Twilight: Betrayal

Chapter 1

I jolt awake from yet another nightmare. My hair is plastered to my forehead and cheeks by sweat in a thick and dark mass of tangles. My body shook violently as I clutched my purple bead sheet to my chest. I've been a mess ever since...he left. The hole in my chest ached every night for hours before the agony of it would send me falling into a deep sleep filled with nightmares of my past. The pain was incredible. 

When he disappeared from my life, he took everything with him. I was lost. I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep, and when I did manage I dreamt of him. Id wake up screaming and thrashing about in bed until Charlie came to check in on me. He'd shake me awake and hold me like a child as I cried myself back to sleep. But he's stopped doing that. 

Charlie refused to aknowledge that they'd ever even existed, and he silently made it known to me that he wasn't going to bring them up or have any conversation with me about the Cullens anytime soon or in the future.  I've always been the girl who would suffer in silence, but it would have been nice to know that someone wanted to listen if I ever needed it. 

Five months after they'd left, I started to become more irritable toward Charlie. I knew it wasn't his fault that they'd abandoned me, but for some irrational reason, I took my anger at the Cullens out on him.

I knew it was right of me. We'd fight a lot; usually to the point of screaming matches. His face would turn an angry shade of red and the blue veins on his forehead would bulge. I felt guilty as hell after every one of our clashes, but the pain of my first heartbreak ate away at me. 

In my defense, Charlie had instigated many of the conflicts. After I became nearly comatose with depression, he began to establish more housework for me. He practically demanded I take on roll of 'housewife', as if I weren't doing enough as it was.

Maybe he only wanted me out of my room for some fresh air, or maybe he was just tired of my moping around all day. Either way, we've both been spiraling out of control, slowly coming to our breaking points. 

It was a Monday and I had just gotten home from school, longing to brood in my room. Unfortunately, Charlie started into me about the dishes that hadn't been washed. I leaned around him and peered into the kitchen to see three bowls and a fork piled next to the sink. I shrugged, vowing to get to it later, and began to walk away.

I had only taken three steps before he grabbed my upper arm with bone crushing force and spun me around. Before I could speak a word, the back of his hand collided with the side of my face so hard it sent my reeling.

I fell to the ground and looked up at him, mouth gaping. He had gone too far and he wasn't finished. His face was turning purple with anger. He reached for me and I tried to squirm away but his hand twisted in my hair.

I began to scream but it was cut short when he lifted his heavy boot and kicked me in the face, just below my eye. Pain exploded in my skull. He bellowed laughter, leaning over and clutching his sides at the dazed look on my face after the impact. I felt that my eye was begging to swell and I had no doubt in my mind that it was going to leave one big ugly bruise. I could do nothing more than lay there in shock.

Id never been hit before. Never by Charlie.

He still had a fistful of my auburn hair as he dragged me easily into the kitchen. My scalp was burning in protest. I gripped onto his hand hoping to lessen the sting. I hadn't blinked, hadn't moved in fear that it would incite him. He thrust my head away from him, causing me to fall to my side on the cold tiled floor.

"I've let you get away with this 'mourning' stuff for too long." He raised his hands to quote the word and sneered. "Hell, I let you get away with too much, period. You are going to start respecting me in my own damn house, got it?" His eyes bore into me intensely. I nodded grimly, wanting to avoid another strike.

He nodded back in approval. "Good. Now give me your phone."

I shook my head, hair falling into my face. "I don't have it, its in my room." My voice wavered. I found it difficult to mask my fear from Charlie. I was stunned. How could he look at his own daughter with so much hatred? What have I done to him?

He got down onto one knee and brushed the matted hair out of my pale face. I winced as his thumb passed over my injured cheek. I stared into his eyes, looking for any hint of regret but they held no emotion. Leaning forward on the tips of his thick boots, he whispered in a menacing tone, "Go get it." He spoke slowly. His breath washed over my face and I tensed.

The acrid smell of alcohol filled my nostrils. Moisture had accumulated in the corners of his thin pink lips. His chin was covered in a light coat of dark stubble and his brown eyes were blood shot.

I got up carefully and made my way upstairs, trying not to run. I rushed when I was out of eyesight. Once in my room, I fell onto my bed, reaching for my phone on the nightstand.

I made to call someone but...who? The police? My mom? They would force me to leave Forks. I couldn't find it in me to dial the number that would take me away from here. I needed to stay. Just in case..

I knew what Edward would say. He'd tell me not to compromise my own safety for the chance that one day he might return, key word being might. It would take me a couple of hours to see that in the moment, I'd made a huge mistake, one that I wasn't sure I'd be able to correct.

I sat at the edge of my bed frozen in panic. I knew I had already made my decision. The ice in my chest felt heavy. I would obey Charlie and I would avoid being hit again. Besides, I thought. He's just drunk. He'll sober up and apologize to me tomorrow when he realizes what he's done. Or so I hoped.

I let loose a defeated sigh and made my way downstairs, stopping as I caught sight of my eye in the hallway mirror. I gasped. A swollen angry lump had formed above my cheekbone. I could already see a bruise spreading up my cheek and circling my eye socket. I prodded my injury gently, tears stinging my eyes.

I bit back the urge to cry, I couldn't show him weakness.

I continued downstairs, every inch of my body trembling with anxiety. I held my head high and put up my best poker-face. I found Charlie leaning against the counter, a beer in one hand and the other outstretched, waiting for my cellphone. I resentfully obliged, placing it on his wide palm, careful not to touch his skin.

He shoved the device into his back jean pocket and gave me a toothy grin. Suddenly it seemed that everything was back to normal. Granted, he was a bit more intoxicated than usual, but his demeanor shifted back to old predictable Charlie. Not the monster who gave me a black eye and a splitting headache.

I was confused on so many levels. "Now, be gettin' to those dishes. You've got dinner to make." And with that, he ambled out of the kitchen. It wasn't long until I heard the TV blaring some sports channel.

I ran a hand through my hair and gritted my teeth. I'd just gotten the worst headache of my life and a bruise the size of a softball on my face, and all for what? Four dirty dishes?

After I finished the dishes, I trudged upstairs and locked myself in the bathroom. I searched around in the medicine cabinet for a bottle of ibuprofen and dry swallowed 4 of them.

I would later come to regret my decision not to leave Forks, but how was I supposed to know it would actually kill me?