Disclaimer:

No copyright infringement intended.

The Twilight Saga and all characters involved within are the property of Stephenie Meyer.

However, the plot is entirely my own.

-This applies to the rest of the story.

Captured by the Code of Fear

Stage I: Nice Naïve & Beautiful

Ms. Swan's POV

Washington

1871

It was a pleasant afternoon with a lazy breeze engaging every tree into a tantalizing sway that billowed placidly throughout town, distributing the aromatic perfume of the newly blooming blooms of spring in its playful wake. In other words, it was a perfectly forthcoming afternoon for idle mingling in the company of my most preeminent chap.

Glad that not many people had decided to stroll about town just yet, I could not help but be thankful for the small respite this day had to offer thus far, and for as long as it lasted. Today found Emmett and I seated on the washed-out roots of our favorite, old oak tree, enjoying its cooling shadow. Under the warming rays of the sun and with the wind setting the rhythm and rhyme, we placated away vivaciously.

Secluded by the tree roots from gossipers prying eyes and with my skirts carelessly tangled at my ankles, I rested my head trustingly on Emmett's lap as he ran his careful fingers through the silkiness of my auburn black tresses. In the interim our banter varied from aimless to nonsensical topic with playful ease that only we knew, making light of the conversation and making it enjoyable, whilst taking pleasure being in the welcome company of the other once the conversation finally died down into a comfortable hush.

Emmett and I have been the best of friends for nearly ten years now and were, at present time, moreover, celebrating such feat and the events that lead to our resilient affiliation. Despite Emmett being three years my senior, it seemed that age played no derogatory part in our playful as air extensive friendship. In any case, it just made him that much more protective where matters concerned me and anyone that tried to threaten our peace.

Being with Emmett was like breathing to me. It was something that I just did naturally and did not have to put much thought, if any, behind it. Our relationship, more than anything, seems to be solely based on the unquestionable acceptance on our mutual ability to understand each other without much being said, because there was never a need to elaborate, and respect. Always respect.

As my mind wandered into the finer details of how our amity ensued, I could not help the smile that tugged at the curving corners of my lips. During that time, Emmett had been a force to be reckoned with and I had not had the chance to even hope to dissuade him from his one-trail mindset. Even now, still.

Beaming warmly with the unraveling of our shared memories and history fleeting behind my eyes and the sun's warming rays kissing my skin, I allowed myself to get lost in my memories of the past...

Washington

1861

Jasper had decided, after much debate, to ultimately register me into the town school once again, thinking it would bring me out of my shell and break the spell, so to speak. It had not gone as planned, as one would imagine, in cases such as mine.

While adults are shunning and unforgiving in their opinions of what iss proper and what isn't, their children spear no leniency to those around them that bare their scars on their sleeves, one such as me.

"Your attention, please, everyone!" From my post just outside the classroom, I heard the relatively young governess that was about to introduce me demand. "Quiet down, we have a new student joining us today."

That peaked everyone's curiosity enough to bring the scholars vociferous ruckus down to merely eager chatter. Terrified out of my wits as the governess asked me to enter the room with a pointed look, I trembled where I stood and tried not to panic.

After a moment of unsuccessfully trying not to hyperventilate, I had to close my eyes and take a deep breath to steady myself before I could fool myself into willingly agreeing to public humiliation. Once I had enough of my body and mind under control, I entered the room on shuffling feet and instantly felt grateful for the long skirts that Jasper had bought and made me wear because at least they helped cover my weakness.

As the students caught sight of me an unsettling hush fell over the entire class. They all knew who I was, I was certain. Though I was only eight at the time, I had come to know heartache and pain prematurely. But no pain could have compared to the pain I felt now, from the aftershock.

Considering everything that had happened, just months prior to this day, all I had wanted to do was hang on to the hurt and pray that the numbness would dissipate while I wasted away.

