A/N: First off, thank you again for the continued support! We love you all, and appreciate every single review we get. You guys are awesome :D.

So, Amy and Jessie, along with Leon, Kol, and Davina have gone MIA. We'll be switching to their perspectives soon enough, but firstly, we decided to introduce a new OC.

This starts after a three month time jump. Now, like we mentioned in the author's note last chapter, originally (yes, yes that pun was intentional and terrible), there was going to be Haylijah in this story. Now, upon watching and rewatching the Originals, we honestly don't like how Hayley treats Elijah. He's been devoted and loyal to her since the very beginning, and she's only strung him along with Jackson, in love with them both and unwilling to entirely give up Elijah, even when she gets married.

In our opinion, Elijah deserves better. He deserves somebody who actually chooses him. So, we created a woman named Belle Whitlock, and this is her story. We really, really hope you like her. We put tons of work into perfecting this quite long chapter, and took a long time to shape her character and backstory to our liking.

This is for the fans (like us authors) who often have trouble relating to the smooth, suave, confident characters. This is for the fans who are awkward, and blurt out things at the wrong time, and can't flirt to save their lives. Basically, we relate to Belle a lot more than we relate to Hayley, haha.

Please read, review, and enjoy! Thanks so much :).

Disclaimer: We own nothing but our OCs.

Warnings: Somewhat graphic descriptions of domestic abuse, mentions of non-consensual sex potentially leading to pregnancy.

Chapter 14: New Girl

Belle's Perspective

P.S. If you think the twins in this chapter Alexander and Angelica are named after Alexander Hamilton and Angelica Schuyler Church, then . . . yeah, you'd be right. We're obsessed with the musical Hamilton, and couldn't help but sneak in an obvious reference.

"Give me freedom, or give me good grades," I said dryly as I waited for my father to finish his shift and meet me for dinner. My napkin was ripped into jagged pieces into a neat little pile, and I couldn't think of anything else to do. Dad was a half hour late.

A familiar feeling of nausea crawled its way up my throat, and was I beginning to regret meeting him at Rousseau's, an establishment full of delicious aromas and non-stop music.

Doctor Dad wanted to celebrate the fact I was about to start med school in only a week's time. I was stressed out of my mind, and didn't appreciate his determination to get me drunk, but to each their own. I fought the itching urge to dial up the babysitter and check up on my kids, and I was losing the battle when my father finally slid into the seat across from me.

"Don't you dare," he threatened as my finger hovered over the keypad. "They're fine. You hover over them already, loosen up for a night, will ya? Don't forget you promised me dinner, little lady."

Mildly affronted by his blunt way of calling me a mother hen, I deflected by accusing, "Did you forget when said dinner was meant to start?" A playful smirk tugged up the corners of my lips. "You've been forgettin' a lot of things lately. Is there something you need to tell me, Father? Alzheimer's does run in our family, you know . . ."

He snorted and shook his head at me ruefully. "Ha ha. In case you've forgotten, daughter, I'm forty-two. Early onset Alzheimer's is very rare, Miss Med School. You might want to crack out the ol' textbooks."

"Hey, you're the doctor, not me," I pointed out.

"You decided to intern for me," he countered as quick as a flash, a twinkle in his bright blue eyes. I loved his eyes, but I ended up inheriting my mother's hazel eyes, which my kids got from me. It looked better on them.

I smiled cutely, resting up chin onto my propped fists. "Hindsight's twenty-twenty."

"Hate to break it to you, but poor eyesight runs in our family, too. And personally, I'm happy about it. It's a win-win. I get to torture you at home and at work, and you get to learn from the living legend."

"Living legend? Slow down there, Doc Holiday."

Our fast-paced slew of insults was interrupted when Dad decided abruptly that he needed alcohol if he were to spend more than five minutes with me and survive. His exact wording, in case you were wondering. Ass. Sharing our trademark sneers with each other, I waltzed over to the bar and received a pleasant surprise when I realized Camille was working tonight. We'd bumped into each other more a couple weeks before, and became fast friends.

"Belle!" Cami's face split into a broad smile as she finally saw me, and she moved away from the customer she'd been speaking to. "What brings you here?"

I grinned back, and propped my elbows up on the counter. "My punctually-challenged father decided to break free of his twenty-five hour, eight-day week schedule and treat me to dinner."

She chuckled as she cleaned out the nearest shot glass, her blonde hair bouncing around during the movement. I couldn't help but watch in fascination; she had hair to die for. "Well, that's nice of him."

I tweaked an eyebrow and glanced back at him, as he was waving and gesturing impatiently for me to order his drink. "Something like that. . . ."

"Daughter," he all but whined over to me, and I rolled my eyes to the ceiling, "I'm not getting any younger!"

"You don't need to tell me that, Father, your Alzheimer's is already kicking in!" Giggling at his aghast expression, I ordered him a scotch on the rocks and water for me. As Camille went to get me the drinks, the man who Cami had been talking to earlier turned to me. I offered him a shy smile.

I'm not going to recap in detail how that went. He flirted with me, I attempted to reciprocate, and I failed. Dismally. And it was stupid anyway, because I hadn't even finalized my divorce. When I returned to the booth, I all but shoved the drink toward my father, who was staring at me with a strange look on his face. Properly humiliated, I ground out, "What?"

The laughter he'd been holding back burst through like a cracked dam. Of course he was eavesdropping. I hid my face in my hands and pretended I was somewhere else- anywhere else. "Daughter, if that's your idea of flirting, then you need to reevaluate your priorities. I could've flirted better with him."

Slamming my palms down on the table, I fixed him with, "Then why don't you? We all know your history of women hasn't gone well for you." I felt bad right after, and if I could take it back, I would in a heartbeat. That was a low blow.

His expression carefully crafted into a neutral mask, but I could tell I hurt him. "Ouch," he chuckled, but it was without any humor. "You really know how to hit below the belt, Liberty Belle."

Liberty Belle was one of his favorite nicknames for me. It annoyed me when I was younger, but now I found it endearing. "Ugh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it." This was just not my night. "That was mean. I'm not mean. Or, I try not to be. And I don't have a leg to stand on, considering my history with men."

