Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight. Aside from the original characters and locations, this work is purely my own fiction.

Warnings: This story contains dark situations, violence, traumatic and mature (adult) scenes, along with strong language. Read with caution.

The Last Summer

"Had I but died an hour before this chance, I had liv'd a blessed time; for, from this instant, there's nothing serious in mortality"
MacBeth, Act II, scene 3

Prologue: Return

The morning sun shone through the small kitchen window, through the dusty red and white curtains. Bella Witherdale sat timidly at the kitchen table, quietly reading the local newspaper as her husband, James, dressed for work upstairs.

At twenty-six years old, she had just inherited her late fathers house after he suffered a heart attack one month before. She hadn't seen him for five years, since she fled the small town of Forks and moved to Seattle in a dramatic attempt to escape her former life. Her father had been devastated but supported her decision, helping her pay to attend university and keeping in contact with her, despite her refusal to return to Forks.

But here she was, five years later, left with a small house, a truck, and a savings fund from his will.

She had wanted to sell the house and truck but her husband firmly made the decision for her to move them from their flat in Seattle in order to gain the novelty of owning a house. Had James been good with his money they could have already bought a house, but his alcoholic dependency played a huge factor on his list of priorities. Still, he was a police officer with a good reputation so a transfer was easily done and they packed up their life and moved into Bella's childhood home a week ago.

James came down the stairs adjusting the collar of his shirt and rounded the corner into the kitchen. He never spoke to her as he opened the cupboards in search of a mug, his hands naturally shaking as he poured hot coffee from the pot.

"Fuck." He swore as he spilled a little bit onto his thumb.

Bella remained silent as her husband sat down across from her and reached for the newspaper she was reading. He took it from her without words and shook it out as he flipped through the pages quietly. Once he seemed content she got up from her seat and began making breakfast.

"Breakfast would already have been ready if you weren't reading this trash." He said, his face hidden from behind the newspaper.

"I'm sorry, James." She said as prepared a bowl of oatmeal for him.

In truth, Bella's marriage was a very unhappy one. She had met James in her second year of university at a bar - he had been drinking with friends and approached her - and after 8 months of dating they had moved in together. He was a very charming man in the beginning; he had moved to Seattle from Pennsylvania and was a newly appointed police officer in the big city.

But little by little he had taken control of Bella's life without her realizing until it was too late, and she felt trapped and compelled to stay with him.

It started by him not liking her friends, which she gradually drifted away from. Then, her schooling got in the way, and she was convinced to finish her last semester and not return the following year. Before she knew it, she was getting married at city hall and changing her last name to match his.

Then, a few weeks after he had struck her. Only in the arm - which is what he told her and what she told herself. She had come home tipsy from a night with her girlfriends and he had flown into a wild, jealous rage. Afterwards he had cried and promised to never do it again. But that was lie, and they both knew it.

James had a drinking problem that grew until it was a monthly occurrence that Bella would suffer under his wrath. The last time was two months ago, when he had pushed her down the stairs in the lobby of their building as she was trying to flee from him. She sprained her wrist and after a visit to the hospital - with suspicious nurses and an elaborate tale of how his wife is so cute and clumsy - he cried once more, blaming his aggression on his job.

It was almost a month later that Charlie Swan had suddenly died and James saw this as the perfect opportunity for a fresh start, giving Bella no say in the matter. They had attended the funeral weeks ago, which was hard on Bella - seeing her father for the first time in years and only to bury him. And also seeing everybody from her past who wanted to hug her and tell her everything would be okay.

The only person who didn't offer his arms during the service was Jacob Black. Her childhood best friend and high school sweetheart. Instead, he kept his distance but watched her solemnly, having not spoken to her in years and unsure of what to say to her. Their relationship ended terribly, after Bella suffered a miscarriage and instead of grieving with Jacob - she fled. The last time they saw each other was the day she was climbing into her car and leaving and he slammed her door shut and told her to go to hell.

Bella shook the haunting thoughts out of her head as she set down the bowl of oatmeal in front of James.

"Aren't you going to eat?" He asked.

"No, I have to run into town soon. The truck Charlie left me needs to be registered and taken to the auto-shop."

"I thought I told you to have this shit figured out by now." He set the paper down and stared at her. "We've been here a week and you still haven't done it?"

"I've been unpacking everything, and meeting with the lawyers and finalizing Charlie's assets. I know I shouldn't have put it off-"

"You're damn right you shouldn't have. Instead of giving me excuses and lies."

"James," Bella pleaded. "I'm not lying to you."

She kept her voice low, hoping to keep him calm but it was too late. He was tired, hungover, and his ulcer was burning his gut from the previous nights bender and the hot coffee he was drinking. He jerked up and grabbed her forearm, holding her in place and squeezing.

"You haven't been doing anything else I'm unaware of, have you?"

"No! I promise! Please."

He gripped harder, his dark eyes burning into hers. "Swear to me, Bella. If you're lying, I'll fucking know."

"I swear!" She yelled, her arm feeling like it was going to break in half.

"Ugh!" He groaned and pushed her backwards, sending her flying into the cupboards. "Keep your voice down! My head is fucking killing."

Bella groaned as she straightened up, her back throbbing from the impact. She clutched her arm, trying not to notice the deep red hand print on it. "I'm sorry."

He noticed, however. And thinned his lips and exhaled deeply through his nose. Gulping down the rest of his coffee and setting the mug down in the sink he gently touched her good arm and pulled her into him. "Okay. And I'm sorry for grabbing you, babe."

He waited for her to say what he wanted to hear. "It's okay."

"How about you wear something long sleeved today, okay? And maybe stop by the station and bring us some lunch?"

She nodded and he kissed the top of her head before walking into the entry way of the house to put his boots on. "I'll call you later, alright?" He yelled over his shoulder as he opened the front door."Get this truck shit sorted out today." Was the last thing he said before she heard the door shut.