However, Jasper would not have any of that. He had made that quite apparent the moment he had managed to peel me off of him long enough to convince me to agree to come here. He had promised to come for me by the end of the day… still; I could not help the uncertainty that settled at the pit of my stomach at the thought that Jasper might have had enough of me. Thus, my being so unceremoniously deposited here explained it all.

I scowled at the recollection, before I caught myself and faced the class, managing a tentative look around the room through my eyelashes and curtain of undulating mahogany hair. As far as I knew, I had not done anything too overly infuriating that it would demand my being tortured. Surely? Perhaps my inability to speak was becoming more of an issue than he had let on?

"Everyone," the redheaded governess proceeded, "warmly welcome, Ms. Isabella Swan and show her how hospitable we can be by answering any questions she might have." I could not help but flinch as she said my full name, that was how he –I gulped, swallowing the bile that threatened to rise.

Dismissing the errant thought, before I could panic any further within the prison of my fears and recurring nightmares, I decided to tune back into my bitter reality. There was no form of reprieve anywhere I tried to escape. Asleep or awake, everything seemed inclined on adding saline to my festering wounds.

Palms sweating, I glanced once more at the governess as she continued, "Now, now, don't be shy. Say "hello" everyone, you too Isabella." If I did not know any better, I would have sworn the woman had been sneering at me scornfully.

Had she noticed? Had they noticed? I flushed profusely with apprehension trying to wipe the residual panic from my face and focus on the matter at hand, before I chanced a look at the class once more.

I shuffled on my feet observing them, while they gauged me in turn, feeling as restless as they felt ensnared behind those desks. Only, I was standing alone and they were a single mass, moving as one with matching malice flooding their otherwise would-be innocent eyes.

I could feel the tension rising and reaching its peak before it dissipated into the background as the governess cleared her throat, still waiting on the chorus of greetings. I smiled tightly; trying to look pleasant and inviting enough to warrant at least one honest welcoming smile.

"Welcome, Miss Swan," someone dared to sneer. Like cannons breaking the silence through the dead of night, the classroom broke into halfhearted greetings after the one forceful greeting had been issued. If there had been any sincere salutation, it had been long lost to the onslaught of unwelcoming banter.

I raised a hand in tentative greeting, docking my face behind my curtain of hair, unable to utter a single word. However, my silent greeting seemed to be perceived as impudence. I wanted to inform them that that was not the case, but I could not speak.

I would not have been able to even if I had tried. And I had tried. I had not spoken a single word since three months ago and still my throat felt as scorched as if I kept a constant scream tearing through my lungs. Only Jasper knew this was not my case. In fact, even my screams were nothing but mute.

"Miss Swan," snapped the governess and my eyes went to hers in alarm, "do have a seat. We have not got all day for pleasantries, there are things to be done while in class." Nodding, I headed in the direction of the menacing masses, only to hesitate. "Masen," the governess sighed, sensing the reason behind my hesitation, "raise your hand and make sure that Miss Swan sees it. She'll be sitting next to you, make sure of it."

"Yes, Miss Ó Braonáin," Masen, a boy, answered and a moment later I saw his hand rise as instructed. However, when I met his eyes, an astonishing hue of evergreen, I found nothing but irritation there. Once again, I couldn't move.

"Miss Swan." Miss Ó Braonáin motioned with her hand impatiently, a dismissing move that I hastened to obey. Clutching my elbows tightly to my body, I headed in Masen's direction and tried not to trip as I avoided looking into his evergreen eyes, which were intently trained on me with a flashing glare through every step that took me closer to him. Gulping, I managed to take my seat before my knees gave out on me.

Looking back now, I should have heeded the subtle warnings. Promises had been placed into them, the unkindly sort. The hours before the mid-morning recess had passed uneventful enough, with a few pushes and shoves that the governess never seemed to notice and held the undeniable promise of more to come.

As reality would have it, I was showcased at school too, though. I had been branded as the tarnished laughing stock of the whole town. They blamed me for the incident that took my family from me, without even knowing what had happened. Meanwhile, I was grateful that fate had decided to show me leniency and had placed me in Jasper's care.