Evidently letting the uncalled for jab roll off his shoulders, he emphasized, "Hey, you were only with one guy. Yeah, I never approved of him, and yeah, I didn't think you being knocked up was a good enough reason to marry at eighteen, and yeah, he turned out to be an utter piece of shit that I will eventually suffocate with a stethoscope if he rears his asshole head . . ." By the steeled look in his eyes, he wasn't kidding too much on the last part. "If he's not dead already."

Although the entire tirade was probably meant so I'd loosen up and laugh, it scratched at a raw wound and brought more pain bubbling to the surface. I had the sudden urge to cry, but I'd been crying enough lately, so I held the tears at bay. "I'm starting to think your advice is just a way of saying "I told you so." You were right all along, I get it. I should have never married him, when I didn't really know him. I shouldn't have had his children- which, by the way, were the only reasons I continued on living, so you were wrong there. But most of all, I shouldn't have let him hurt me. I should've been stronger. I should've-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, you stop that right now." He sounded uncharacteristically stern, and he reached over to grasp my hands in his much larger and more calloused ones. "It is not your fault. How many times do I have to tell you that before you stop blaming yourself?"

The tears I'd been holding back finally spilled over and trailed down my cheeks, and I lowered my head in shame. "I should have been strong enough to stop it. I only left a month ago, because I was so afraid he'd come after us, and steal the twins away from me." I bit back a sob.

In the face of my unraveling, Dad still managed to stay calm and reasonable, for my sake, even though I was sure he was stewing with rage beneath the surface directed toward my husband. "Baby, forget all that. You did leave, and you're safe now. You're all safe now."

That brought back the agonizing night and the unwanted memories flooded to the surface. I'd told my dad the basic summary, but I spared him the ugly details.

One Month Ago . . .

"This is all your fault!" I stifled a cry of pain as he slapped me across the face. "I'm unhappy- no, I'm miserable, because of you! You blame it on the alcohol, well guess what? I started drinking because of you!"

"You don't mean that, Cameron," I said quietly, and flinched as he pushed me into a wall, furious I'd dare refute him. "We were happy once."

He slammed his fist into the wall right near my head, and left a hole. I looked into the red-rimmed, drunken eyes of my husband and wondered where our marriage went wrong. I searched through the hateful blue orbs, and wondered where my real husband was, if he was even in there. If he was ever in there, or if it was some deluded fantasy on my part from the very beginning.

"I could've been so much more!" I squeezed my eyes shut as his spit sprayed across my face. "Look me in the eye when I'm talking to you, goddammit." I had no choice but to obey, and for what felt like the millionth time, pure hate bubbled up inside me. "If you hadn't gotten knocked up at seventeen, if the fucking condom hadn't broke, I'd be so much farther than where I am right now. I told you to abort it, Belle, I told you, but you didn't give a shit what I said then and you don't give a shit what I say now. And 'cause of them, look where we are now."

Anything he had to throw at me, I'd take it and I'd suck it up, but the second he brought up our children . . . I stepped forward, making him step backwards, and said icily, "Them. Not it. Them. Alexander and Angelica. How can you even say that? You're their father! You're supposed to love them, and cherish them. Not frighten them, and hit their mother in front of them!"

"Shut the fuck up!" He hit me again, and this time, I collapsed onto the bed. At this point, I was no stranger to pain, but part of me would never get used to . . . this. Even though it had become a main fixture of my life. "Guess what, they're not here right now, so they can't see this. And if they did, I'd make sure to tell them the truth- that you deserve this!" Growling to himself, he stepped away and frantically raked his fingers through his shaggy blond hair. "I didn't used to be this person, I didn't." He glared at me and pointed accusingly. "You turned me into this. And . . . and them. Y'all ruined me. I wasn't meant to be a father . . ."

Even though he'd literally knocked me off my feet, my protectiveness of my children strengthened my resolve, so I stood right back up and got in his face. He'd make me regret it, that much I was positive, but I would not let him pin all of his faults on our beautiful children. "You know what? You shut the fuck up." His droopy eyes widened in absolute shock. "Don't you dare put this on them. You can call me every name in the book, you can beat me until I'm black and blue, but I will not let you call them mistakes. They will not grow up thinking they're anything less than loved. I will not let you ruin them like you've ruined yourself!"

Cameron hit me again, harder than the times before, and as pain exploded across my cheek and stars surrounded me, I collapsed to the ground. As soon as I landed, he kicked me in the side twice, and tears leaked from my eyes. So much pain . . . "Stop crying, you stupid bitch. You don't get to cry. It makes you weak. Hell, you are weak. Talk to me like that again, and I'll fucking kill you." He glowered down at me so ferociously that for the first time, I feared for my life. I wondered if this is when it happened, if this is where he finally snapped and ended my life.

And that was when I noticed my two miracles standing in the doorway, their cheeks wet with tears and their eyes wide with horror. No, no, no . . . how long had they been standing there? How much did they hear? How much did they see? Cameron kicked me again, and the twins jumped in terror. "Alex, Angel," I managed to choke out, sitting up, and Cameron turned around to see them. "Everything is going to be okay-"

In a rage, Cameron spun back around and socked me right in the jaw. "I didn't say you could talk!" he screamed down at me as I fell back down again. The twins clutched each other and sobbed, and my heart shattered into a million pieces.

Angel wailed desperately, "Don't hurt Mommy!" at the same time as Alex shouted furiously at his father, "Stop hitting her!" My babies, my poor babies. They should have never been exposed to this, at four years old; they should've barely known what hitting was. Alex and Angel should've only known what a happy, healthy marriage looked like, with parents who loved each other. Not that Daddy yelled at and beat Mommy. They shouldn't have known what fear was, what hate was.

"Get the fuck out of here!" he bellowed at the both of them and they hugged each other even tighter. They didn't budge an inch; they were probably afraid he would hit me again, and they didn't want to leave me. Alex and Angel were so pure, so good . . .

Cameron started taking meaningful strides toward them, and despite the pain, I was on my feet in half a second. I moved faster than I ever had before, and stood in his way, placing my hands firmly onto his chest. "No, Cameron," I begged him, "stay away from them. Please, if you want to hit someone, hit me! Not them, please, not them . . ."

