Mafia Princess

Chapter Thirty

Twilight...not mine (sigh).

Chapter Thirty

"Bella, wake up," I faintly heard. "Please, Little One. Open your eyes for me." I blinked a few times and looked around. I was pressed up against something hard and warm but still soft. I blinked my eyes again, checking out my surroundings. It looked like I was in an empty room in the funeral home. Two arms held me closer and I fluttered an eyes some more, trying to clear my head. Edward's face came into focus and he looked very, very worried. "You okay?"

"Um, I think so?" I glanced around the room. I also took note of where I was: in Edward's lap, leaning against his chest. "Where are we?"

"The parlor across the hall from Billy's," Edward explained. "You fainted and I scooped you up, bringing us in here. It was empty and quiet."

"Thanks," I said as I tried to sit up.

"Relax, Bella," he murmured.

"You've got to be uncomfortable," I muttered. "You don't like to be touched or something."

"I don't like being touched but you're woozy. I don't want you falling. Just...stay, okay?" he said as he tightening his hold on my body.

"Are you going to tell me why you don't like being touched?" I asked, playing with a button on his dress shirt. He stiffened. "Sorry, never mind."

"No, you have a right to know," he said quietly. "If we're going to be working together, I want to make sure that you feel comfortable that you can share things with me. That communication should go both ways." He closed his eyes and gulped. "Just keep this between us."

"I'd never betray your confidence, Edward," I said, looking up at him.

He moved me so I was sitting next to him. I hated being out of his arms but obviously this was something painful. He rubbed his left wrist, looking down at the ugly carpeting beneath our feet. "I've told you before that my childhood wasn't very good. That was putting it mildly. My dad was a drunk and a drug addict. My mom was his doormat. I was his punching bag. My earliest memories of my parents were of him beating the ever-loving shit out of her and raping her. When she was too broken to beat up, he'd turn on me. From the age of four until I was thirteen, I was beat up by my father on nearly a daily basis."

He rubbed his wrist harder and let out a shaky breath. "On my thirteenth birthday, I had had enough. He had just finished with my mother and it was bad. She was barely breathing. I had picked up a knife while he was attacking her. When started in on me, I took it, like usual. But, something clicked and I snapped. I whipped out the knife and using strength that I never knew I had, I pushed my father from me and I stabbed him. I stabbed him over a hundred times. A neighbor who had heard the struggle called it in and the police came. They told me that my father was dead and my mom was on the cusp of death. I ran to her, hugging her desperately." A stray tear fell out of his eyes as he clenched his fist. "Her last words to me were 'I love you, my angel,' and then she died."

He looked at me, his eyes showing the full extent of his pain. "The only touch I ever knew was pain," he whispered. "My mom couldn't hug me because she was always in pain and agony because of him. My father just beat the crap out of us."

"Were you charged?" I asked. "Charged with his murder?"

"No. It was self-defense," he chuckled darkly. His eyes deadened and he growled. "I should have done it sooner." He breathed deeply and went back to rubbing his wrist. "That's why I don't like to be touched. The only touch I can handle is pain."

"That explains the tattoos," I said. He nodded. "Why are you rubbing your wrist?"

"The man that took me in when I was placed in foster care told me that I was forgiven for ridding the world of that monster and whenever I need reminding, I rub my tattoo there," he said, displaying some masculine script saying 'Forgiven.'

"I'm sorry about your dad and your mom," I whispered. "I can't even imagine..."

"Me neither, and I lived it," he said, shooting me a glance.

"Was he the one who called you 'Eddie'?"

"Yeah. To differentiate between the two of us. He was also named Edward," he snarled. His hands clenched into rigid claws. "I hate that I was named after that monster. Sometimes, I feel like I'm just like him...this life..."

"You're not," I said as I took his hand. Quickly, I released it. "Sorry. I'll try...I won't touch you."

"It's different with you, Bella," he mumbled. He gently took my hand, threading our fingers together. "I don't feel panicky when you touch me. What does that mean?"

I was about to answer when Emmett poked his head inside. "All hands on deck, kids. Volturi's here."

A/N: *Bites lip* Now, we're making some headway, kids! But still a slow burn. No pictures with this one but check out pictures from previous chapters (on my blog...link in my profile). We're switching POV to Edward starting next chapter. Find me on Facebook: Tufano79's Twilight Fanfiction Appreciation and Twitter: tufano79. Leave me some!

ear oD'