Only Jasper, Emily, Carlisle, Esme, and Emmett had shown me kindness, when everyone else had looked down on me with disgusted scorn, whispering unabashedly loud behind closed doors. So that I would hear them talk about Jasper's tainted and quickly declining reputation, because he had chosen to associate himself with the likes of me.

All because of me, Jasper too was being scorned. Since I had been too nice, naïve, and beautiful. I remembered, desperately wishing I were ugly, because, surely, if only I were an ugly girl, none of this would have ever happened. I would not have been the soiled and tainted one, the pariah. But I could not go back.

Then, for a moment, I had thought my prayer had been answered.

Everyone had turned away from my all-silent pleas and dealt me with pungent abhorrence and destitute diplomacy, offering me no kind words of solace. That was, until Jasper had decided to step in and take matters into his own hands.

By the time the class had been released for the mid-morning recess, I was wound up with a few bruises to show on my too delicate skin that seemed to wilt with the touch of unrefined hands and fingers much too easily. The thought of Jasper rescuing me when school let out keeping me at bay, I reminded myself of his words and anchored myself to his promise, repeating the words like a mantra that could overcome everything –even nasty children.

Since word of my attendance had gotten out, now everyone who passed me on their way to lunch knew to call me "Witch Child" and they casually threw it about as a form of sneering greet when forced to passing in close proximity to my vicinity. Prone on avoiding anymore distasteful jesting, I opted for a way out.

The decision to escape and reign in my seething ill temperament promptly made, I proceeded to the school's recreational area for a breather, the promise of fresh air and some alone time and away from all the prying eyes, putting a small bounce on my steps. A thought occurred to me then. Since I could not speak, maybe I could write. Nodding as I went, I began to think of how best to express my thanks to Jasper…

He had been so young, only just turned eighteen and had presently come to his fortune as it was. And regardless of everyone telling him that it was an ill advised decision, his taking me in and caring for me, he followed through. Forsaking more than his reputation, he had ignored them all, revolted by their heartless and selfish accusations.

I had never seen or met a man more deserving of my awe than Jasper. In that one moment of resolution, where he threw his future out the window for me, when he did not even know me, had always stayed with me, leaving an undeniable impression.

I had just started my letter to Jasper, my skirts puddle scrupulously about my feet were I knelt, as not to furrow them, when the sound of scurrying feet and a scandalous ruckus inundated every sound, but the sound of my accelerated heart beating and trying to escape through my raw throat. Their torrent was drawing nearer and closing in on me. I was the intended target.

"Hey, Witch Child!" they chanted as they approached, kicking up the dirt. A tremor ran through me as I hugged myself, trying to hold onto the pieces of myself that threatened to crumble and break away. Hands shoved me and probed me; other's poked at me with soiled brushwood that skinned at my neck, forearms, and ribs leaving their marks on my marred wilting body. Every drop of blood that I had shed was like a petal that had wilted and shriveled under winter's neglected care. Only, this picture was not as tragically romantic or beautiful. It was real and my soul suffered for it.

"You think she might be writing some kind of curse in that book of hers?" another mused contemptuously, though he feigned fear.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" sneered a vile voice, filled with bloodcurdling contempt, further supplying the crowd's loathsome form of entertainment, "A pretty Witch–" the group interrupted, jeering in protest at the compliment.

"Filthy witch!" they chorused ruthlessly. I flinched. "Filthy Witch!" The wind seemed to carry their cries in earnest, ridiculing me.

The entertainer chuckled. "She's not a pretty witch?" he asked with an attempt at innocence failed, his fingers brushing gently through my tresses and I stiffened under the ministration before, thankfully, he let go, stepping away. "Not even a tad bit?" By now, he sounded like he was pouting. My breath grew heavy, painful.

"Noooo!" the throng screamed, appalled by the mere thought.

"Then I stand corrected," he allowed. "The eye can sometimes be deceiving, you know?" The group laughed with a flourish. "My apologies then! When I said pretty, I meant to say petty!"