"No, d-don't hit M-Mommy!" Angel blubbered behind me. She was crying so hard it sounded as if she was choking on her own tears. "P-Please don't h-hit Mommy anymore!"

Cameron wholeheartedly took me up on my bargain. With everything in him, he shoved me to the side and I crashed into our dresser, gasping at the impact. "Stop it, stop it!" Alex screamed up at him almost incoherently, and Angel echoed him.

As much as I despised him, Cameron had never taken his anger out on our children. He saved it all for me. At least . . . not before tonight. Something about them pushed him over the edge, and he lunged towards them, grabbing them by the fronts of their pajama shirts and pushing them out of the doorway. The two of them stumbled backwards at the force and smashed against the wall across from our bedroom, their heads banging against the plaster before they fell forward in a heap of tears and shrieks.

Something in me broke, and I didn't think it would ever heal. My own pain meant nothing to me anymore, it dissolved into an influx of adrenaline. I wasn't an abused, battered wife anymore, I was a lioness. He wasn't their father anymore. He was the bastard who hurt my cubs.

It was as if my legs were moving of their own accord, my children's cries were my driving force. I grasped the back of his collar and twisted him around to face me, then wound up my fist and punched him in the nose as hard as I could. "Get the hell away from my children, you son of a bitch!" His nose shattered beneath the sheer force of my knuckles, and a fountain of blood poured down his face onto his shirt.

Cameron wasn't going to take this without a fight, though. "You fucking bitch!" He shoved me backwards again, but this time, I didn't fall. He threw his own punch, which landed against my right eye, but I didn't just take it. I punched him back, harder, and blood sprang from his split lips. His hands wrapped around my neck as he pushed me down onto the bed, and began to force the breath from my lungs. Once upon a time, I might've let it happen. Because it didn't matter when he hurt me. As long as it wasn't my children. My Alexander and my Angelica. But he did hurt them, and if he killed me now, it would leave them motherless. So you bet your ass I fought back.

In one last effort, I propelled my feet into his gut and knocked him away from me. Right when he lunged for me again, I side-stepped him and dove for the nearest table lamp. My heart pounded a mile a minute as he charged for me, and with every ounce of my strength, I swung the lamp and it smashed into a thousand pieces over his head. He collapsed like a ton of bricks, and I stood there, panting, and gaping at what I'd just done. What I finally had the courage to do.

But my unconscious husband didn't capture more than a second of my attention. I dropped what was left of the lamp and headed straight for my children. They were sobbing and hyperventilating and caught in a fit of screams. "Shhh, shhh, I've got you," I crooned as I gathered them up in my arms, crying a little myself. "Mommy's got you, nobody's going to hurt you again."

Their tiny arms curled around my neck and I lifted them up. This hellish life and chaos ended today. I wouldn't let my kids witness this for another second. "Everything's going to be okay, Mommy's got you. I love you both so much. Mommy loves you," I murmured soothingly to both of them as I hurried down the hall.

Little did my husband know, I had bags packed away of all of Alex's and Angel's favorite things and mine in the trunk of my car. Cameron had been worse than ever that month, and I knew deep in my bones that it would come to an end somehow, and I'd finally break my children free of him. I just didn't know how it would occur, and I never imagined it to be so volatile.

"Mommy, what about Cloudy?" Alex sniffled into my collarbone, and I swore under my breath. I'd nearly forgotten about our cat. Alex and Angel loved the little thing. I'd bought her for them last Christmas, around six months before, and she'd become a beacon of light for the three of us. I couldn't forget the damn cat.

"Cloudy!" I called, waiting anxiously for her to come trotting over. It needed to be before Cameron woke up. If he woke up. "Cloudy, come! Please," my voice broke on the last word into a sob, and finally, the pure white cat raced over to me with her tail between her legs. She'd become more and more skittish as Cameron had become more and more violent toward me.

Somehow balancing the twins and the cat, I hooked my keys around my finger and shoved my wallet and cell phone into my purse and slung it over my shoulder. Then, I managed to open the front door and all but sprint for my car. I wasted no time in buckling the twins into their respective carseats, whispering sweet nothings into their ear, and placing Cloudy between them.

Cameron must have woken up because he bellowed from inside, "BELLE, WHERE THE HELL DID YOU GO?" Just when I thought this night couldn't get any worse . . .

"Shit, shit, shit," I muttered as I climbed into the driver's seat and fumbled for my keys, my hand trembling and sweating as I attempted to shove it into the ignition.

"Mommy, I'm scared," Angel whimpered from the backseat. "Is Daddy gonna hurt us again?"

It was like she tore the remains of my heart right out of my chest, and crushed the ashes inside of her tiny fist. This should've never happened to them. I shouldn't have let this go on for so long. "I know you're scared, baby, but it's going to be okay," I assured her through my tears and terror as I finally managed to rev up the car's engine. "Daddy won't hurt you again. I'm not going to let anything happen to you, I promise you. You and Alex are the most precious things in the entire world to me."

"And Cloudy," Alex pointed out, and I laughed a little crazily, despite the severity of the situation.

"Yes, Alex," I chuckled and sobbed at the same time. "Cloudy, too. We can't forget Cloudy, can we?"

My heart about stopped in my damn chest when Cameron burst through the front door, murder in his stance. Shaking even harder than before, I frantically switched the car into reverse and pulled out of the driveway. During that move, Cameron sped across the front lawn and into the street . . . right in front of the car. Blood was caked across his hair, face, and shirt. "No, no, no," I breathed, banging my hands into the steering wheel and making sure every door was locked.

"You're not going anywhere, and you're not taking our kids away from me!" he shouted, coming even closer. "Get the fuck back into the driveway!" He looked positively insane. "Or you'll have to run me over. Which is it, you crazy bitch?"

The old me would've lowered my head, and followed through with his demands. But the old me died the second he laid a hand on children. I straightened my spine and set my jaw. I. Was. Done. I imagined every single time he hurt me emotionally, physically, . . . even sexually. It didn't matter before, because I didn't matter. But the second he touched my kids, it was end game.

And thus, without a second more of consideration, I slammed my foot down on the gas and ran the bastard over. The car sent him flying to the side into a tree, but I didn't even spare a glance for him as I drove on.

