Chapter 1 – Saved

I, Isabella Marie Swan, am a great pretender.

I know that statement doesn't tell you much, so let me explain myself. I am great at pretending things are one way, when, in reality, they are the complete opposite.

For example, I'm great at pretending that I am a beautiful woman, hiking her way across the country, instead of a plain, mousy, seventeen-year-old orphan runaway.

I'm great at pretending that I am on an adventure to find my long lost family, instead of desperately traveling to the town where my late parents grew up, in order to feel closer to them.

I am really great at pretending that my mom is alive and well and waiting for me to return home from a visit to family, instead of facing the reality that mom is gone forever, I have no family and the only one waiting at home is her killer, my stepfather.

See? I'm an excellent pretender. I almost believe myself.

Almost, except the crushing pain in my chest murmurs the truth to me at every turn.

And the truth is I am alone in this world.

All I have to my name is a backpack stuffed with clothes, a pet cactus, and a battered anthology of Jane Austen Classics.

Oh, and my mom's diary, which contains all of her thoughts, secrets, pictures and an envelope, containing a dwindling amount of money, labeled 'Bella's College Fund'.

Said diary is currently my most prized possession.

Why? Because it saved my life.

My mom had been dead for less than a week and I knew it was only a matter of time before my stepfather came home drunk. I feared what would happen when he did. My mother was no longer around to accept his beatings.

I knew, just as sure as I know my own name, that I would become her replacement.

I was right, but I had no idea that he planned to make me her replacement in every way.

He came home drunk six days after her death and hit me because I looked just like her. I cowered in the corner of my shabby bedroom, pressing my swollen face into the moldy carpet, and hoped that he would leave me alone and go pass out on the couch. It was the way he always ended the beatings with my mother. But he did something different. He hauled me up and dragged me to their bedroom, the one they used to share.

I tried to fight him. I knew he was about to touch me in the one place mom had always told me was special and I fought harder than I'd ever fought before to stop him. In the end, it didn't matter. He beat me until I was weak and half unconscious and I was helpless as he forced my legs open and forced himself into me, tearing me and pumping me as I cried out for my dead mother to save me. I felt nothing but relief when I finally passed out and dreamed of my mom.

When I awoke, I was on the bed and he was behind me, spooning me like we were a loving married couple. It made my skin crawl, but I laid there and cried silent tears, pretending to want his embrace so he wouldn't hurt me anymore. I watched the sun rise through the small, dirty apartment window as I cried and waited. When he finally woke up, he squeezed my breast hard and instructed me to cook him breakfast, ordering me to not dress as I reached for my torn clothing.

I cooked him eggs in the nude as he watched lecherously from the kitchen table. Whenever I passed too close to him, he touched my private parts and I shuddered in revulsion at his cold touch. He laughed at me and told me to get used to it.

That's when I knew, this was my life now. I was now doomed to the life that my mother chose; the life that eventually killed her.

When he left for work, I immediately locked myself in the bathroom and took a shower. I scoured myself from head to toes with scalding hot water. I wanted every trace of that monster off of me. I felt dirty as I watched my own blood swirl down the drain. I didn't even consider going for help. I'd just end up in foster care where I'd probably get worse treatment, and from a complete stranger. I had a friend from school, Bridgett, who lived with a foster family. She tearfully admitted to me one day that her stepbrother and his friends raped her every night. No thank you, one attacker was good enough for me.

After I dressed, I stumbled my way to my mother's and the monster's bathroom. I knew that was where she kept the first aid kit.

She got a lot of use out of that kit.

I didn't even recognize myself as I looked into the mirror. My face was swollen, my lips cut and busted. My left eye was nearly closed and was bloodshot red.

I did look like my mother. I looked just like she looked the mornings after his drunken beatings.

It was the first time I could ever remember not wanting to look like my mother. She was so beautiful and for as long as I could remember, I wanted to grow up and have long ebony hair, creamy porcelain skin and pouty pink lips, just like my mother.

But when he hit her, she turned into something ugly and grotesque. Now he'd done the same thing to me. The tears leaked from my eyes, stinging my cheeks.

