a/n: This story is from Edward's point of view, and I'm writing this even though I have a Harry Potter story in the works. PLEASE REVIEW. Tell me if you would like me to continue with this story. Also, I'm not sure I got the time period right. I'm writing like Edward lived in the eighteen hundreds or so. Is that right?

I crept down the stairs, took one look at my inebriated father, and knew that I was safe. He lay on the couch, sprawled over the armrest, still wearing the soiled suit he had been wearing since yesterday. Thankfully, he was asleep, and he would stay asleep for some time. I glanced at my mother, quietly knitting in a chair across from my father, her hair pulled away from her face, as was the style. Her dress was clean and pressed, and as my eyes took in the two of them, I was reminded yet again about how unalike they were. I was also reminded of the only thing they had in common: me.

I had paused on the stairs, but now continued quietly on, stealing glances at my father to make sure his slumber was not interrupted. When I reached the creaky stair near the bottom I stepped down onto the step, not fully putting my weight on it. The small noise it made was sufficient in alerting my mother to my presence. She looked up, looked me up and now, noticed how well I was dressed, and nodded slightly, giving me her approval. I grinned at her, and she winked in return, and then continued on with her knitting as though nothing had occurred. I skipped over the creaky step, and was out the door, going as quietly as I could.

Once out in the warm evening air a feeling of calm washed over me. The stars and moon shone brightly that night, and I spotted Orion's belt far on the horizon. With a spring in my step I walked down the dirt road and towards my love, the perfect girl for me, the girl with raven-colored hair named Elizabeth.

As I came upon the cave that we had claimed as our own, a familiar feeling of excitement overcame me. Elizabeth was my other half, the girl that understood me the best. Simply put, we were soul mates, and nothing would ever tear us apart. The cave that we used to meet had been Elizabeth's childhood hiding place, where annoying siblings could not find her. She had suggested we meet here, because we could meet in secret, away from the prying and unwanted eyes of fathers.

I brushed away the foliage that Elizabeth and I placed over the entrance every time we left. Though away from the road, and far from any fields, we did not want someone snooping and finding our little hiding spot. I looked in, hoping to be greeted with the sight of Elizabeth, sitting on a blanket, waiting for me with a few candles lit in the back of the cave. But what really greeted my eyes was a dark, empty cave. I crawled in a little farther. It seemed much drearier when it was devoid of our passion.

'How strange,' I thought, 'she's almost always here before me.'

I waited a few moments, chalking up her lateness to some unfinished chore. Perhaps she had forgotten to tidy her room, or to sweep the kitchen; but my logic immediately dispelled these ideas: if she had forgotten a chore, would she really choose to finish them at midnight? My hope dwindled completely as an hour passed. Then two. After three hours, I decided to leave the damp cave and walk home. The road was deserted, and the quiet solemnity that seemed to fill the very air at this time of night fit my mood perfectly. I wondered silently why she had not met me, when she had joined me every night without fail for the past two months. Hopefully, she had not gotten in trouble on my account. I could not possibly have her unhappiness on my conscience, it was simply too much to bear.

My love for Elizabeth is indescribable, and my mood took a dark and unappealing turn whenever I could not see her. I reached the turnoff to my house, and walked gravely to the door, like a man walking to the gallows. I turned the knob quietly and entered stealthily, careful not to make loud noises. I glanced at the parlor, and noted that my mother's chair lay empty: she had probably gone to bed. But as my eyes roved over living room, an unwelcome sight greeted my eyes. My father was sitting up, glaring at me with bloodshot eyes, a dark green bottle lying in his hand.

"Father," I said quietly. Adrenaline surged through my veins; I was afraid of what my father could do when drunk.

"Where have you been?" he asked. I had enough sense to know the question was rhetorical. "Have you been seeing that little slut…what's her name? Elizabeth?" Anger engulfed me as he talked about my precious Eliza in such a rude way.

He got up shakily and started walking towards me. Instinctively, I took a step back.

"I have forbidden you from seeing that little whore. I expect you to honor my word as your father." He took another unsteady step forward.

"Do you hear me?" He asked gruffly.

"Yes, sir."

He continued his approach, and I edged backward, repelled by every bit of him, from his rank breath to his uncombed, greasy hair.

"Well have you been to see her?" he asked.

"No, sir." I replied. It wasn't a complete lie.

"Liar!" he yelled, coming at me with more speed than I thought he was capable of in his drunken stupor.

"That little bitch is going to get you into trouble," he said, standing inches from my face. "She's going to get pregnant and then will you be?"

"Sir, it isn't like that." I hardly got out my sentence before he raised his fist and slammed it down on my face. I felt a crack, and blood gushed out of my nose. I heard a gasp from the top of the stairs, and I knew that my mother was there, watching helplessly as her drunken husband pummeled her beloved son.

All I could was raise hand in front of my face in defense, as I was lying against the wall, trying to escape my father's anger.

"You stay away from her!" he yelled, kicking me in the side where I lay on the floor. All I could do was whimper a reply.