After a few minutes of pure silence, my baby girl asked quietly from the back, "Is Daddy dead?"

And I didn't know what to tell her.

About Six Hours Later . . .

I drove across Alabama and Mississippi, not stopping for anything but bathroom breaks and food. And even then, I made sure to cover myself up with a hoodie I had stowed away near the passenger seat. I caught a glimpse of my face in one of the car mirrors, and it wasn't pretty.

New Orleans. I didn't know where else to go. I grew up in Atlanta, Georgia, and that's where I escaped from Cameron. My mama died when I was seventeen, one of the reasons I decided to marry Cameron. But my father lived in New Orleans.

I hadn't spent too much time with my father over the years, as I lived mostly with my mama- which wasn't too much fun in itself, mind you, she had her own set of issues- but Dad and I were as close as we could be with so much distance between us. Until Cameron knocked me up; he was extremely against our shotgun wedding idea, and didn't even go. He and I had been estranged for four years now- I was eighteen then, twenty-two now.

Pulling into the parking garage near his enormous loft apartment near the French Quarter, I decided to leave the bags in the car and took only Alex, Angel, and Cloudy. "It's going to be okay, it's going to be okay," I said over and over again, and it was just as much for me as it was for them.

It was three in the morning, so there weren't many people around to see us, thankfully- by now, my bruises had fully formed, and I looked every part of the battered wife. It would bring up a lot of questions.

Before I knew it, I arrived on my father's doorstep, and knocked furiously against his door. I needed him so much, but I didn't know what to expect. I hadn't even spoken with him in four entire years. Would he even let us in? Or would he sent us away? He was against my pregnancy in the first place, how would he react to seeing his grandchildren in the flesh? Did . . . did he hate me?

All of my worries melted into relief when he opened the door, and I burst into tears, clutching my precious cargo against me (including Cloudy!). "Daddy, you were right," I sobbed. "You were right this entire time. I'm so sorry, Daddy, I'm so sorry."

Dad's face fell slack, and his jaw dropped open as he took in my appearance. His countenance of sheer horror burned into my mind; I would remember it for the rest of my life. "Belle . . ." His eyes gleamed with tears of his own. "Oh my God . . . Baby, what the hell happened to you?"

Present Time

"You're thinking about it again, aren't you?" he sighed, and I nodded somberly. "You know, you never really told me the details. You gave me the gist of everything, but . . . You focused on the kids. I saw how you looked on my doorstep. How bad did it get for you?"

In the whole scheme of things, I'd never really considered my role in it. He hurt my kids, and that's what mattered to me. I pushed my own feelings aside so I could take care of them, and focus on the future. So, it was especially hard for me when I replied softly, "Bad. It got really, really bad."

I could see his heart breaking through his eyes, and I regretted saying anything. "I'm so sorry, baby. I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you. I'm sorry I made you feel like you couldn't come to me sooner. And I'm sorry I put so much negativity on your pregnancy, because I love my grandkids, Liberty Belle, I love 'em to the moon and back."

I smiled through my tears, and brushed them off my cheeks. "I know you do, Dad. And you don't have to be sorry. You've helped me in so many ways this past month. I don't know what I'd do without you."

He sent me his own watery smile. "Well, luckily, you don't have to know, 'cause I'm right here. It's about time we ordered dinner, huh?" When I was stuck reliving that horrible night (Dad and I both suspected I had PTSD), a waiter had come, but Dad waved him off to give me some space.

After calling him back, Dad ordered a rack of baby back ribs, and I decided to pass on dinner. "You have to eat, daughter," he informed me as I sent the waiter away. "Have you eaten anything today?"

"I ate lunch, Father," I said defensively. "I just can't keep much down lately. I've been feeling pretty nauseous the last couple weeks. I think I have some kind of stomach bug."

He eyed me with knowing scrutinization, and I squirmed under his gaze. Don't even go there. Please, don't. "Miss Future Doctor, did you consider all of the possibilities?"

My mind refused to accept what he was putting on the table. "What exactly are you insinuating?"

He arched an eyebrow. "You know what I'm insinuating."

Crossing my arms, I leaned back into the booth and answered like a sullen teenager, "Dad, I'm not pregnant." A bit different from the time where I was a teenager and I also was in fact pregnant, and had to tell him that. "I-I can't be. I just got away from him."

Dad, like usual, wasn't putting up with any of my bullshit. Of all people in my life, basically ever, he was the only one who could always see right through me. "When was your last period?"

As a twenty-two year old woman, I still flushed bright red. "Father. No."

He released a breath of amusement and exasperation alike. "Daughter. Yes. Don't forget I'm a doctor, too. This kind of stuff doesn't faze me."

I'd kind of forgotten that part. Doctor Dad to the rescue, I supposed. "Oh, right. Um, well . . ." Come to think of it, now that I added up the days in my head . . . "I'm late. But I've been so stressed, and I haven't been eating well, so it only makes sense that-"

"You've been throwing up a lot, haven't you?"

I scowled at the fact that he interrupted me. "I repeat, I've been really stressed. Taking your kids away and running from an abusive husband, starting a whole new life in a whole new city, and entering medical school can do that to you."

"You're in denial."

I balked at him. "I am not."

"You are too."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Not."

"Are."

"We are such children," I chuckled, taking a sip of my water as his ribs were delivered to the table.

"That we are," he agreed as he tucked his napkin into his collar. "Now, did you have a . . . sexual encounter with him recently enough for you to be in early stages of pregnancy?" It clearly pained him to inquire that.

I breathed out hard through my nose. "I'm not pregnant."

"Humor me."

There was, in fact. It had been a few weeks before I packed up the kids and left. He was very drunk, and very angry. It wasn't a night I preferred to remember, as I wasn't exactly voluntarily involved in it. There wasn't much I could do about it now. He was my husband, anyway, it wasn't like he was some stranger off the streets. But still, I didn't like to think about it. It was possible, though, that we conceived another child. "Yes, it's possible that I'm pregnant, but . . ."

"But what?" he said through a mouthful of coleslaw.

Now, this was the hard part. I kept my gaze glued to the tabletop. "I figure I would have miscarried the night I left, if I was really pregnant."