"That's more like it!" The crowd showed its assent with more tomfoolery and chanting, "Petty Witch, petty witch!"

"So, we have amongst ourselves a petty Witch and her book of spells, perhaps?" My breathing came in shallow, labored wheezes.

"That's it!" The crowd cheered, growing louder, humming with spiteful anticipation, and laughing. I could hear my blood rushing loudly through my ears, I held myself tighter until my knuckles turned white and my teeth clattered painfully.

"Shan't we have a look and find out for ourselves?" offered the conniving orchestrator, stepping deliberately closer to me and soiling my skirts with his muddied boots. I jolted as his harsh fingers tangled deep into my hair and pulled my head back painfully.

The crowd grew jarringly silent. An expectant hush enveloping them enthralled by the moment as the windswept by their feet and caught a few leaves in its playful flow before spiriting them away, just as gently. What cunning whisper the wind has, everything follows in its wake.

A guttural sound vibrated in my throat, expressing my pain and fear like no other words could. "You do not mind, do you, Witch Child?" the vile-sweet voice of the man-child whispered harshly in my ear, his lips brushing hotly against my skin, making it crawl with revulsion from his unwelcomed proximity.

His grip tightened on my hair as he tugged forcefully at it and a hoarse wail sounded in my ears –a deafening sound. It was happening again, all over. Blond tresses, flashes of pale skin, and dark fabric obscured my vision, making my breath hitch at the sight of a slender, yet, strong hand purposefully coming my way.

One more searing breath passed through my lungs, burning my chest. After, my chest remained unmoving as my panic grew, the closer his hand came into possible contact with my withered body. I grasped desperately at the hand grasping my hair, trying to loosen it by clawing at it with everything that I had.

"Now, now, Witch, we will not be having any of that," he seethed ever so quietly, only for my ears to hear, causing a shiver to run down my spine with trepidation. I could not move and I could not scream, though I longed for nothing more than to pierce the deafening silence. I could not do or say anything to defend myself. So I remained paralyzed, watching everything as if it were not happening to me.

However, the hand that I had thought was coming closer to further hurt me went over me and reached toward my lap, where my forgotten tome lay. Suddenly, my vision was filled with the sight of steel amber eyes obscured and framed by a nimbus of messy white-blond tresses, which met my brown panic-overflowing eyes for a long moment, handsome face sneering, eyes cruel, as the young lad snatched the tome from my lap, using my head for support.

"Appear to be naught but a love note to me!" he hollered as his cohorts joined in on the laughter. "Or perhaps, it is but a love potion?" I closed my eyes, trying to escape; I was frozen in a fragile world of make believe and empty lies, afraid to cry. "Think you may possibly be the next poor bastard under her love spell?" the blond spat.

Murmurs went all around as they all spat, warding off evil. My need to scream was beginning to suffocate me. For a brief moment my eyes flashed open and I was met with the sight of cherry-blond hair flying behind a fast retreating form of a girl who only looked back once she had reached a safe distance.

My body tensed as another chaos inducing commotion broke out behind me, awaiting more onslaughts. More were coming. I let out a shaky breath. It felt like I was trading air for water, oppressive. Bitter.

"Break it up!" boomed a new young volatile voice and the cohort quieted, almost immediately, but did not make to leave. I felt a wave of momentary relief spark through my extremities. This voice sounded a bit older, but simultaneously boyish –with a promise of becoming a warm baritone in a not too distant future.

"What the–" Whoever the voice belonged to had been thrown aside unceremoniously. My eyes remained tightly shut, for fear of what I might encounter if I did open them.

"Oi, do not lean out!" someone protested indignantly. Other voices joined in agreeing objection. I was shaking in fear, unable to move, my body coiling in, momentary relief long forgotten.

"What have you–" the new voice halted in mid rant as his eyes, I assumed, fell on me and he gasped. "She's bleeding," he noted. I was? I tried touching any part of me that I could reach but my limbs remained immobile.

