Stephanie´s Point of View:

The tears are still streaming down my cheeks as I listen to the ringing tone. I really need him to answer the phone. My hands are shaking so badly that I almost drop the phone a few times while waiting for him to answer. I can feel the panic rising a little further as I wait.

His voicemail. Damn it!

I end the call without leaving a message. I've already left a few voicemails. Just seeing the missed calls will make him uneasy, nervous and concerned – I don't need him to panic further.

I look around my apartment with no certain focus or concentration. I have a bag already packed and ready at the front door, along with Rex's cage and a bag of food for him. I'm not quite sure where I'm going to leave Rex this time. I can't take him with me but I also can't go passed my parents' house, because my mother will be on my case about the bruises and cuts. I have tried to cover up as much as I can, but they are still very noticeable and painful. Out of pure instinct, I lift my head and catch my reflection in the hallway mirror - the mere sight of my face and neck make my legs weak and I drop to the floor with a new release of tears and sobs. It is all my fault. Why didn't I just say 'yes'? Why did I have to answer back?

I push myself into the corner of the room, trying to manoeuvre myself until I'm under Rex's table. The darkness of my hiding spot makes me feel a little more comfortable, but my hands and legs are still shaking uncontrollable. I pull my knees up and under my chin, wrap my arms around my legs, and sink my head into my knees. My body screams out in pain, but it is no worse than what I've felt for the past 5 months. I can't relax, even though the logical side of my brain tells me that I'm alone and safe in my apartment. Every minute or so, I subconsciously lift my head and quickly scan my apartment, not really focusing on anything particular. Just looking for a sign of him. For a sign that he may be here or somewhere close by.

I think about phoning him again. But what if he is busy? What if I'm bothering him? What if he doesn't want to talk to me? Maybe he doesn't mean what he says – maybe he is just being polite and kind with his offers of support.

After a few minutes of hyper vigilant scanning and thinking, I place my head back between my legs, and close my eyes. This time exhaustion takes over and I don't raise my head to look around again. Against my will and out of my control, I fall asleep. Arms wrapped around my knees tight waiting for my returned phone call.

I am sitting on the floor of my apartment. Before I open my eyes, I can feel his presence around me. My breath catches in my throat and my stomach knots into a ball of hot lava. I open my eyes slightly, making sure that my face is looking downwards, so if he is standing, he won't see my eyes open at first. Through the small slits, I can see the shadow of him looming over me. Against all my will, my body tenses. From the shadow on the floor, I can see that he has a long, thin object in his right hand. I know that object – I know how it feels when it hits my body. The numbness, then the burn, followed by a throbbing pain. Automatically my body tenses and fear courses through me, knowing what will come next. I see him step forward, putting his full weight onto his right foot, making sure I really feel all his strength in the hit. Within seconds, I feel the shooting pain and the searing heat of the hit from his belt. Bile rises in my stomach and I raise my hand to my mouth. I swallow back the vomit. If I don't, he will just make me clean it up, while yelling and kicking me for making the mess to start with.

But regardless, the yelling starts a second later.

"Look at me when I talk to you, you piece of shit!" He screams, anger pouring out of him through his actions, aura and words.

I raise my head and obediently stare into his red-rimmed, drunken eyes, wondering how he had managed to turn into this person. Those once beautiful green eyes that I fell in love with, have changed to a dark gunmetal gray full of anger, rage and regret.

Grabbing the front of my t-shirt, he pulls me to my feet, keeping his face just inches away from mine: "When I tell you to answer the fucking phone, you answer it! Don't just sit there pretending to sleep! Now answer it." I hadn't even heard the phone ringing until he just mentioned it.

In one quick movement, he lets go of my t-shirt and I wobble on my legs before he slaps me across the face, sending me flying across the floor boards.

I bolt upright from my sleep. My heart is racing, my body is shaking, my breathing is erratic and the bile is rising in my stomach again. I move my right arm backwards until I find the gun at the small of my back, while I quickly scan my apartment looking for him. Everything is just as I left it. The ringing noise starts again and I realise that it's the call I've been waiting for.

"Danny?" I answer as I grab my phone.

"Stephie! Man, it is great to hear your voice. Sorry, I wasn't able to answer when you phoned earlier, but Steve had this guy hanging from a 12th floor window, by his belt alone. I don't know what comes over him sometimes. I think this story might rival the one you told me about Tank throwing that guy out the window. At least that was only the 3rd floor. But 7 miss calls is quite excessive for you, so is everything ok?"

"I have a favour to ask. You know I wouldn't be asking if I had another choice. So, please Dan! I need this." For the first time in over 20 years of friendship, I beg my friend.

"Steph, what's going on? Are you ok? Where are you? What happened? What do you need? Talk to me, Stephanie!" Danny asks in quick succession. I know it's out of concern, but this is also how one of his famous rants start, so I have to be quick.