He just about choked, and spit out his food into the nearest napkin. "W-what?" he spluttered, tossing the napkin to the side. "Explain. Now."

No, this was the hard part. However much I didn't want to, he deserved an explanation. "He, um . . . hit me pretty hard at one point, and I fell to the ground, and . . . he kicked me a few times in the ribs. I'm just surprised that if I was pregnant, I didn't . . . lose it."

Dad said nothing for an extremely long time. I couldn't tell what he was thinking precisely. I was sure, though, he was imagining the countless ways he could murder my husband. I tore another napkin into a million pieces as I watched him. "Um, Dad? You okay over there?"

He stared at me blankly. "Dad can't come to the phone right now. Leave a message."

Well, now this was even more awkward. "Look, I know, it sucks. It doesn't matter now anyway, if I really am pregnant- hell, I don't even know if he's alive. Probably, he's a resourceful son of a bitch."

That broke him out of his stupor. "It sucks?" He let loose an incredulous snort. "It doesn't matter?" I cringed away from him. I should've known he wouldn't appreciate my word choice. "A man beats you hard enough for you potentially miscarry and all you say is that it sucks? And that it doesn't matter?" I shrugged, and that only infuriated him further. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

The potent emotions that had been storming inside me all evening finally spilled, and I gnawed on my lip so hard I tasted the salty tang of blood. In this lapse of self-control, I forgot to keep my volume low, and ended up attracting the attention of the whole bar. "You know what? You weren't there! It was absolute hell, but I got through it, and you don't get to judge me on how I cope!" Every pair of eyes were on me, or at least that's what it felt like. I grabbed my purse and stood from the table, cutting off my dad's protest with, "Enjoy your dinner. I'm going for a walk."

As I stormed dramatically from the table, I snapped loud enough for all to hear, "Show's over!" and headed for the exit, never wanting to enter that establishment again. Camille would surely have a lot of questions the next time I saw her. So, hopefully, I wouldn't see her again anytime soon.

The icy wind of the unusually chilly New Orleans night pelted my face, drying up the last of my tears. Now that I had stormed off, I wasn't entirely sure where to go. The babysitter was set to leave at a quarter after eight, and I still had a half hour to go. Aimlessly, I wandered down the streets, making sure to stay in well-lit areas. Also, I was trying to forget all of the wounds my father's persistent interrogation reopened. Soon enough, I would have to tell him more, and I wasn't sure I could handle it.

Jazz music exploded all around me, and I realized with dismay I found myself over at Bourbon street. Obnoxiously loud instruments and a parade of partying people did not fit my current mood description.

Part of me just wanted to go back to the restaurant, but that'd be like giving up. Giving up what, I wasn't entirely sure, but I was neurotic like that. I wasn't fond of losing, and going back there and facing my father with the countenance of a scolded child, felt like losing. I was already losing a battle against myself, I didn't need this defeat piled along with it. Man, I was really immature.

Slowing my pace, I glanced around, and for a split second, I thought a man across the street was Cameron. Pale skin, pale hair, the works. My heart quickened its pace and my gut twisted in fear. But then he showed his face, and it wasn't him. I breathed out a sigh of relief I didn't even know I was holding.

And then the waterworks started up again. Was this my life now? Any blond man off the street would push me to the point of a panic attack? I didn't used to be this weak. I used to be so much stronger, but Cameron ruined me as much as he ruined himself. I hated living in such a constant state of fear, but I didn't know how to stop it. "Fuck him," I choked out, salty tears flooding my mouth. "Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him."

I was running now, but from what, remained a mystery. It was moronic, since tears were blurring my vision and I could barely see a few feet in front of me, but the desperation to break free from my miserable existence of terror pushed me on. I thought moving in with my father would make things better, and it did, for the most part, but yet, here I was. Possibly pregnant with my abusive husband's child from an act of nonconsensual sex, and running from all of my problems. Some adult I turned out to be.

Sprinting even faster than before, I blindly rounded a corner, and that was when my life changed forever. Just by some stupid coincidence. I barreled right into a man, and squeezed my eyes shut as I expected us both to collapse onto the filthy concrete. We didn't. For one, he didn't budge a centimeter, and secondly, as I nose-dived straight for the sidewalk, he caught me. How convenient.

"I'm so, so sorry," I said through my never-ending fountain of tears. "Oh my God, I'm such an idiot." I couldn't even build up the courage to look at him. "T-thank you for catching me."

Without a word, the man held up a fancy handkerchief in front of my face, and following a beat of trepidation, I gratefully took it, attempting to wipe off my stained cheeks. "Think nothing of it, miss."

Looking up to thank him again, that was when I got my first look at him. And boy, did I like what I saw. He was a handsome man, with sharp but kind features. Dark, almost black hair, with eyes to match. And then there was the suit. He was obviously a classy man, with a black suit well-tailored to fit his muscular form.

"Hello, m-my name is Belle," I all but stammered. Ugh. This is what happened when I met good-looking people. It threw off my mojo. "Uh, I know you didn't ask, and you probably don't want to know because I just crashed into you, but it's too late to take back now," I finished lamely, and ducked my head in shame. A small smile tugged at his lips; he seemed almost amused by my rambling.

"It's nice to meet you, Belle." Before I could pull away, he fluidly grabbed my wrist and lifted it to his lips, pressing them down gently on the back of my hand. Suit-man has game, I thought, then immediately mentally kicked myself for it. I'm the most pathetic person I know. It was almost as if the man could read my mind, because he smiled even wider. "My name is Elijah."

"Wood!" I exclaimed, and then promptly wanted to die. His eyebrows knitted together in confusion, and I instantly regretted blurting that out. "Um, you know, Elijah Wood. It was a joke, I guess. Kind of. A bad one. More of a reference. Geek culture." His face showed no recognition. "Frodo?" I tried. "Lord of the Rings?"

"Ah, yes, I see now." His dark eyes were unfathomable, and I couldn't tell what he was thinking. When I ran into him, I was a sobbing mess, but now I was attempting and failing to joke around. This is why I didn't date. Shotgun weddings were fine, apparently, but dating never meshed well with me.

"As you can see, I didn't sit at the popular table in high school." Lame cover-up to a lame joke, but I was too far in to slither away now.

