This is the beginning of a story that's been in my head for a while. AU, obviously, a bit angsty too -at least the prologue. But it'll get less depressed, I promise! But what I really hope for is your comments. I have never ever written fanfiction in my life, so every possible feedback is welcome. Is this too cliché? Repetative? Is the grammar appalling? Text doesn't flow? Too angsty? Or maybe interesting? Want to read more? I really, really need your opinions on this! Thank you :)

Disclaimer: Bella and Edward and all the other characters from the Twilight saga are sadly not mine, but Stephanie Meyers's

Prologue: Control

It was Friday. I had the money, I had the plan, I was ready to go. I walked the halls of my school like a ghost, like I was already gone and saw all this in a dream. My mind began to wander...

I've heard people complaining they've lost the control of their lives. I couldn't imagine what it felt like. I had never gained that control. Sure, my life was perfect. I was an excellent student, my family was well off, I lived in a beautiful house in a nice neighbourhood and I had everything a girl could dream of. At least that's what it looked like from the outside and I guess from my parents' point of view too. I was the only one who doubted my happiness.

I've never had a lot of friends. Somehow I didn't mix well with people. I think I made them feel awkward somehow, or maybe I just felt awkward around others. It was like my mind worked in ways that were completely mysterious to every single person I met. I had some friends I ate lunch with but I rarely spent time with them outside the school. I think a part of it was that the small town I lived in was obsessed with sports. Everyone played something and enjoyed watching games and discussing the latest play-offs of whatever sport was in season. I never had the hand-eye coordination needed for most of the sports and I was so clumsy it wasn't even safe for me to try to play anything. I think my parents were kind of disappointed in me on that aspect but they waved it off with "I detest sports! Such barbaric behaviour. I'm glad my dear Isabella doesn't enjoy that kind of uncivilized beviour". So I didn't know anything about sports and hence had little to talk about with kids my age. Add to that a complete lack of interest in fashion and trends and you get the recipe for the freak that was me. I didn't long for their company but still I felt lonely sometimes, empty. Like something was missing from my life. I tried to fill my loneliness with studying and reading and music - usually it helped. Whenever I managed to smuggle a fiction novel to my room, I could lie on my bed for hours, lost in worlds that had nothing to do with the reality I lived in.

The constat ache inside me didn't belong to the fairytale story my parents believed to be my life. Every time I tried to tell someone about the emptiness and asphyxiation I felt they just answered "But your life if so perfect! How can you complain?". And so I couldn't - even that was taken away from me. I could only do the things I was supposed to do. Live my perfect life according to the perfect plans my parents had made I believe years before I was even born. It's not that they didn't love me. I'm sure they did. But they loved the pretty picture even more. I think I was thirteen when I first realized this. At thirteen I hurt myself on purpose for the first time. Somehow the blade in my hand and the dripping blood gave me the sense of control I couldn't get from anywhere else. It was my silent rebellion, my manifesto to the world I hated but had to live in. By the time I was seventeen I had some quite spectacular scars. All of course in places that could easily be hidden. Mostly stomach and thighs, some on my arms too. My parents didn't notice any of this, or at least didn't want to notice. It didn't fit their pretty picture so it must not exist.

I had to get away, that was for sure. The questions "where" "how" and "when" still needed answers, though. I'd decided it must be a big city, since it would be easier to live anonymously in the midst of hundreds of thousands or even millions of people than it wouls be in the few thousands of small towns. There would probably be more jobs available too. Hopefully. My biggest problem however was I didn't have any money. Well sure, my parents were loaded, but the only access to that was a credit card my dad had given me. To his account. I didn't have my own money, I didn't have cash. If I wanted to keep my parents away from me long enough for me to turn 21 (that's when I'd gain access to the funds my grandad's will assigned to me and I'd also be legal adult) I couldn't use credit cards, at least not dad's. I'd started to think about ways to get money and unfortunately the only way seemed to be stealing it. The bright side of this desicion was that I lived in a house that had more expensive crap around than my parents ever could remember owning so I wouldn't have to break in anywhere. And then there was of course my jewellery but I was somewhat hesitant to sell it since most of them were rare or otherwise trackable.

It took months to sell enough little things around the house without my parents noticing. I had to do it very carefully. First I'd move the target object around so that they'd forget completely where it was supposed to be, also moving it to places more and more distant from their normal routes, and then, finally I could sneak out with it and hide it to my locker at school. Fortunately I had to attend "A Course for Young Ladies" at the nearby town that was bigger than ours. It was my excuse to go out of town and sell the bits and pieces I'd stolen. Of course I had to ditch the course, but I wasn't too unhappy about it. Learning etiquette and how to introduce yourself to a queen weren't high on my list of priorities, not now, not ever. Of course dad's chauffeur took me there and back but he never noticed when I sneaked out from the back door of the building the course was held. I just had to be careful to get back on time.

So now I had the money. I had enough for a plane ticket to somewhere far away and money for two or three months of living there. I'd have to get a job somehow, and that wasn't going to be easy since I had no legal papers, visas or anything, let alone work experience. I hoped I'd find something. Anything.

I'd decided the best time to take my leave would be friday evening. My parents always attended some frivolous parties and slept late the next morning. I would be well on my way before they'd notice I was gone at all.

It was Friday. I had the money, I had the plan, I was ready to go. I walked the halls of my school like a ghost, like I was already gone and saw all this in a dream. My franctic thoughts ran around in circles too fast for me to catch up with any of them. Like a zombie I sat through lunch but no one noticed. Sometimes it was useful to have a reputation as a freak. After lunch it was only two hours of Science and I'd be free to go. Free to leave this place for ever. I didn't actually hate the school, only what it represented; my old life. I liked some of the teachers, and all of them were very good at their job. I got a fine education here. But I would never graduate High School. I would have liked to see the looks on my parents' faces when they realized their one and only daughter, the apple of their eye, wasn't going to be the super-doctor they always pictured. They might just have a stroke. I suddenly got an almost sinful urge to laugh. All these thoughts made my heart beat like it tried to get out of my chest. I couldn't believe what I was doing. I was finally taking over the control of my life. No longer had my parents a say on anything. Overwhelming and mindblowing just began to describe how I felt. I was downright triumphant! I hadn't hurt myself for ages, not since I first made the plan to get away. I was going to make it. I would have to make it. I will make it.