"Danny, slow down…" I start but I don't know how to continue. Honestly, I can't be honest with him right now. I can't tell how I'm doing or what's happen over the phone. And I can't lie to Dan. I've never been able to. Somehow he just knows when I am lying, no matter how small or inconsequential it may be. So I go with another approach – avoidance.

"I need to get out of Trenton for a few days, maybe a week or two. Could you pick me up at the airport and let me crash on your couch for a while?"

There is silence on the phone, which makes me nervous. I really need this right now. I don't have another option if Danny says no! Before I can beg further, Danny says: "Of course, Stephie! If you're willing to get on a plane on your own free will, then this must be important. Send me the flight details and I'll be there. I'll see you later and remember, I love you!"

The sentiment itself makes fresh tears appear in the corner of my eyes, so I quickly promise to send him the details and tell him I'll send a message when I board in Newark, before hanging up.

I take a few steadying, deep breaths and pull myself off the floor. I grab my laptop from my packed messenger bag and quickly book a ticket to Hawaii. I make sure to forward the confirmation email onto Danny so he has all the details he needs.

I look at my watch and see that I have just under 4 hours. I grab the overnight bag that I have sitting at my door, as well as Rex's bag of food and take them down to my car. Can't carry much more than that with what I am guessing is at least 2 cracked or bruised ribs, and a fractured collarbone. When getting back upstairs, I fetch a piece of paper and a pen out of the kitchen, my messenger bag from the table and Rex's cage.

I write out a short note to one of my closest and dearest friends, Lester:

Dear Les,

I am really sorry that I didn't come up to tell you this but I knew that you would ask a million questions or try and stop me.

Please can you watch Rex for me? I have to leave town for a week or so. I know how much the guys like having him in the control room to '0000' over.

Don't worry about me. I will be fine.

Take care,

Your Beautiful

P.S. I have left my sim card, I don't want the million and one messages the 'Burg will leave for me. I will give you a call once I am settled and sorted.

I stick the note to Rex's cage, pull my phone out of my bag and spend a quick message to my mother telling her that I'll be out of town for a few days, but will call her later this week. Due to all the bruising and pain, I move slower than usual, giving me time to think about my plan. It's not perfect, but it will have to do for now.

I whimper getting into the car. The pain is intense and a constant reminder of my stupidity over the past few months. Things didn't have to go this way. But hindsight is always 20-20. Before starting the car, I make sure that Rex's cage and food, Lester's note and my sim card are ready on the front passenger seat. I start the car, take a few deep cleansing breaths and hope that he doesn't see my car on the road before I can make it to the airport.

The ride to Rangeman goes quickly. I pull up to the front gate, but don't use my fob to enter, just idling on the side walk. I don't want the guys to see me in my current state, so I pull my hood up before jumping out of the car. I quickly say goodbye to Rex and place his cage, with Lester's note on the sidewalk, along with his food and my sim; before climbing back into the car and heading for the airport.

I check in at the airport. The walk to my gate is slow and a little painful. I pretend to peruse the passing stalls silently, trying to make that the reason for my very slow walking speed. I don't need more rumours making their way back to my mother in Trenton.

Sitting at the gate, I quickly find myself doubting what I am about to do:

Am I doing the right thing? I really hate flying. Maybe I can stay and work things out with Joe. Maybe he really does love me. After all, it was all the beer that made him do this to me. But five months. Maybe this is how he shows me he loves me – his father loved his mother and treated her like this – he doesn't know any better. He does always apologise afterwards. Sometimes I can even see the guilt and regret in his eyes when he does. Most of it is my fault though – I know what he likes and doesn't like – I just need to become better at it. On the other hand, I did tell him many times before that I can't cook and I don't know how to be a Burg housewife…

By the time they announce my flight is boarding in 20 minutes, I have worked myself into a small frenzy. I plug in my earphones and go to the media section on my phone. The first thing on the list is the video I made in the early hours of this morning. I forgot all about it. I open the video and am shocked at the woman looking back at me – she looks so small and weak. She has bruises everywhere. Her eyes are puffy and red from hours of crying. Her voice is hoarse and difficult to hear from the sobbing and vomiting. The video gives you an instant headache from the uncontrollable shaking of her recording hand. Yet you can see the braveness and determination in her eyes. She wants to change. She can't be that broken, Burg girl that everyone thinks is a loser, disappointment and joke. She can't be that Stephanie Plum anymore.

I watch as she reminds me of last night's happenings, with the camera showing all the external injuries of the night too. As she is moving the camera, I see some of the old scars and marks that he has left on me from the past five or so months. I have a new burst of determination to leave. To change myself from that small, scared woman on the screen; to the brave person I hope to be one day. I shut down my phone, pick up my bag and board the plane for Hawaii.