Text Size Large SizeMedium SizeSmall Size    Color Scheme Black SchemeWhite SchemeGrey SchemePaper Scheme        

They'll Never Know

Summary:
Bella has been abused and raped by Phill for 7 years. Events lead her to move to Forks. Will she push everyone away or let them in? Will she overcome the darkness within? All-Human story. Rated Adult for Rape/Cutting/Alcohol Use/No Drugs.


Notes:
This will be a pretty intense story, rather dark with many serious issues, so you can't say I haven't warned you. That said, I do hope you like it :D Disclaimer: I own nothing, Stephenie Meyer does!


1. Chapter 1: Broken Beyond Repair

Rating 3.4/5   Word Count 1858   Review this Chapter

They'll Never Know

Chapter 1: Broken Beyond Repair

'Life's a bitch and then you die'; that was my life's philosophy. Life simply sucked! I didn't always have such a negative outlook on life, but certain events changed me and my view on everything. When I was younger, innocent, I used to think life was a gift. Thinking that now made me sick - life was anything but a gift; it was hell.

***

I lay in my bed - shaking under the covers, sweating bullets - as I watched my bedroom door slowly open, revealing a small ray of light from the hallway. This was no new experience, I knew exactly what was happening. But that didn't make it any less terrifying or sickening.

Every night I prayed he would just stay away and leave me alone - my prayers were never answered. No one had ever rescued me during these 7 agonizing years, and no one ever would. I knew that, but I still couldn't help but hope for some sort of salvation.

After several seconds - though it felt like a lifetime to me - the tall, dark haired, man standing in the doorway entered my room. Even in the dark I could see his mischievous smile, the grin in his eyes, the reddening of his skin as he eyed me from head to toe. He walked up to the bed and sat down at the end of it, pushing the blanket that lay above me away and began stroking my bare legs. I could've worn jeans or something, but that always pissed him off, so I just wore shorts now.

I hated him with all my heart, I did. I hated myself for not stopping him; but I didn't have much of a choice. Phill was my mother's husband, he had been for the past 7 years now. He often threatened her if I mentioned I was going to tell. He knew that was my weakness, he knew I would never do anything to hurt her. So I remained silent. Renée (my mom) knew nothing of this, and it was my mission to keep it that way. It was one thing if I was hurting; I couldn't let her hurt with me. She was happy with Phill, she had no idea what kind of monster he was. And I would keep it that way even if it killed me.

He said nothing as he groped my body - sometimes I could hear him lick his lips and smack them together, but that was all the sound that came from any of us. I was a statue, hard as stone. I didn't move a muscle; I remained perfectly still. I didn't fight either - fighting was useless and only brought on more pain than necessary. However, sometimes I couldn't control the movements my body made as it tried to fight back. When that happened, I was always covered in bruises when morning came.

Phill ripped of my white, tank top and pulled of my shorts and underwear - I focused entirely on keeping my mind blank; it was the best I could do to keep from screaming. When I heard him open his zipper and remove his pants, my body began reacting. I started trashing around, waving my arms and legs in the air, hitting whichever part of him I could. He began hitting me as punishment - I kept fighting back, but did not make a sound; I never made a sound.

Tears ran down my cheeks as he forcefully entered me, damaging me even more. Everytime I thought he couldn't damage me any more than he already had, and each time I was wrong. My legs lay flat on the bed again, unmoving, but my arms kept hitting at him while he kept hurting me. Finally, he was tired with the movements my arms made and pinned them down above my head.

My entire body ached, protesting against the violent movements of Phill on top and inside of me. He was always more barbaric when I fought back than when I didn't - part of me even thought he liked it that way. His movements inside my body were quick and harsh; he chuckled as I silently whimpered in pain. It were always silent whimpers, loud enough for Phill and me to hear, but silent enough so Renée couldn't possible hear them.

When he finished and put his pants back on, he stroked loose strains of hair out of my face and kissed me on the lips - I didn't respond to that, I was shattered, again, for the millionth time. He moved his lips to my ear and whispered, "Our little secret." He always said that, always made sure I knew what would happen if I even thought of telling someone. I didn't respond to that either, he knew I heard him and I would remain silent. This was indeed our secret; a heinous, repulsive, little secret - but a secret it was.

