The Unwanted Imprint

Chapter 1

TW: descriptive abuse, blood

April 30, 2005

"You good for nothing bitch!"

Thomas William's hand smacked across his daughter's cheek with enough force to send the fourteen-year-old girl sprawling to the ground. But no sound left her body. Sad as it was to say, she was far too used to this kind of treatment by now, she had been enduring it for the past three years, ever since her mother had died.

But tonight would prove to be far worse than most nights. Thomas took a final swig from the bottle of beer that he had clutched in his hand before bringing the glass bottle down on Nichole's head. She bit back a sharp cry of pain, she could feel the blood trickling down the side of her face. It hurt like hell, but she was determined to not give him the satisfaction. So she remained silent.

This infuriated the drunken man. He kicked her swiftly in the side, then did it again. This continued until finally, Nichole let out a cry of pain, and Thomas smirked down at her. "That's right, cry. Cry like the little baby that you are. You shouldn't even be alive, you know that? Maybe I should just finish the job, right here, right now."

He had made threats like this before, but had never carried them out. However, tonight he seemed intent on it. Nichole's eyes widened as she watched him go into the kitchen, picking up a large knife, its sharpened blade glistening.

Nichole knew that she had to get out of here, or she really would die. So she forced herself to her feet, her injured side screaming in pain. Nichole felt like she could collapse at any given moment, but adrenaline pushed her forward, and she made it to the front door. Yanking it open, she stumbled down the steps, her father's shouts of rage encouraging her to go faster. She dashed into the nearby woods, the darkness caused by the late-night sky and the trees filled with leaves soon enveloping her. It was so thick that she couldn't see five inches in front of her face. She could hear her father behind her, screaming, cursing, but she knew that he wouldn't be able to find her, not now. But she still pushed on further, going deeper and deeper into the forest, until she couldn't remember which way she had come.

Nichole was lost, but at least she didn't have to run anymore. She collapsed to the ground, her breathing coming in short, ragged breaths. Nichole was exhausted now that the adrenaline had left her, she didn't even have the strength to get up. She could hear leaves crunching underneath the feet of someone approaching her, and for a brief second, she was terrified that her father had somehow managed to catch up with her. But the face that appeared in front of her wasn't her father's face. This face was a hundred times kinder. Pale, with honey-colored eyes that looked at Nichole with concern. The man seemed to be young, maybe about twenty-three or so.

Her father's shouts were in the distance, seeming to be nothing more than a whisper, but the man that was before her seemed to be able to hear them with perfect clarity.

"Did he hurt you?" He asked Nichole, and the teenager nodded her head, unable to do anything more than that.

"My name is Carlise Cullen, I'm going to help you."

Warning bells went off in Nichole's head. Strange man in the middle of the woods wanting to help a vulnerable teenage girl like herself? Yeah, that seemed really safe didn't it? But it wasn't like Nichole had any choice in the matter. She couldn't fight him off even if she wanted to, she had zero strength in her body.

Carlise scooped her into his arms, being careful of her injuries. "Don't worry..." He murmured in her ear as Nichole closed her eyes, the pain causing her to slip into a deep sleep. "You're safe now, no one is going to be able to hurt you ever again."