Something mischievous twinkled in his eyes, as if he was choosing his words very carefully, and they had a double meaning I wasn't aware of. "Nor did I. You are in safe company here."

"You and this handkerchief, sounds like I'm in good hands," I giggled weakly, then realized the implications of what I'd just suggested. Holy shit, shoot me in the face. "Not what I meant, I swear. I'm not coming onto you. Not that you're not worthy of coming onto, you're totally hot, and I'm not blind nor oblivious." Oh. My. God. Shut. The. Hell. Up. NOW. Oh great, now he was smirking.

"I'll take that as a compliment." Nervously, I wrung the handkerchief into little knots and avoided his piercing gaze. "This may sound trite of me to ask, but are you all right, Miss Belle?"

"I'm fine," I blurted out before even giving it a second's thought. Elijah flashed me a dubious look, and it assured me that he didn't believe me. I didn't even believe myself anymore. It was just easier to say I was fine then delve into why I wasn't. "Sort of. Relatively speaking. It's a matter of perspective."

He tried a tiny smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. His warm, dark, mysterious eyes . . . Seriously, shut up, me. "I can't help but think you aren't."

"Yeah," I forced a dry chuckle, "I've been getting that a lot lately. I had a conversation with my father, and essentially bolted from the restaurant, leaving him high and dry. It was . . . pretty heavy." Why was I telling him this?

One of his dark, shapely eyebrows tweaked up, and he shoved his hands into his well-tailored pant pockets. He was perfect. He was legitimately perfect. "It must have been, if it upset you so much."

I shrugged apologetically, even though I didn't have anything to be sorry for. At least not with him, besides bashing into him. "I don't really like to talk about it." And yet, before he could reply, I was already breaking my own rule and talking about it. I had to talk to someone, and my dad was crossed off the list- at least for tonight. "He thinks I'm pregnant."

He dipped his head in understanding. I mentally face-palmed. Why would a stranger, albeit handsome stranger, want to hear about this? But, alas, I was already continuing, "I'm not, though. At least . . . I can't be. I can't . . . I-I can't have this child with . . . him." At his questioning look, I clarified, "My husband. If he's even . . ." I was about to say "alive," but I caught myself at the last second. And just like that, the stress and heartache of the evening caught up with me once more, and a few tears escaped my eyes. "Ugh, I'm so sorry. You don't even know me. Wherever you have to go, you might as well head there now, I don't want to hold you up."

He made no moves to leave. Blinking away my tears, I gingerly unraveled his handkerchief, and dabbed at my eyes. Some mascara rubbed off onto it. I chuckled without humor. "I must look like a mess."

"I've seen much worse in my time." Well, at least there was that. "There is no need for you to be sorry. And I do not have any pressing matters to handle. Nothing is worth leaving a woman in distress all on her lonesome." In fact, he led me over to the nearest bench once I nodded my consent. "I'm a good listener."

"Well, um, okay then. It's been a bad year," I explained once I sat down, still sniffling. "Two years, really. Three, kind of. The only thing that kept me afloat were my kids."

"You have other children?" he asked with an unfeigned interest. That's all I needed, for someone to listen to me, and not judge me.

I nodded, happy to move on to a more pleasant subject. "Yeah, I do. Twins, four years old. Alexander and Angelica. Here, I have a picture of them in my wallet, I think." Without waiting for a response, I fished through my wallet and plucked out a photo I'd taken with them on their fourth birthdays about two months ago at Chuck E. Cheese.

We were all beaming up at the camera, and I distinctly remembered the hell Cameron had put me through that night after the twins were in bed. If I was pregnant, that was when it was conceived. That had been an isolated incident. Sometimes I had nightmares about it. He'd abused me for a while before, but he'd never crossed that boundary. At least not until that horrible, horrible night.

"Belle?" I jumped. The flashback that plagued my mind that time was particularly real feeling. I shuddered, and shifted my attention back to Elijah, who was looking quite concerned. "You disappeared there for a minute." Yeah . . . I did that an awful lot lately. "May I see the picture?"

What picture? I glanced down at the photo I was gripping so tightly between my fingers it was folding in on itself. Oops. "Oh, sorry. Here you go." I smoothed out the crease, and handed it to him.

The corners of his lips curved up into a gentle smile as he admired it. I'll be the first to brag about it, my kids were freakin' adorable, but of course, I was heavily biased. As I may have mentioned before, they inherited their bright orange hair and hazel eyes from me. They didn't look like Cameron much at all, and thus, he accused me of cheating on him until we had a paternity test, proving he was indeed the biological father. Which worked against him when he realized he didn't particularly want to be an involved father. "Your children are beautiful. They take after their mother," he remarked casually as he passed back the photograph.

I looked up at him in shock, trying to gauge whether he was lying or not for my benefit. He seemed to be telling me the truth. Nobody had called me beautiful in years. A light blush crept to my cheeks. "That's, um . . . nice of you to say."

Elijah tilted his head slightly to the side, and I imagined a cute little puppy in his place, with the same big, brown eyes . . . I swear I'm going insane. "You sound surprised." And he sounded confused.

Social interactions were so not my thing. Lock me in a room with a full of biology textbooks, a microscope, and a dead body, I thrived. Talking to living people face-to-face, especially men? Not one of my few talents. I decided to go for the honest route. Well, "decided" is a strong term. More like my mouth spewed out whatever it liked to, and my brain had to reluctantly go along with it afterwards. "Nobody's told me that in years, probably for good reason."

He frowned, and the facial gesture sent a knife through my chest. I didn't know him at all, yet I didn't want him to frown. I wanted him to be happy. "Then clearly you haven't been surrounded by the right company." This man was smooth.

He was spot-on there, though. Cameron was most certainly not the right company. Since I didn't want to delve any deeper into my problems, I turned the tables and asked, "What about you? What's your story?"

The corners of his lips flattened into a thin, pained smile. "I decided to take a walk, because my brother's company has been less than ideal as of late."

Family issues? Now that I could emphasize with. "Younger or older brother?"

"Younger brother." There was some kind of ancient sadness residing in his deep brown eyes. "He's been a hot mess for . . . quite a long time now. And unfortunately, his life has been turned upside down, and by extension, ours."