He left my room then, to go back to Renée's room an lay in her arms as if nothing ever happened - she wouldn't even notice his absence, she was a firm sleeper. Nor would she question my knew bruises in the morning; it was a well known fact that I was a big klutz, so she thought any bruises I had came from me falling down.

I got out of my bed and walked to my bathroom and stepped inside the shower, turning the hot and cold water on. I showered a lot, usually three times a day, sometimes even five or more. I could never shower enough, I felt so dirty, so disgusting all the time - not a thousand showers could change that feeling, but I could try.

The hot water soothes my tense, soar, muscles - relaxed me a little. I could already see the new bruises forming above and next to my old ones - which were already different shades of blue, purple, yellow and even green.

I tried not to think of what just happened, but despite my efforts, I did think about it. And I hated myself for being so weak, for leading him on to think he could get away with it. It was all my fault, I made him to this. My knees buckled in and I slumped to the floor, crying silent cries. Would this hell never stop? Would he continue this until I finally died, by his or my hand? No, I couldn't think of dying by my own hand - by his, yes, but not by mine. I couldn't do that to Renée or Charlie (my father, who lived in Forks). If death would come, it would come in the form of Phill. I would not hurt myself, I owed my parents too much.

***

School the next day was the same as ever - lonely, boring, terrifying. I always felt lonely, even around people, so that wasn't really such a big issue. School had not always seemed so boring, I only began to feel that way when the abuse started. But school had never been so terrifying as it was since Phill started hurting me.

I had no friends; Phill wouldn't allow it. I attended a big school here in Phoenix, my home. Half of the kids didn't notice me - the other half that did notice me thought I was a freak and picked on me every chance they got. Sometimes they would even beat me - that didn't happen often, but it did happen. I was terrified of people, of everyone; Phill had made sure of that.

I was sitting in my Math class, not paying any attention, when the door opened and a police officer stepped inside and walked over to the teacher's desk to talk to her. Mrs. Malloy, my teacher, listened for a second before her expression turned very dark - sadness written all over her face.

She stood up, scanned the class with her eyes, and when she found me, stared at me intently. "Bella, could you come outside with me, please?" She asked, her tone very sombre. I was beginning to feel anxious; had they learned about the abuse? Were they here to take me away from Renée? No, I couldn't let that happen; Phill would hurt her. "W-why?" I uttered, vaguely aware that the entire class was staring at me now. "Please just come," Mrs. Malloy said.

Reluctantly, I stood up and followed her and the police officer just outside the class. We stood there for a while in awkward silence; silence I wouldn't break if my life depended on it. But then again, my life didn't matter, it was Renée's that did. Hers depended on it, so even if they suspected some type of abuse, I would remain quiet. Finally, the police officer spoke.

"You are Isabella Dwyer?" He asked me, I sighed. First: I hated the name Isabella, my name was Bella. Only Phill called me Isabella, which only gave me more reason to hate it. Second: Dwyer was Phill's last name, and now my mother's too, but mine was and would always be Swan.

"Bella-Bella Swan," I clarified, the officer nodded.

"Ms. Swan, I am very sorry to tell you that earlier this morning Renée and Phill Dwyer got into a car accident. They died on impact."

I was frozen into place instantly; Renée was dead? How could that happen? I couldn't care less about Phill; if the news about my mother wasn't so horrible, I would've celebrated the news of his death. But all I could think of now was Renée.

"M-my m-mom is dead?" I asked, still unable to believe it. The words sounded foreign in my ears, though I said them, it felt like I had listened to someone say them. The officer nodded, grimly. Mrs. Malloy grabbed my hand and looked at me with sympathy. "Is there anyone we can call for you, sweetie?" She asked, I nodded. I still had one person left, though I was scared to go to him, scared he would hurt me now too, but I still had him left.

I realized I was crying and my body was shaking - I had lost my mother; she was my everything. She was the reason I was still alive. She was, along with Charlie, the only person I didn't hate. I didn't hate her for marrying Phill, I couldn't. And now she was gone; after everything I had endured to keep her safe, she was simply taken away from me in a stupid car accident. It felt unreal.

"You can call my dad, Charlie Swan. He's the chief of police in Forks, Washington," I said, my voice sounded dead, hollow - the same way I felt. If I had thought I was broken before, I had been wrong. This was the last straw - now I was really broken, beyond repair. And I knew it.

***

'Cuz all that you are
Is beautiful child
But they’ll never know
They’ll never know'

They'll Never Know by Ross Copperman