in this state, whatever it was.

I wasn't sure if I was alive or dead, but I was leaning toward alive since I could now feel pain. This was no heaven, but it wasn't painful enough to be hell. I went back to trying to figure out where I was. I tried dissecting every feeling I was having. As my brain started functioning again, I began feeling pressure on my side. It was painful, but not enough to make my body react. I also began hearing voices. They were fuzzy, almost as if I was underwater. The more time I spent concentrating, the clearer it became. There was just one voice in the background, and it was the most beautiful voice I could ever imagine. I wanted to just lie there and let him speak to me. Eight years was too long to not hear that voice. I still wasn't sure if this was real or not, so I once again did the only thing I could think of. I prayed. I asked God to please let this be real. Please let this really be happening. Please let me see my angel again.

His voice got clearer and clearer and I could sense the slight panic in it. He was pleading with me, just as I had been pleading with God.

"Please, Esme. Please open your eyes. "Wake up for me."

I decided to quit pleading with God and just see for myself if this was real. I opened my eyes slowly and was met with the most glorious sight. Looking right back at me was a pair of gray eyes. Not just any gray eyes. My sparkling gray eyes. I immediately breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank You, Jesus."