BPOV

English essay, done. Bella thought as she moved it aside. Math homework and research questions, good. Now I just have to finish…

Her thoughts were interrupted by the slam of the front door. The clock on her wall read 6, and she sighed. She knew he would be home sooner or later, and she hated that fact. His feet stomped as he moved around the living room. His mood, she could tell, was already sour.

Oh, great. This will be fun, she thought bitterly.

Three years ago, Bella's mother remarried. Before Phil came into the picture, Renee was a good mother. Not great, like the ones who participated in fundraisers, cared about grades, or cooked, but she did care. Sometimes it was difficult for Bella to think of her as the mother, because it always seemed as if their roles were reversed, but she did love her mother. Then there was Phil. He took away the Renee' that Bella knew and replaced her with an unrecognizable version. Phil was abusive, rude, and a sorry excuse for a human. She could not stand to look at him, let alone be in the same house. But, she had no choice in the matter because she had nowhere to go; no one to believe her. Renee' knew what Phil was like, but she was just happy that his cruelty was not aimed at her.

Life at home was Bella's own personal hell. She was his personal punching bag and whatever else he felt like at the time. He hit like a boxer, kicked like a goalie, and covered up his abuse like a secret agent. On the outside he was an upstanding member of society. He was untouchable, but she was not. Sure, she tried to get help before, but Phil turned the accusations around and made outsiders believe that I was a troubled teen who just did not like him.

His footsteps got louder as he drew closer. She laid down in bed, pretending to be asleep. Deception became easier for her over the years, but she still got nervous when her door knob jiggled. Phil began shouting obscenities once he realized the door was locked. She tried to steady her breathing, but her heart pounded. She hated how much he affected her. He pounded on the door, but she was tired of his games. He frightened her because she knew what he was capable of, but she was tired. How much longer was she expected to cower to him?

The shouting stopped. She let herself breathe again.

A loud crack drew her attention. Her door was not meant to withstand blows. He stepped through the broken door, and headed straight for her, obviously not buying her sleeping act.

She tried to make herself to be invisible, but it was not that easy. It never was. He tore off her blanked and laughed at her scared expression. Grabbing her arm, he threw her from the bed. She landed against the wall with a thud. Her leg bent at the wrong angle and she knew she was about to get very hurt. It looked like he met his breaking point, and Bella was in his sights. She closed her eyes and pushed herself into the corner as far as she could, hoping that by some miracle she should not die. She knew he would probably snap one day, but she had never truly feared for her life. She was not ready to die. She was still so young, and deserved some sort of life.

Hope rushed through her body when he left the room. Part of her knew he was not done, but the other part wanted it all to end. Her eyes flitted around the room, seeing her personal sanctuary torn through. The one place she normally felt somewhat safe was tainted. The hope, however, crashed and burned when he returned. Light glinted off of a knife he had in his hand. The most wicked grin creeped onto his face, and she was terrified to imagine what was going through his head. He had never used weapon before.

"Look at you," he sneered, "why are you scared?" He walked toward her, causing her to try to move, but she got kicked instead. "You can't even defend yourself," he laughed. The stench of alcohol poured off him in waves as he moved closer to her face. "Nobody can protect you," he spat as he grabbed her face in his hands. "Nobody cares," he continued. Each statement was true, she had nobody, and he knew it killed her inside.

Tears poured down her cheeks as realization hit her. This was it. The time had finally come for him to end his game. It took a moment for it to sink in, but then resolve strengthened her. She was alone, but she was not weak, and she would not die weak. She fought too hard for years to just give up. She welcomed death, but she would not be a coward.

"Do it," she hissed. Her sudden change made him pause. She stopped fighting long ago, resigned to her fate.

He cocked his head to the side, staring at me, searching for something. It was unsettling, but she held his gaze, refusing to back down. "It seems the pet found her voice," he snickered. "It's a shame," he sighed, "you were fun. You lasted longer than the other one."

His words confused her. What other one? Was there someone else who went through what she did? She felt like she was going to throw up. He was a monster.

"Oh well," he said.

"Bastard," she hissed, infuriated. He was insane.

The knife jolted up, slicing through her upper arm. Blood oozed from the wound. This is it, she thought. This was the end. She did not want to give him any extra satisfaction of the pain she felt, so she bit into her tongue instead of crying out. She cringed as he struck her over and over with the knife, and she shrieked. It was unbearable pain.

As blood pooled onto the white carpet, the room got darker. The edges of her vision were tinged black and slowly closed in. She was not sure if she wanted to fight or let the darkness claim her. Her body felt heavy, as if being weighed down. She could hear his voice, but she could not make out what he was saying. Right before death claimed her, she heard sirens in the darkness. She could not help but hope that someone would save her, take her away from her hell.

She felt alone and very cold. There was a different voice talking, but she could not register what they were saying. She was confused, and in her confusion, she floated away.

Then there was nothing.