Frustration sipped through my fear and a silent sob rocked my frame. Tears. I had forgotten the feel of tears against my cheeks, until now. My right hand moved then, as I reached up and dabbed at the dampness that slid lazily down my face, gathering at my chin, falling onto my lap, and soaking my left hand. I had not known there were any more tears to be shed. I was sure I had tired them all. But here they were again, more furious than before. More silent.

"Let it go McCar–" More shoving, resistance, and grunting.

"Let me through, Caius," the one in possession of the impulsive voice demanded, ignoring all others or their warnings. I shivered, hearing the glare in his voice. It was fear provoking.

"Easy there, we were just having some fun," the voice of the boy leading my torture huffed indignantly. Clearly, he was not afraid of the opposing threat.

"I know your kind of fun, Caius," grumbled the volatile boy, "and if I were to judge from past experiences and if memory serves true, I would say that this is not just you and your cohort of cowards having some fun."

"It is but harmless fun," the boy, Caius, insisted his tone like warmed honey, "we were just showing the little Witch Child our hospitality, as instructed by our governess. Is that not so?" His group agreed, laying hotly on the defense. I almost snorted at that, forgetting my fear. "Really, Emmett, there is nothing for you to see here, I insist," the finality in Caius' voice was frightening.

"Let me through," Emmett insisted and tried to forcefully push himself through once again.

"No," Caius replied calmly, daring, a sneer in his voice.

"Last chance," Emmett gritted.

I was trembling from head to toe. Maybe this Emmett was someone more worrisome than this cunning Caius?

"My answer remains unchanged. No."

"Emmett!" Someone, a female voice, shouted in warning.

Something like a growl echoed, everything seemed to slow to a crawl as I waited with bated breath. Caius' fingers left my hair moments before a collision of flesh against flesh was the only thing I could hear and be aware of. Many things happened all at once.

Pain predominated every sound uttered. A blow-to-blow fight was being fought, the air grew immensely tense, and I was certain I heard the sound of bone breaking before the scurrying of feet carried some cowards away from the scene and attracted more attention to the vicinity.

Silence fell. Curses were muttered. My eyes still tear soaked, remained tightly shut and I was sure I had smeared some blood all over my face; I could smell its thick metallic stench and feel its thick pattern mixed with my tears. I did not want to see the blood. I would be sick if I did. I would remember.

"Take him to the infirmary," Emmett croaked, biting back a curse and approaching me from behind, as my back remained turned to him.

By the time his steps had carried him to me, I was breathing raggedly and my eyes had snapped open, but I did not dare move. I waited, preparing to uncoil and bolt, ignoring the smell of blood and its sight as I focused my vision on my trembling hands instead.

"Emmett, perhaps you shan't?" that same female voice questioned, uncertain. "Let me…"

"She is covered in blood," Emmett replied simply, as if that explained everything.

"Yes, but–"

A large hand touched my small shoulder tentatively as my body trembled and I pushed myself into motion.

Washington

1871

"Emmett," I mumble wistfully, trying to gain his attention as I came back to the present and try to eradicate myself from thoughts of the past.

"Hmm?" he hums back, keeping the gentle, steady pace of his fingers caress through my cascading hair that now spread over his thighs and knees, whistling, as I still continued to rest my head on his lap. I smiled placidly at the familiar melody.

Such intimate action had been continuously frowned upon by our society, given that we were opposing sexes and we were not courting, and even then it would have been deemed unseemly, but we heed them no mind.

Shifting slightly to glance up at Emmett, I noticed him staring up at the shadowy patterns cast by the leaves of the tree where the sun peaked through them. He was trying to make sense of them as he whistled his well-worn tune. Once again, I smiled at this. A whistling Emmett was a content Emmett without a care in the world weighing him down. A content Emmett equaled an equally content me.

"I was just thinking…" I sighed as his caramel eyes met my own chocolate eyes with kind amusement dancing behind them. I was always thinking. "You remember the day we met?" Out of habit, I lifted my right hand and tucked away some unruly tresses away from his face just behind his ear so that they would not obstruct my view of his eyes.

