Hello!,so this is a story idea I had and I felt like I needed this written. Anyway bits of the story will change as I feel that the grammar spelling earlier on and just general bits of the story I don't like. So I'm slowly updating it anyway.

Disclaimer- no I did not write twilight (unfortunately) , the characters aren't mine but the plot is.

The story contains Abuse and adult themes and drug references. Don't read if you are triggered.

Please leave a review or a favourite or a follow Id love to know what you think.

This story is mainly written in Edward's PoV


I look emptily at my tiny room. The carpet stained with blood and bad memories although that's a lot harder to wash out.

Silently I open the door to find Phil passed out on the sofa again, which is nothing new . My gaze lingers on his drunken figure as I start to creep past him and looking downwards I sigh as I spot the extensive beer bottles littering the floor I hastily pick them up one by one. I dispense them and start making dinner. I turn the gas on and start making pasta as I suppose that's all that's in.

He wakes up thirty minutes later just as I have finished dinner. I bring it over to the coffee table when I hear the familiar aggravated yell.

"Edward beer".

I sigh knowing it's nothing new he treats me as though I'm a slave and I'm too much of a coward to fight back of course.

I open the fridge only to be met with Phil towering over me.

"how long does it take boy" he snarls at me.

He swiftly kicks me in the stomach, I instantly groan trying not to show any fear as he rains down punches on my torso each one hurting more than the last. I gasp as I feel blood start to pour helplessly out my torso. I collapse to the floor struggling to breathe and eventually give into the darkness slumping my head against the hard wooden floor. The darkness was always more quiet than the reality.

A while later I hesitatingly awake , slowly I awake only to stand up and stagger towards the fridge I throw the leftovers onto a plate . As I painfully may I add ,limp my way up the stairs till I reach my Mum's room, I conceal the pain even though she probably wouldn't notice anyway, too depressed. I place it on her bedside table and she looks up at me with haunting glazed over eyes. I persuade her to eat a few mouthfuls and leave it on the table incase she's gets hungry which probably isn't gonna happen. It never does.

My mum used to be a happy full of life person until she got pregnant with Phil's child, she lost it at eight months and was never the same again. Phil somehow got even colder and lashed out more frequently. Which is probably why my already big collection of scars began to grow.

I stumble to my box room and regretfully look at myself in the mirror , trying to see the damage of yet another beating. Bruises are scattered all around my chest creating a purple and black pattern and deep scars run down my back mocking me with pain . I slide my hand down my chest ,checking if anything is broken and harshly wince at the pain, I immediately feel my ribs jarring out and I can count every single one of the,Phil doesn't like me eating much it's another punishment he says ,for what I don't know . I don't think I'll ever know I stopped caring a long time ago.

Now all I hear is the haunting frequent slurs playing over and over in my head and I can't escape , no matter hero loud the music is.

"Pathetic freak,waste of space.."

The worst thing is that I believe them .

All of them.