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A Broken Past

What if Bella left Phoenix for a different reason? What if it wasn't because she wanted her mom to be happy? What if she was running away from something...or someone? What if Bella left her mom to be rid of Phil?

No one ever really goes in depth about Phil. He's just there a few times - you never really even get a gist of what he looks like! In this story, I'll probably jump around a bit, just to different parts of Twilight, New Moon, Eclipse, or Breaking Dawn that might have concerned Phil.

1. Chapter 1

Rating 4.5/5   Word Count 1365   Review this Chapter

“I can’t live like this anymore, Mom,” I said for the last of a thousand times.

“Please, Bella? Just give him one more chance. He doesn’t mean it,” she begged, tears forming in her eyes.

“I’m not gonna sit here and let him push us around, Mom. I don’t care if you do, but I won’t.”

She stared at me with a shocked expression, betrayal in her eyes.

“How can you say that?”

“I’m not going to let him ruin my life anymore. I know you can’t leave him, but you won’t let me help you. I’ve tried to help you Mom, but you just have to do it on your own.”

She said nothing, just stared at me in awe.

“Bella, don’t do this,” she begged.

“I’m leaving, Mom. I’m going to live with Charlie, and try to have a normal life again.” I turned and approached the plane.

Holding onto the railing, I placed my foot on the first step, knowing it would be the first step taken to get away from him. I turned one last time to my mother.

“If he ever hurts you, I want you to tell me. Alright? I love you, Mom.”

“I love you, too, baby,” she mouthed, tears streaming down her cheeks.

With a heavy heart, I boarded the plane and watched out the window as my mother grew smaller and smaller as the plane went higher and higher up in the air.


Charlie pulled me into a tight hug as I stumbled my way off the plane. I winced as he pressed on a sore spot by mistake, but tried not to show it. He pulled back to look me up and down with a wary expression.

“It’s good to see you, Bells,” she said, pulling me to him once more.

“I missed you, too, Dad,” I whispered, blinking away the tears. It had been two years since I’d seen my dad – much too long.

“How’s your mom?” He asked, grabbing my suitcases – he refused to let me take one – and leading me to the car.

“She’s fine.”

We sat in the car for the hour long ride home, immersed in awkward silence. Charlie glanced over at me periodically with an anxious gaze, his eyes focused on a bruise on my cheekbone.

“So I found a car for you,” he started conversationally.

“Really?” I asked in a raspy whisper, with the first trace of excitement I’d felt in ages.

“Sure did,” he said with a smile, nodding once. “Remember Billy Black from La Push?”

“Not really,” I said truthfully.

“Well, he’s in a wheelchair now, and he can’t drive it anyways, so he offered to sell it to me.”

“How much?”

“Well…I sort of already bought it for you.” He turned his head to smile sheepishly at me. His eyes centered on the bruise again, then he glanced back at the road.

“That’s…that’s…you didn’t have to, Dad,” I whispered, at a loss for words.

“Of course I did,” he glanced at me again, “I’m your dad. I’m supposed to do things for you.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

We pulled into the drive beside a strange truck. I’d never seen it before, and so I took it to be my new car. It was a faded red color, with a big bulbous fender. It looked like it might be 1950’s, early 1960’s – a Chevy.

“Wow!” I exclaimed. “It’s great! I love it, Dad.”

“It’s no problem, really, Bells.”


That night, after unpacking and settling into my room, I stood in the bathroom, drying my hair and getting ready for bed. I stood before the mirror, surveying my arms. I had two bruises on my shoulders – easy enough to hide. I turned around to get a good look at my back, and saw the large patch of blue and purple that still hurt when I put pressure on it. That would be easy to hide, too.

After dressing in my old, ripped up sweats, I brushed my teeth in the small bathroom sink. I was just about to spit into the sink when there came a soft, timid knock at the door.

“Hold on!” I mumbled around the toothpaste that filled my mouth. I spit in the sink, then filled a cup with water and rinsed. “Come in,” I called.

Charlie opened up the door and stepped in, looking awkwardly at his feet.

“What’s up, Dad?” I asked in an offhand tone.

He fiddled with his thumbs and looked at the tiles on the floor. “You know I love you, Bells,” he said shyly.

“Of course I do. What is it?”

“Well…it’s just…” he glanced up, focusing on the bruise on my cheek, then back at his hands.

“Spit it out, Dad,” I said with a laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

He looked back up, locking his eyes on mine. They were the exact same brown, something I had inherited from him, and he had inherited from his mother, and she from her father.

“I worry about you, Bella. And I want to know,” his gaze flickered to my cheek, and then back to my eyes again, “did someone hurt you? Did Renee…Phil?”

I froze. What was I supposed to say? What would happen if I told him the truth?

“No, Dad,” I heard myself say. “I fell – you know how it is.” I smiled sheepishly at him. He grinned back, relieved.

“It’s just a weird place, you know. How did you fall?”

Oh great, I thought. Now I have to come up with a story?

I waved my hand, as if to brush away the whole matter entirely. “Oh, you know how it is,” I repeated from lack of anything better to say, “after a while, I can’t remember where I get half my bruises.” I laughed lightly to reassure him. He didn’t seem reassured though, and, begrudgingly, turned and left. I finished up in the bathroom, and then went back to my room to pick out my clothes and go to bed.

I didn’t feel out of place in my father’s house, as I usually had. I felt safe. Secure. I knew that he wouldn’t hurt me, that I could trust him. Knowing that, I fell into a peaceful sleep, not caring that the rain was louder than I was used to.


When I woke up the next morning, I felt different. Happier, calmer. I knew that, when I went downstairs, I would be allowed to eat breakfast. That I wouldn’t be beaten for trying.

I dressed quickly, and then took the stairs two at a time. I realized I was starving – I couldn’t remember when I had eaten last. I didn’t get dinner the night before, or lunch…or breakfast for that matter.

“Good morning,” Charlie said warmly when I entered the kitchen.

“Morning, Dad,” I said, stretching up to kiss him on the cheek before I raided his fridge.

“I can make some bacon and eggs if you want me to,” he offered, a curious tone in his voice. I looked up momentarily, shaking my head.

“No thanks. I don’t want you to be late for work.”

“Oh, right,” he said, as if he had forgotten about it. “I guess I should get going then.”

I pulled out the milk and reached into the cabinet for some cereal. All he had were frosted flakes and cheerios – but I wasn’t feeling picky.

“Have a good first day of school,” he said, pausing in the doorway.

“I’ll try,” I joked. “Have fun at work.”

“Yeah, right,” he mumbled sarcastically. I waved at him through the window as he drove off, and then turned to eat my cereal.

I left for school in a hurry, not wanting to be late on my first day.