He smiled lightly at the habitual affectionate gesture and kissed the inside of my wrist, his usual reciprocation for my affection. I smiled warmly at that and tried to recall the exact moment in which this one gesture had started to become habitual between us.

Emmet nodded, some volatile mischief making its presence known behind his grinning eyes before he spoke, "Of course, how could I ever fail to remember such remarkable encounter as ours, Miss Swan?"

"This again?" I huff. He is clearly jesting now.

This, of course, earns me some rumbling chuckles. Quieting down he proceeds to tap my nose twice, trying to pass it for an admonishment. This earns him a round of my quiet giggles. "You see," he continues, his voice taking a tone of conspiracy, "I still have the scars to show for it, after all!"

I gasp, feigning offense as my cheeks flush a warm tinge of rouge, which his knuckles absentmindedly acknowledge in passing. "Is that so?" I challenge, "Go on then, show me these scars you declare to posses."

This, naturally, I knew to be true. I had left my mark on him, unintentional as it was. He snickers, though he almost manages to pass it off as an indignant snort. I mock glare at him and expectantly wait to see what he does next. Emmett never does disappoint.

With some difficulty he sobers up. "Let us see…" he garbles as he thoughtfully embarks on skimming his fingers all over his handsome face to try and find the telltale signs of raised skin on his otherwise smooth skin. I laugh at his antics. "Ah-ha, here it is!" he exclaims triumphantly, winking at me, and it took all of me not to roll my eyes at him.

Smirking I placate him as I right myself, stowing my tresses behind my ears, and dust my dress before proceeding to inspect the long healed pearly damage. Moving his fingers away I trace my fingers over the light scarring starting from the curve of his left eyebrow to where his left eye slanted, the same pattern he had previously been tracing.

Unless you really looked at Emmett or knew what you were looking for, you might have never noticed the many chicken-scratches that ghostly mutilate his handsome features with random, pearly continuance at the edges. They marred his skin on either side of his temple, and in my opinion, they were a beautiful reminder of how far we have come since then.

"Ah… there they are," I whisper almost too quiet for my own ears to hear, much less his. I smile sadly and reminiscently at the evidence before attempting to kiss it away and ask for forgiveness with one tender kiss. Still, the fact that I hurt him at some point haunts me.

Emmett delicately encases my wrists on either side of his face with his fingers, effectively stopping my tormenting over his scars, before he sighs, "Bella…" It is like a quiet warning, which allows my discomfort to ebb away. I see it in his eyes, that familiar plea that asks me not to dwell in the past and the things that were out of my control.

I know he does not recent me for the scars. Emmett is not capable of holding such rancor, but at times I cannot help but feel such guilt over them and thinking that, perhaps, Emmett is too kind to me for his own good. But he loves me and I him and I hate that I've done this to him and that at times I feel glad that I did.

"You know it was not your fault, Bella," he consoles and I rewarded him with a watery, tentative smile. "We were but wee children and you were distressed." He strokes my cheek with such love and delicacy that I don't deserve, that I feel like I might cry and he smiles, understanding before adding in his usual teasing note, "And I did not know any better."

"I know, you were very brave," I manage to say. But only because he expects it of me, however my words do not fool him. I knew, I really did know. But my guilt also came from the pleasure I got seeing those scars there.

Seeing part of our history ebbed on his skin, it was like that made my bond to Emmett seem that much stronger; it made for a sadistic retelling of our history. It was twisted and in some forms a sickening satisfaction that I was constantly berating myself for, whenever such thoughts rose to the forefront.

But I could not tell him any of these thoughts, out of fear. Surely, Emmett would hate my more than possessive way of viewing his unnatural skin alterations and harbor some resentment.

"Besides, you can barely see them," he persists. As I thought, I had not fooled him.

"But I know they are there, Emmett, I see them," I counter.

