Disclaimer: If I owned the Twilight series, I wouldn't be writing fan fiction. I'd be spending my time rolling naked in all my money. Alas, I have no money. 'Nuff said.


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"And the public don't dwell on my transmission
'Cause it wasn't televised" -The Killers, Spaceman

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Fact: I am not just a bitch, I am the bitch.

Really, I am—and in the most literal sense of the word. I'm the girly wolf; a female dog.

According to Jacob Black I'm the Bitter Harpy; the shrew that goes around making everyone's life miserable; Leah Clearwater, the Girl who Ruins Everything. I taunt people for their short-comings and bring up things that are best left alone…

And in my spare time I kick puppies.

Slight exaggerations and sick sense of humor aside? I really am a mean girl—a bitch (the irony isn't lost on me).

Here's the thing—the one thing everyone fails to give me credit for: I wasn't always so mean. Until a few years ago, I was a decent person…for the most part. I was kind to people, relatively happy and all about being green (recycling, conserving energy and the like). But then my life started to fall apart, and with it, so did I.

My fall from grace was a gradual process, a slow but steady descent. It wasn't as though I woke up one morning and said, "Hey, enough with this being nice to people and saving the world shit!"

Although my status as resident bitch was pretty much set in stone after one horrific day—the worst day of my life—the day I killed my father.

I'm an enigma; the freak among freaks. Quileute women don't shape-shift. Never have. To this day, no one knows why I joined the pack. So it's no surprise my father's heart couldn't handle the shock he felt when I transformed into a wolf right before his eyes.

His funeral was just two days after he died, at which point Seth and I hadn't figured out how to phase back to our human forms so we didn't even get to mourn our father properly. Instead of standing with our mother at the grave, we watched the burial from afar—Sam with us, also in his wolf form (someone needed to make sure we stayed away from all the fragile humans).

Funny thing: At the time I fully believed I had gone insane or I was having some hideous nightmare—Seth and I weren't wolves and Dad wasn't dead. As far as I was concerned, I was going to wake up…

Never did wake up though.

So yeah, my reality is one giant shit cake that I get to eat everyday for the rest of my unnatural life.

The frosting on said shit cake? Is a tie between two horrible aspects of pack life: 1) I have to share my most intimate thoughts and feelings with a pack of boys who don't understand and/or don't care how I feel. And I have to know what they're thinking and feeling, too. This is not a consolation prize—nothing interesting or important is going on in their heads (though I've discovered it's true: teenage guys really are just about food and sex. Sometimes they fantasize about combining the two—eating while having sex. In my opinion, this is just wrong). Also, through this pack mind thing, I know how much Sam thinks about and loves Emily. And, 2) all the accidental nudity on my part—well, the nudity of everyone in the pack, actually. Though, from what I understand, nudity wasn't a problem before I started phasing. It still wouldn't be a problem if I were a guy. Or if Seth wasn't my brother. Or if we were all blind.

The cherry on top? I am barren. I'm twenty years old and menopausal. I haven't had my monthly since I started phasing. And I'm definitely not pregnant. Even if I were, it would be an immaculate conception, because I haven't been with anyone since Sam and I split up—and that was a very long time ago.

Too damn long...

And there is like, zero possibility of putting an end to this dry spell as I have not yet imprinted. Without the all-too-important imprint, I am not at liberty to tell any guy who touches me why I'm burning with a fever of one-hundred-and-friggin-werewolf. So I'm left with the option of supernatural bedfellows—guys from the pack or vampires—and I am not that desperate…yet.

The sexual frustration alone is enough to drive a woman mad. Add that—along with everything else I've mentioned—to the very real possibility that I may just die alone and there you have it: the reason I am such a vindictive bitch.

But unless something changes, and I mean soon, I may just lose what little is left of my sanity and go on a killing spree...

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A/N: A Fractured Life is named after the Air Traffic album that I am currently in love with (and sort of inspired me to write this story).

Yes this is a multi-chapter fic. Yes it is Breaking Dawn from Leah's POV. And Yes, I intend to finish it (it will take longer to update because I'm trying to improve my writing skills. But I've got a full outline and I will to stick to it, I swear).

Also, I'd like to thank AlohaBel, HM Grayson, tdfireproof, twilight22lover, and Dubblez L6 for reading through my stuff (this prologue for instance), giving me ideas/ correcting some stuff. Thanks.

Oh! And one last thing: let me know if there is anything I missed while editing.