Outtake # 5

This is an account of Jake's story, his reasoning for beating Bella, his thoughts on their marriage and why he found himself in Edward's office at the clinic this day.

Jake Black POV

"I'm not fucking Bella!" Kim screamed through the bathroom door at me.

"Don't I fucking know it!" I yelled back as I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror.

I heard a loud thud, then breaking glass, then the unmistakable sound of my front door slamming shut. She could fucking pay for it if it was damaged I thought darkly as I reached for my toothbrush.

Only five weeks ago the fucking Cullen brothers, and whoever the fuck the blonde one was that was with them, had kicked the front door off its hinges and I didn't relish having to pay to have it replaced again.

I winced as the pain in my jaw shot through my head when I pushed too hard with the toothbrush. Motherfucker but it hurt.

I'd only just come good from the beating Emmett and the blonde had dished me when I'd gotten another one from three guys at the Rez. What the Cullen boys hadn't done my bros from the Rez had. I was left with both eyes blackened, my jaw dislocated, again, and a busted rib on my left to match the two I had on the right.

My life was now officially shit.

But Kim was dead right, she wasn't Bella.

I'd been banging Kim since I found out Bella was pregnant and I now regretted it wholly. Not because she wasn't a good fuck, she was. Nice and limber and morally flexible to boot, but she was no housekeeper and she definitely wasn't wife material. Hell she was barely girlfriend material. Friends with benefits was stretching the friendship as far as I was concerned.

Hell, she had to be reminded to wash herself frequently let alone pick up after herself in my apartment. It was a total tip now. I was almost too scared to shower in case I caught something from the dark film that was making its home on the tiles in the shower stall.

God himself only knew what was brewing in the toilet. If the smell was anything to go by it could possibly wipe out a small country and be classified as a chemical weapon.

I had hoped that Kim would take over where Bella left off now that we were free to do what we wanted, but no, she wasn't anyone's housewife as she'd told me loudly, and rather violently, just now. I spat the toothpaste into the basin and hoped it would go some way to disinfecting the mould that was building up in the sinkhole. I rubbed the flat of my fingers over the bright red welt on my cheek and cursed Kim again.

Her nails had left a gash across my face that would take days to go away. Couple that with all the marks left from my beat downs and I looked a treat. Not that it mattered. I had nowhere to go and nothing to do today, or any other day for that matter.

The fucking cops from Port Angeles had seen to that. They chose – probably on purpose – to come to my office to speak to me that first day. That had set tongues in the office wagging even though nobody knew what they wanted with me back then. But it hadn't taken long before everyone I knew had heard that I'd been 'helping the police with their enquiries'. Of course, to everyone else that translated to 'what the fuck has he fucked up now'.

Since then things had gone from crap to shit. My immediate boss had sternly suggested a leave of absence while I got my legal problems sorted out, so that meant no commissions and all the leads I did have would go to the other assholes in the real estate agency. It would take years for me to build my client base up again, if I ever could. I didn't want to think about what would happen if I lost my license, which was one of the things the cops had told me was likely to happen if they managed to make any of the abuse charges stick.

I had no doubt whatsoever that they could. I'd beaten Bella, badly that last time, and they knew it. There were doctors and lawyers and the police, detectives, my father and all the boys at the Rez to testify that they'd seen Bella bruised before and every single one of the stinking bastards would say it was me who'd done it. My lawyer told me not to say shit, but I couldn't defend myself anyway because it was all true. I had reasons of course, but nobody wanted to hear those. They just wanted to bust my balls for hitting a poor defenceless woman.

Woman my ass. She was a whore and nothing more. God only knew who she'd been fucking before I stupidly agreed to marry her, but I'd been lumped with his kid and I wasn't happy about it.

So by the time word had gotten out that Bella was in the hospital and I'd not gone to visit her in three days the damage to my reputation was done. I did go and see her and to be honest even I was disgusted at the way she'd looked. The cut on her lip was horrible. I didn't remember doing that much damage but I knew it had been me. I was just so fucking angry with her. All the time. Nothing she did or said ever made the anger go away. She'd fucked someone else. She'd given to someone else what I'd paid for. Charlie told me she was a good girl and I'd never seen her with anyone else. I knew for certain she'd never dated anyone. But, like the fool I was, I thought not dating someone meant she'd kept her legs closed. The first time I hit her I'd been ashamed of myself but she never even flinched. She didn't cry, she didn't yell, she didn't throw shit at me. She just took it.