"How so?" I asked curiously, tilting my head to one side, then realized how nosy I was being. "That's none of my business, I'm sorry. You don't have to answer that."

He shook his immediately. "No, no, do not apologize. He . . . acquired a pair of long-lost teenager daughters three months ago, and . . . lost them, if you will."

Long-lost daughters? And I thought my family was complicated. "I didn't even really know long-lost children were a thing, besides in, like, General Hospital." His facial features showed no recognition. "Er, never mind. What do you mean he lost them?"

"That's a long and painful story, I'm afraid, where he is the sole antagonist." He sighed in regret. "We are looking for them now after their runaway. My nieces haven't had a stable upbringing. They were raised in the foster system in London, and never knew their mother. It seems to have had a serious impact on their behavior and outlook on life. I've grown to care for them, in the short time I'd known them." His lips pursed, like he was considering his next words very carefully. "I . . . I miss them."

My heart broke for him, and without thinking about it, I grabbed one of his hands. We both stared at our intertwined hands for a moment, and clearing my throat, I tugged mine away. That was supremely awkward. "I'm sorry, Elijah. I can't imagine gaining family like that and losing it. I can understand their positions, though. Mothers have an enormous role in how we turn out, and when you lose them at a young age or never had them at all . . . I lost my mother when I was seventeen. It's . . . excruciating, especially when you're close."

"I can't say I was terribly close to mine, at least in the end." Elijah seemed keen to swap the spotlight back to me. "I'm very sorry for your loss. What did she die of, if I may ask?"

I almost spat out the word. "Cancer."

"A malicious opponent," he said gently, and my heart twinged with his sadness. How right he was. "Earlier, you said you were having a conversation with your father. Did you move in with him after your mother's passing?"

And here came the tricky part, the part I was now ashamed to tell. "Er, no." Ugh, kill me now. "I had a boyfriend at the time, and I sort of got . . . pregnant. Not sort of. I did. My twins, the ones I showed you earlier. And I married him, which turned out to be the worst mistake of my life." I breathed out a bitter, humorless laugh, but as far as I could see, he wasn't judging me. "My father and I became estranged, because he didn't agree with my choices. We didn't speak for four years. I resented my father for it, but in hindsight, now I know he was right. I moved in with him a month ago, with the twins." I snorted in some kind of twisted amusement. "And our cat." Can't forget the damn cat.

I didn't understand how we were talking so easily. We'd only just met, and yet fifteen minutes with the man was easier and more comfortable than my four year marriage. Oh, how I loved his eyes. They bore deep into my eyes and soul as he asked me, "Did something in particular . . . spur this on?"

You can bet your ass something did. I chose not to say that aloud. For some reason I couldn't begin to comprehend, I trusted him. More than I trusted Cameron . . . ever. So, I told him the truth. Or at least part of the truth. Still, though, I hadn't told anybody but my father. Not that I really had anybody to tell . . . That was quite sad, actually. I couldn't name a single person anymore I could call a friend. Cameron starting isolating me from others almost as soon as the ring landed on my finger, but I didn't notice until it was too late.

I tucked my orange hair behind my ears just for something to do with my hands as I built up courage. You can do this. "My husband was abusive." My heart was pounding like nothing else as I aired my secrets. "He was emotionally manipulative almost right after I married him, but it didn't get worse until later. He, um . . . he beat me." I snuck a glance up at Elijah to see him struggling to maintain his composure. He was not entirely succeeding. "But I handled it. I told myself it was for the twins, that they needed a father, but he was never invested in them like he should've been. Like I was- like I am. But a month ago . . ."

Don't cry. Not now. You can do this, just be strong. This time, it was Elijah who grasped onto my hand . . . and he didn't let go. I absorbed his gesture of encouragement and found strength to keep going. "A month ago, after the kids were in bed, he got drunk and started hitting me. It wasn't any different than before. But he was screaming at me, louder than usual, and I guess it woke the twins up." My fists clenched in barely contained fury, and I only faintly noticed that I must've been a second away from shattering Elijah's hand into fragments. "T-they appeared at the doorway." I sucked in a shuddering breath. "They started shouting at him, begged him to stop hurting me." Stay strong. I bit my lip hard enough that I tasted blood. "He didn't stop, and they kept yelling at him. H-he screamed for them to get out, but they didn't, because they were so scared for me."

I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to keep my control. His hand tightened around mine, and for that, I was beyond thankful. "I got in his way when he started heading for them, pleaded for me to hit me, not them, never them . . . He took me up on my word, shoved me into the dresser. And he headed straight for them and . . . He hit them. They're four-fucking-years-old, and he shoved them hard enough for them to hit the wall across the hall, for them to fall to the ground, sobbing and screaming . . ." Rage coursed through my veins instead of blood. If only he were in front of me right now, then I could make absolute certain he was dead. "I lost it. He could hit me all he wanted, and I'd take it. But not them. I pulled him away from them, decked him, and we got into a punching match. He started strangling me, and it ended with me knocking him out with a lamp.

"I took the twins, packed him up in the car, got the goddamn cat, and almost got to drive away before he charged out like a wild fucking buffalo and stood out in front of the road. I-I had to get away, I couldn't take it anymore, so . . ." I shouldn't have told him this. Hell, it was admitting to attempted murder. Or actual murder, who knows? But it just slipped so easily off my tongue. "I ran him over. That's why I've been speaking about him in the past tense. He might be dead. Or not. Honestly, I hope it's the former. Um, I really hope you don't go straight to the police after this conversation."

Elijah attempted to force a smile, but not only did it not reach his eyes, it didn't even reach his lips. "Your secret is safe with me."

The reality of everything I told him crashed onto me. How could I be so stupid? I literally told him about trying to kill my husband. "I cannot believe I just told you all of that. Like, holy shit. I'm so sorry to dump this all on you. You don't even know me."

He looked me right in the eye when he said, "You shouldn't apologize for things you shouldn't be sorry for. What you have been forced to endure is something nobody should suffer through, least of all a kind-hearted young woman such as yourself."

Kind-hearted. Perhaps not when I ran over my husband, my children's father. Not that I regretted it; I would do it again in a heartbeat, to wipe that smirk off the sick son of a bitch's face. Since the wounds were raw and hurting with a whole new ferocity, I changed the subject back to him. "You said you were trying to get away from your little brother. Did he do something to you besides drive your nieces away?"