I retrieved the kit from the medicine cabinet and gingerly pried it open. It was fully stocked with bandages, gauze, ointments and pain reliever. I took out the items one by one, sitting them on the counter, lining them up just right.

I was reaching for an unopened roll of gauze when I noticed something strange was tucked underneath the supplies at the bottom of the kit. I pulled out the flat, rectangular object, seeing that it was a book.

I opened the flowery cover, and my eyes widened. It wasn't a book.

It was a Diary.

My mother's flowing script, so much neater than mine, graced the inside of the cover, identifying the diary as belonging to Renee Swan. Swan, my dad's last name, not the last name of my stepfather.

I read the first entry with teary eyes.

Dear Diary,

Today is my first day as Mrs. Charles Swan! I can't believe that I am married to such a strong, honorable and handsome man! It's like I'm living in a fairytale! Since my life feels so storybook right now, I figured this would be a good time to start a diary and document my new beginning…

I smiled for the first time since my mom had died. It was like I had been given a precious gift. My mom lived on through this diary. I would always have a piece of her.

I skimmed through the diary at first, looking at the pages where she'd tucked random pictures and ticket stubs from dates with my dad. I smiled at an entry where she described her hometown, Forks, and how it hadn't changed much from when she was a small girl. I read a sad entry outlining an incident when she'd suffered a miscarriage before I found a grainy ultrasound from when she found out she was pregnant again; with me. A red circle and an arrow pointed out my exact location in the fuzzy photograph. I laughed through words chronicling the many bruises and scrapes I had suffered. I noticed a big time gap between entries right around the time when my dad died. When the next entry was entered, the tone was sadder. She talked about how she'd cried most of the night because I was sick and she couldn't afford my medicine.

The pages were wrinkled, smeared and dotted with blood when I reached the entries that revealed her abuse. I read about her hope for me to have a better life, one where I would experience college and marry a man like my father who would treat me like a princess. I cried as I realized my mother's dream for me would remain a dream and never come true.

As I flipped to the back of the diary, an envelope slid from between the pages and fell to the floor with a heavy flop. My burry eyes were unfocused for a long moment as I stared at the loopy scrawl on the front. I wiped my eyes, dashing the tears away and focused once more on the script.

It read, 'Bella's College Fund'.

I slowly retrieved the envelope and peeked inside.

Inside was a single sheet of pink stationary, wrapped around a thick stack of hundreds.

I stared at them in disbelief and pulled the stationary away. As I did, I noticed it was addressed to me.

I opened it fully and read slowly.

Bella,

I want you to know that I love you soooo much. Your father would have been so proud to see you graduate from high school today. You were the light of his life and are the center of mine.

You are my little grown-up, and though it pains me to think of you leaving to go away to college, I am also excited for the life you will live. I want you to try everything at least once. Don't be afraid to live and make mistakes. Make your life count and be as happy as you can be.

I know this isn't much, but I couldn't send you off to college with nothing. I would suggest that you buy some clothes and make-up with it like other young girls, but I know you'll probably do something sensible. (Smile)

Whatever you do with it, make sure you are happy doing it.

I love you! Congratulations!

-Mom

I cried heavy tears, knowing my mom would never give me this present. She would never see me graduate. She would never send me off to college with an envelope filled with crisp one-hundred dollar bills. She would never do anything again.

She was such a wonderful human being, the bravest person I knew. Why did she stay and allow herself to be treated this way? We could have run away and been happy, together, without the beatings and rodents and crime-ridden apartment buildings.

She could have still been alive.

I reread the letter a hundred times, imagining her voice whispering the words in my ear as she hugged me. I imagined wearing my cap and gown and smiling as she snapped pictures of me with my Diploma.

Soon, the words ceased being a bittersweet fair-well to a college-bound young daughter.

As I read, the words morphed and became instructions.

My mom wanted me to live an exciting life. She wanted me to try new things and make mistakes.

She wanted me to be happy.

It was with that realization that I started to move.