He sighs, dejectedly, "Only because you choose to ignore my wishes and sentiments on the matter. I have never, never resented you for these scars, Bella." He looks at me pointedly and I fidget, there's something in his eyes that make me think that whatever he adds next is something that will be admitted unwillingly and in order to appease me. "Actually, I feel satisfied every time I see them there."

His confession startles me. I frown momentarily, momentarily baffled and stare at the unblemished fabric of his collar and beginning to toy with it, trying to find something to do while gathering my wits to ask what I want to ask. Emmett patiently waits, knowing not to push me. The smooth silk of his tie does it. I breathe in and look Emmett sharply in the eyes once again.

"Really?" I need to know. Because, I cannot believe what I am hearing, I had to pinch the inside of my wrist to reassure myself that I am still awake and that Emmett had said what he said. I found my hands had moved without my consent and my fingers ghosted over Emmett's lips, feeling the vibrations of his words, the warmth of his breath as he continued reassuring me upon my naked fingertips.

"It is as if, these scars," He whispers, touching his scars absent mindedly, "they keep on reminding me that, yes, everything that has happened and will happen between us is real. Because God only knows, I sometimes think I will wake up prematurely one day, smell the roses, and realize that meeting you and getting to know you has all been naught but something I have all but made up, Isabella." He shivers at the thought and looks into my eyes imploringly, searching for the understanding he knew he would usually find there.

There was nothing but a train wreckage happening in slow motion behind my otherwise unaffected exterior. It was all a façade, which fell as soon as I saw myself reflected in his vulnerable eyes. I was afraid to speak or say the wrong thing and hurt him.

By now I was shaking so bad that Emmett held me tight to him, whispering reassurances. How Emmett always manages to put into words what I feel always catches me by surprise and rattles me to the core, now was no exception to that unspoken truth.

"Bella, please, say something," he begs. I nod, licking my lips. What can I say? There is nothing to say, really. Or is there? I frown, running through the different scenarios my mind continued to throw at me and settle on one.

"Is it–" I hesitate, searching into Emmett's eyes for the strength to proceed. "Is it twisted that, whenever I see these scars," I touch the scars in question, "I feel nothing but ownership over you and not even a hint of remorse?" My breath catches in my throat as I wait for his response with bated breath. I close my eyes; I cannot look at him and see his disgust for me so openly. I just cannot.

"Isabella, open your eyes," I hear and his whisper upon my face. Almost fearing, I do as he asks. Emmett is smiling and when I meet his eyes, the smile grows even more pronounced. I wait, rigid on his lap. "No. It isn't."

His swift and confident reply at last resonated in me, releasing my fears, as his thumb catches a stray tear before it fully has a chance to fall and stain my cheek. I swallowed hard, finally allowing myself to breathe. Swaying with relief I rested my forehead against Emmett's chest, the rhythmic thumping of his heart reaching my ears and lulling my nerves.

"Thank you," I breathe, taking him in and seeing Emmett in a new light. Emmett gives my hand a gentle squeeze, always reassuring. "Thank you…"

"You and I, Bella, we feel the same," he explains. "I could no more consider viewing your thoughts as twisted, without considering my own as such. And if they are…" he shrugs, showing how much he cares about being wrapped up and twisted. "As long as you continue to have me, that is," he confesses after a pause. I chuckle and he smiles at me coyly.

Instantly, more relief floods through me. Bringing his hand to the nape of my neck, Emmett lowers his lips to my hair and kisses the top of my head and breathes me in.

"Thank God…" My voice sounds hoarse, even to my ears. "I do not believe, I would have made it these ten years in without you by my side," I admit.

He chuckles. "Nawther I."

I smirk, feeling like a change in atmosphere is about to present itself as soon as I mumble, "Thank you for the vote of confidence…"

As always, Emmett is quick on the uptake. Though, he had to work through a small moment of confusion and then panic before realizing I had just been jesting. His laughter permeates the air as the last of our lingering gloominess melts away and we both allow ourselves a hearty laugh, scaring a few passersby in the process.