That, strangely, caused him to chuckle, even though it was obvious he didn't find it funny at all. "Ah, yes. He tends to torture those around him, most of all, his family. All of us have wished malice on him at one point, including my little sister, who is perhaps most loyal to him. Ever since they left, he's been beside himself with worry, and he expresses such a sentiment with outbursts of anger."

"He sounds like an ass," I concluded, and Elijah nodded in fervent agreement. "Then why are you living with him if he's so difficult to be around?"

He sighed deeply. "We're family. Although, sometimes, with our current predicament, I wonder if it's even worth it. I wanted us to be a family again, but . . . My parents are dead, but they attempted to form many schisms between us. There were many years where none of us communicated with the other. I wanted that to change, but now, it's becoming harder and harder to justify that."

Unable to form words, I looked off into the setting sun drifting below the horizon, allowing the blaring notes of jazz consume every inch of me. Soon enough, I'd have to go back home and put my "Mom" hat back on. I bit back a sigh. I loved my kids more than anything else in this world, but I was only twenty-two. Sometimes I needed to delve into the real world, even if it ended up wrecking me.

Before I could shrink back into my shell, I removed my hand from his hold and rummaged through my purse, plucking out a scrap of paper and a pen, scribbling down my cell phone number. This was remarkably out of character for me. "Here," I pushed it into his hand. "I have to get home to my kiddies, but if you want to talk about your douchebag brother, or get together . . . or something," I finished lamely, "ring me up."

Yeah, man, ring up the overemotional potentially pregnant lady with a canyon's worth of baggage. Oh well, it was too late to take back now! He toyed with the slip of paper, and tucked it into his suit pocket. "Have a good evening," I said coyly, beginning to walk in the direction of my father's loft. "Thanks for talking to me." I didn't wait for a response, turning the street corner and picking up my pace.

This was insane. I split from my husband only a month ago, and yet here I was, giving out my number to a stranger. A stranger who now knew my story better than my own father.

I damn near ran the distance back to my father's loft, realizing about halfway there that I was late, and probably had to pay the babysitter extra. Fantastic, just what I needed. Fumbling with the keys, I unlocked the door and burst inside, apologies already tumbling from my lips.

"Mommy!" Angelica shrieked in joy, running toward me with her bright orange spirals of hair bouncing along behind her. A smile coming easily to my lips, I opened up my arms wide and she charged into the hug. "You're home!" She was such a happy, charismatic little girl; it was infectious.

"Hi, my Angel." Standing up and lifting her with me, I scanned the living room for the babysitter, only to find my father lounging on the couch with a beer in one hand and my son in the other, watching some sports game or another. "Nice, Dad," I grumped, dropping my keys and purse onto the granite kitchen counter. "You better have not let him have any."

"What the hell do I look like, some kind of dealer? I'm an oncologist." We glared at each other for a few beats before my shoulders slumped, and I sighed. "I paid the babysitter, got the kiddies in their PJs. Got a little gift for you. It's in a bag near the door." My eyebrows knit together in confusion. Was that supposed to be a joke, or . . . ? Adjusting Angel in my hold so my arm wouldn't continue to lose circulation, I reached into the bag and my heart skipped a beat once I saw the pregnancy test inside. "You've got to be shi-kidding me!"

With that godawful smirk plastered across his face, he sang, "I'm not shi-kidding you."

Maneuvering myself over to the couch, I smacked him over the head with the pregnancy test box then dropped it on top of him, and leaned over to kiss my son on the head. "Hi, Alex."

"Hi, Mommy," he chirped as Dad obviously waved around the pregnancy test like it was some goddamn magic wand. Cloudy the cat was curled up into a little ball next to Alex, purring softly. "Grandpa, what's that?"

"Grandpa's being an idiot, nothing new, baby." We sneered at each other in our lovely father-daughter way. I placed Angel next to her brother, and angrily snatched the pregnancy away from my dad. "Thanks a lot, Father."

I headed to the bathroom and scoffed as he called after me, "You're welcome, daughter!"

So, here I was, peeing on a stick to appease my father. Which was ridiculous and nonsensical, since I wasn't pregnant. There was no freaking way. Well, there was a freaking way, but . . . I couldn't be, not after I finally gathered up the courage to flee from him. I didn't need one more permanent attachment to him.

I sat there for five minutes, but it felt like an eternity. My heart sank into my stomach where it exploded into a fiery ball of acid when I saw the plus sign. "Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck." Angrily, I tossed it into the trashcan, and face-palmed. This was just what I fucking needed.

Clasping the counter with all my might, I glowered at myself in the mirror. Desperate, lost hazel eyes looked back and I blinked back a new round of tears. I need to stop crying. The person staring back at me looked weary and exhausted. Purple bags under my almond-shaped eyes and an unhealthy ghostly light to my already pale skin. My typically bright orange hair fell limply to my lower back, its former shine and lush now dull and droopy. Cameron ruined me. Even now that I was away from him, I lived in a constant state of paranoia. I could never be free from him.

Right after, a knock sounded on the door. "Liberty Belle, how's it going in there?" Scowling, I unlocked the door, pulled him in, and kicked it closed again.

"Everything's great. In fact, I'm thinking of throwing a party." When he gave me a pointed look, I lost the attitude and gave way to my fierce vulnerability. "Before you ask, yes, I'm pregnant. You were right. Hurrah for you."

Surprising me immensely, instead of rubbing it in my face like he was so prone to do, he pulled me into him and wrapped me into a fatherly embrace. Which turned out to be just what I needed. I buried my face into his shoulder and sobbed out my fears and hurts and regrets, and he simply held me and listened. "I'm going to have another baby."

He cupped the back of my head like he used to do when I was little. "And I'll be with you every step of the way."

A/N: So, what'd you think? Like it, love it, hate it? Yeah, as you may of guessed, this isn't going to be just an Elijah/OC romance, it's also going to turn into Daddy!Elijah for her kids. He already shows a magnificent paternal side in regards to Hope and the twins, so we wanted to give him his own opportunity :). We looooove feedback!