I swept up the diary and envelope and ran to my room. I took a quick glance at the clock before I emptied my backpack of all my books and started hastily stuffing clothes and items into it. I grabbed my battered pair of hiking boots and stuffed my feet into them. I grabbed my only heavy parka, which I rarely used because Arizona rarely got cold, rolled it up and tied it to my backpack.

It took twenty-three minutes for me to pack up and leave my life behind.

I left with three hours to spare before the monster was due home.

I rode my bike into the next town, where I stopped at a convenience store and asked for directions to the nearest bus station.

My first purchase with the money my mom had so diligently saved for me was a bus ticket to Washington. I smiled as I handed the cashier the money.

It took me two days to get to Seattle. When I arrived, I bought a map and planned my route to Forks.

Through a series of ferries, I arrived in Port Angeles as the sun was setting on the third day. After I acquired a schedule for the bus that travels between Port Angeles and Forks, I secured some food and a room at a local inn for the night. After devouring a huge burger with all the trimmings, I slept like a baby with my parent's wedding photo clutched to my chest.

When I awoke the next morning, it was with a purposeful smile on my face. I showered, dressed and grabbed a blueberry muffin from the complimentary breakfast cart before checking out. I waited patiently for the nine am bus and when it arrived, I paid my fair and hopped on, claiming a seat near the back, away from the other passengers.

I stared out the window the entire time, observing the wall of green that flashed by at over sixty miles per hour. I counted the mile markers through the rain soaked windows, my breathing getting a little easier the closer I got to forks. When I saw the sign, welcoming me to the place of my parents' birth, I released a deep sigh. I stepped off of the bus in front of a quaint, small-town grocery store and took a deep breath.

It is at this point that my pretending started.

I entered the grocery store and pretended to be a hungry traveler, looking for a snack for the road. I smiled at the lady working the register as I paid for some twizzlers, a granola bar, a bottle of lemonade and a pack of gum. Before I left, I innocently pumped the cashier for information.

"Hey, some of my dad's family used to live here. Do you know of the Swan family?"

The cashier's eyes lightened up in recognition before they turned sad. "Yes. Unfortunately, the last of the Swan family, our former chief of police, died some years ago and his wife and daughter moved away. They used to live out on Mayberry Street, in the little white house in the middle of the block, but a new family lives there now." I could tell by her voice that she remembered my father and missed him. After inquiring about the location of the Forks cemetery, I smiled sadly, thanked her, and left with my purchases.

I checked my map and located Mayberry Street. As I walked the few blocks over, I pretended that I was a carefree teenager, walking home from school. I chewed lazily on my twizzler and counted the steps between each crack in the sidewalk. I imagined, if I had grown up here, I would know the exact number of steps between the grocery store and home.

As I turned onto Mayberry Street, I slowed, wanting to draw out the fantasy I was weaving within my head. I meandered down the block, skipping over puddles and swinging my wet hair. Soon, I reached the only white house on the block and I stared up at it wistfully. It was small, tiny actually, but it looked like home. There were boxes overfilled with flowers hanging under the front windows. Frilly curtains blocked the interior from my view. It was neatly painted and shiny from the rain. The trees framed it like it was a picture, narrowing my focus so I didn't notice the houses on either side of it.

For a moment, I was able to pretend that this was my home. I pretended that my mom was inside, working on one of her many craft projects and that my dad was in the tiny garage, tinkering with his fishing lures. I leaned up against a tree and imagined myself bursting through the front door, tossing my book bag into a corner and bouncing to the kitchen for a snack.

Just then, a woman and a little boy exited the front door and walked down the front walk. They quickly got into the green jeep in the driveway and drove away. Their appearance burst the fragile bubble that held my fantasy. I was brought down to earth and thrust back into my stark reality in mere seconds.

Sighing, I reluctantly walked away and started the trek towards the Forks cemetery.

I was there in no time and I paused before entering the grounds. I walked slowly down the haphazard rows of graves, carefully reading each headstone until I found one that said Swan.

It was a marker for a woman.

Cathleen Winters Swan. Beloved wife and mother.

The next one was for a Henry Swan. Husband, father.

The last one was my dad's.