Plus she ever defended herself. What was up with that? She never told me no. She never once tried to explain to me whose kid it was, how it had happened and why she didn't tell me. She just said she thought Charlie had told me before I said I'd marry her. What the fuck Charlie had to do with her being knocked up was beyond me. I'd spent hours, probably days, trying to work that one out but I'd never once come to any conclusions. Charlie treated her like shit, sure, but she never actually mentioned him in anyway, so I'd let it go.

At first, when we were kids, I used to ask her what had happened to her all the time. But Charlie made it real clear to my dad that there would be trouble for me if I kept asking, so I stopped. But by then I already loved her. Man was she hot back then.

All long dark curls and creamy skin. Apart from the bruises now and then she was gorgeous. She'd been my best friend for years so when Charlie suggested we get married I didn't hesitate. Little did I know I was copping the rap for some other assholes mistake with her.

I thought she was happy to be marrying me. She had told me herself she wanted to get out of home and even the village idiot could see that Charlie didn't want her anymore, so I took her. Cost me a fucking fortune too.

I'd been shocked when Charlie first suggested a dowry. I didn't even know what the fuck a dowry was back then. But when he explained it to me it sounded ok. Sort of like paying him back for all the years he'd had to raise her himself. She didn't cost me much more than a good sized diamond for her finger so I scrimped on the jewellery and gave Charlie the money. I thought I was getting a good deal. I loved her. It helped that I loved her. Parting with the money didn't seem such a big thing because I'd get the girl I wanted, she'd get the fuck out of home and we'd spit out a couple puppies and live happily ever after. The fairytale didn't last long.

I figured she'd grow to love me, if she didn't already, just like guys at the Rez who have their marriages set up for them. I was just looking outside the tribe for my bride, no different really.

Deep down I'd known she loved someone else, that she was settling for me. But right at the beginning that didn't worry me because I was sure I loved her enough for the both of us and that I'd be able to make her see how good we were together. I stupidly thought she'd grow to love me. That if I treated her right she'd fall for me as hard as I'd fallen for her. That's why it tore me up when I found out she was knocked up. I got angry, fast, and it never really seemed to go away after that.

She never once even blinked, let alone cowered, when I raged at her. She never once offered any explanation and that only fuelled the fire in my chest. I'd screwed my fair share of pussy before I married her but I wasn't dumb enough to knock any of them up and get stuck with them. But Bella didn't say who and after a while I stopped asking.

For three months I rode her hard. I admit I treated her like shit, but she never said stop and she never once backed down and just told me what the fuck she'd done and with whom.

Eventually I went to her dad. I asked him what the fuck I was supposed to do. I think all the colour drained from my face when he told me she was used to being slapped about and that if I did that she'd be more compliant. I didn't want her compliant I wanted her to fight back. I wanted justification for the anger I felt. I wanted her to yell and scream back, I wanted her to slap and punch and kick and fight. But she never did. No matter what I did to her she took it all. So in the end I fell into what Charlie had done with her. I started punishing her. Not because she did things wrong, she never did, but just because my anger had gotten out of control and I was hurt that she'd gotten pregnant to someone else.

By the time she had the kid I'd devised a whole set of rules for her to live by. I don't know how that even happened, I hadn't meant to do that to her, but there was just no outlet for my anger, and I couldn't hit her while she was knocked up, so I tormented her mentally instead.

God help me I still wanted her. Even as she ballooned and the kid grew I wanted her. With no bruises and her swollen belly I wanted her. And I took from her what I wanted but I wanted her to hurt like I was hurting, so instead of physical pain I gave her pain mentally. I withdrew everything from her, isolated her and belittled her constantly. She took it all. Every time I made up some stupid, useless new rule I thought this might be the time she cracked and just tore into me, but she never did. So my list of rules escalated until she couldn't pee without my say so.

I should've been ashamed of myself but oddly I wasn't. I felt justified finally and every time I met with Charlie he congratulated me on the fine job I was doing with my woman. I just got so used to the blessed relief tormenting her gave me that once the baby was born I decided the rules could stay even though I could hurt her physically again.

She bore it all with a smile – albeit a lopsided one – on her face. She was grateful that I'd not kicked her and the baby out! Can you believe that? She actually told me she was grateful to me for keeping her and the kid!

How fucked up is that?

When she brought the kid home, the first night, I hadn't planned to fuck her. I knew she'd be in pain and that she'd be bleeding. But for the first time since I married her she was free of someone else's spawn and when she came into the apartment she was fresh faced and free of the bulging stomach – almost anyway. I'd been prepared to hate her still, to still be pissed about the kid, but I wanted her. I made her put the kid in its crib and then I took her. I hurt her too, but not intentionally.

I hadn't meant to hurt her, I hadn't even really intended to have her. But she was as compliant as always and I'd held out just the tiniest bit of hope that now she was free of the kid we'd be able to start again, that she'd want me like I wanted her. But she'd argued, for the very first time she'd said no.

She told me she was cut, that she had stitches and that it would hurt her to have to have sex right then. But I was so ecstatic that she'd fought me, that she'd stood up for herself, that my need for her trebled while I stood there arguing with her. So I took her, forced her, tore her.

I was appalled at what I'd done but it didn't stop me from doing it again and again. But when I realised she was infected I'd backed off. I still wanted her, so I took her other ways, degrading ways, but I left that part of her body alone after that.

When it was all happening I told myself it was her own fault. I told myself that she deserved to hurt because I was hurting. I convinced myself that hurting her physically while denying her emotionally would teach her how important I was to her, that she needed me. But all along I think I knew it was just anger I was taking out on her.

I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror a long time and then went back into my bedroom to dress. The only times I left the apartment these days was to meet with my lawyer or the police. Today was going to be different. Today I was going to the clinic to talk to Edward Cullen again.

While the Rez boys beat the shit out of me two days ago they told me about Harry Clearwater being Bella's dad. They told me that Charlie Swan wouldn't be able to help me now, that he had no claim to Bella or the baby and that I was no longer welcome on the Reservation.

So many parts of that had been fucked up, not least because my own father was refusing to let me onto the Rez so I could see him and my sisters, but mostly because if Charlie Swan went to prison for beating Bella it was more than likely that I was going too. After all, I'd beaten her so badly she landed in hospital for over a month.

I wanted, no I needed, to confront Edward Cullen and find out if he was Elizabeth's father once and for all. I had no real reason to think that he was. I'd never seen Bella with anyone and never with Cullen, but he was taking care of her and the kid now and I had to wonder if he'd been sticking it to her all this time.

I wanted to know if he was its father before I met with the police and my lawyer again. The legal eagle said I should try to prove extreme provocation, that if I could name the father of her kid and prove that they'd tricked me into marrying her I might get a more lenient sentence if I plead guilty, citing extreme provocation as the cause for my anger that day.

My lawyer said it might make all the difference if I could actually name the kids father, not just prove that she wasn't mine. That meant going to the clinic and having it out with Cullen, something I didn't really want to do.

He wasn't as big as me but he'd had fire in his eyes the last time I'd seen him and I knew better than most what love could make you do. If he loved her, and I reckoned that he did, then he'd have no problem kicking my ass even though I'm bigger. Plus, I'm sporting about a dozen injuries. I still thought it was worth the risk. I'd try to keep my temper and just talk to the guy, he'd probably confess to screwing her without too much of a problem if he loved her the way I thought he did.

Not knowing if she loved him was what was fucking with my brain these days. The boys said she did, they said they'd met him and talked with him and they all thought she was better off with the Cullen's than she'd ever been with me or with the Chief. I didn't doubt it for one minute. But I still didn't know if Bella had loved Cullen all along and I'd just been set up.

I might hate the thought of going to prison but knowing she was okay on the outside would make it a little better. I'd never intended to hurt her but I had. I knew I had to pay the price for it, I just didn't want to think of her alone raising the kid. Despite what everyone thought I didn't hate Elizabeth. It wasn't her fault she'd been born into such shitty circumstances. I'd never hurt her. She was totally innocent, just like Bella had been when she was born into Charlie Swan's house.

I'd been questioned about Charlie Swan already and while I hadn't exactly painted him as a saint I hadn't shopped him completely either. I still didn't know what to do about that. If he wasn't her actual dad, if Harry Clearwater really was, then maybe the best thing I could do for both the girls was to help get Charlie Swan put away forever?

That might give them both a shot at a real life. Harry was a good man, he'd see them right.

I ran a hand through my hair and grabbed my keys off the filthy kitchen counter. With one last glance at Bella's list of rules taped to the wall I decided that if I was going down Charlie Swan was coming along for the ride.

I'd find out about Cullen then shop Charlie as best I could. If it meant Bella and Elizabeth would be free of him forever I'd do it.

A/N: There is NEVER any justification for abuse, either mental, physical or otherwise.

But after speaking at length with the man who hurt me I came to realise that in some peoples minds they CAN justify it. The reasons giving above are not the thoughts of the author, merely a look into the mind of an abuser. How they make good their actions is a scary, scary thing...