Charles Swan. Beloved Husband and father.

I sat on the ground facing the battered headstone and picked at the grass.

"Hey, daddy."

I didn't know what else to say. I didn't want to talk about what life had been like since he'd died. I didn't want to tell him how much I missed him and how I hated myself because I was starting to forget him. I just wanted to be near him, in whatever way I could. I felt better, just being here, in this town, where he'd been born and lived and smiled and met my mom. I knew that I would settle here, in the place of my birth, if only for a little while.

I stayed there for hours, thinking about my mom and dad and trying to remember. Eventually I fell asleep and was awoken by a flash of lightning and thunder in the twilight sky. I jumped up and noticed that the little drips of rain I had become accustomed to have gotten fatter and more frequent. I pulled my backpack on and headed towards what I thought was the entrance to the Cemetery, watching my feet to ensure I didn't slip on the slick puddles starting to form over the graves.

When I looked up again, I was surrounded by trees. I turned in a tight circle, not recognizing a single thing. Every tree looked the same. No lights shined to guide my way to civilization.

I was lost.

I whimpered and closed my eyes, trying to stop myself from panicking. I took deep slow breaths and started to pretend. I pretended I was taking a shortcut through the woods on the way home from a friend's house. I opened my eyes, smiled and started walking forward, pretending that I knew exactly where I was headed.

The sun descended completely as I walked, cloaking the forest in blackness. I pushed down my fear and kept moving. I started hearing the sounds of animals moving through the woods around me and I moved faster with every step I made. Soon I was running, tripping and stumbling every few seconds, ignoring the stinging scrapes on my palms. Just when I was falling into an abyss of full-blown panic, there was a break in the trees and I stopped abruptly, surprised to find a house directly in front of me.

I could barely see it in the darkness, but I could make out a few basics. This house was also white, but unlike the little white house on Mayberry, it was huge. It was also dark, telling me that nobody was home. I slowly approached the house and peered through a narrow window. Dark shadows and shapeless objects filled the space, making it look sinister and abandoned. I looked around and decided I'd rather spend my night in a creepy house than out in the rain with dangerous animals.

I grabbed a brick from a nearby flowerbed and smashed the little narrow window next to the door. I quickly stuck my hand through, flicked the deadbolt on the door and let myself inside. I hurriedly shut the door behind me and turned to stare into the darkness of the house. It was dank and musty, like it had been closed up for a long time. I walked slowly in, letting my eyes adjust. When my retinas could properly convey the shadowed images in from of me, I looked around in interest. The shadowed objects appeared to be furniture covered by sheets to keep them from collecting dust. I could make out a few sofas, stuffed chairs and a piano under the lumps of fabric in the room I was standing in. I dug in my pack and pulled out an old book of matches my mom had given my from a wedding she went to years ago. I lit one and used the light to sweep the room and explore its nooks and crannies. There was a staircase that led up to another level. A door to my left led to an unknown destination.

A powder room maybe?

A mantle was the focus point of the sofas and chairs and a light sheet was draped over whatever objects sat on it. I walked towards the mantle and gently pulled the sheet away. Several crystal knickknacks and candles decorated the mantle and I bit my lip in deliberation before grabbing the biggest candle. I swore to leave enough money for the repairs and the candle when I left. I hated the idea of freeloading like this, but I didn't want to sleep out in the storm.

I lit the candle and carried it over towards the seating area. I pulled the sheet from a sofa and sat gingerly on the cream-colored cushions. I removed a sheet from what I assumed was a coffee table in front of me and carefully sat down the candle on the surface.

I had found my sleeping place for the night.

I pretended that the lights had gone out while I was waiting for my parents to get home from their anniversary dinner. Sitting here in this house, the fantasy seemed as if it were real.

I snacked on my granola bar and drank my lemonade as a mock dinner before removing my boots and lying down on the couch. I watched the flame of the candle flicker as my eyelids drooped from exhaustion.

Right before I dropped off to sleep, I noticed a small carving etched into one of the fancy wooden legs of the coffee table.

'Emmett was here 1958' swam before my eyes as I drifted off to sleep.