A/N: Well this is my very own first twilight story, hope you like it…..

I do not own Twilight, no matter how much I want to kidnap Edward, *gives shifty eyes*

Warning! This chapter contains mention of death, alcohol and drug use, mental and physical abuse and mention of rape. You have been warned!

Enjoy!

How has my life come to this?

A question I seem to ask myself every day of my life for the thirteen years. And the answer always remains the same. Fate is a conniving, spiteful, evil bitch.

The first couple of years of my life were great. I lived in a beautiful two story house, with a huge back yard and a dog name Chuck. My parents were happily married, I never seen two people so in love. My mom was even several months pregnant with my little sister. I remember think I want that when I grow up. Yeah well if my five year old could see me now.

It all went to hell the day I turned five. I was supposed to stay with my best friend Mary Alice, while my mom decorated the house for my birthday party and dad ran to the bank to get money. Me, being the daddy's girl I was threw a fit at the thought of being left behind, and was quickly granted permission to leave with my father.

If only I would of stayed at home, maybe my life wouldn't be shit right now.

What we didn't know was that not even twenty minutes after entering the bank our lives would be forever changed. The banked was being robbed. I was scared shitless, and couldn't be consoled. Apparently the bank robbers didn't take into consideration a hestical child into his plans because his patience was wearing thin.

"Hey shut her, the fuck up before I do it myself!"

"She's scared! She's only five for Goodness sakes", my father replies angrily as he fruitlessly to cam me down.

"Yeah well you better do something quick before I quiet her permanently."

Charlie tried in vain to calm me down, it didn't work. Eventually the bank thief got sick of my cries and grabbed me from my father with the intent to make good on his promise. Charlie immediately jumped into action, and fought with my would be murderer. Instead of killing me, he shot my father in point blank range. I could still the warm splatter of my father's blood as it hit my face, and I would never in my life forget the look in my father's eyes as they widen in stunned disbelief, as he stumbled away from his assailant and towards me reaching a hand towards me and my name on his lips as the shooter put one last bullet into the back of my father's head.

The rest of that day, that week, that month is a blur. Each day blending into the next as a never ending cycle of numbness and despair. I vaguely remembered attending two funerals, Charlie's and my baby sister's. Renee miscarried three days after Charlie's death; doctors said her body couldn't handle the stress and grief of a murdered husband and an emotionally numb child. She closed herself off the world after that, finding her happiness at the bottom of a liquor bottle. I guess she forgot about the fact that she still had a child left to take care of.

Life didn't get better since then. Renee acted like I didn't exist, blaming me with unsaid words, but accusing glares and action, for the death of her one true love and her unborn child. The hatred Renee had for me crushed what was left of my heart, but Phil….. Phil took what was left of my innocence.

Renee met Phil when I was nine, and married him four months later. A terrible relationship from the start, even I saw that being as young as I was. They fueled each other's drinking problem, not to mention she allowed him to gamble away Charlie's life insurance money. Which was previously paying for the house we living in, we could no longer afford, so we downgraded to a two bedroom apartment on the low income side of town. Away from the friends I knew, the life I loved, the memories I had.

Not only did Phil have a drinking and gambling addiction, he had an unhealthy obsession with me. It would start off with staring and offhand comments, then the occasionally touch to my back or cheek. I was getting uncomfortable with the attention that he was giving me, but it wasn't until I caught him in my room watching me sleep that I brought it to my mother's attention. Like that really helped.

Renee slapped me, called me every name in the book and accused me of trying to take Phil away from her, like I did Charlie. All while Phil smirked in the background. That basically gave Phil the go ahead to continuing to pursue me in his twisted pleasure. Every night he would sneak into my room to watch me sleep. I would hear him murmur to himself the things he wanted to do to me when he deemed me old enough.

That age turned out to be fourteen. He came into my room that night. It would forever be burned into my mind, the poison he whispered in my ear as he climbed on top of me, his clammy hot breathe as he grunted into my neck when he viciously took my innocence, breaking what was left of me, never to be whole again, or the fact that he held me close to him like a lover instead of his fourteen your old step-daughter who he had just raped.

That wouldn't be the last time Phil came into my room. He would come into my room at night and leave in the morning until a couple of months after I turned sixteen. When I was sixteen I got a new group of friends, ones that had similar home lives to mine own. They took me in, taught me the ways of the street, to survive both at home and in life. Most importantly they taught me to stand up and protect myself, to never willingly be a victim again. So that night when Phil entered my room I was ready for him, when he turned my face toward him and leaned down into me, I slashed his face with my knife and ran out the house.

That was the last time he entered my room, he told Renee that he got mugged on the way home, and he got five inch cut across his face from defending himself. Of course Renee believed him. While he never entered my room again, he never let me forget that he had me first, that I was ruined goods, damaged property that no one would ever want but him, that I belonged to him and only him.

Now at the age of eighteen I stare at myself wondering if maybe Phil's right along. There's nothing unique about me, I'm short barely making five foot two, I have pale skin that won't tan no matter how much sun it gets, my long brown hair is dull no matter the fact that I try to liven it up with streaks of color whenever the mood hits, take its purple. My eyes are a lifeless brown as always and my bottom lip is too big. I'm nothing special to look at; no boys ever come around sniffing at my door. Can they see how broken I am? How life is already too much for me even at the age of eighteen.

I look away from the mirror, disgusted by the self-pitying thoughts that are going through my head. I get ready, I have to meet Alice soon.

I leave my apartment building to find Alice huddled in an oversized jacket and sunglasses on her face.

"Bad night I take it", I ask her after a brief glance and continue walking down the street. Mary Alice Brandon has been my best friend since we were four years old. At barely five feet, she is almost fairy like in her features a true face of beauty. When her father isn't beating it in, I think to myself. Alice's home life is just as bad as my own. Her father has a terrible temper and you can never know what would set him off at any moment. He's mad at her mom for trapping him into marrying her, Alice for being born, and the world for his own fuck ups. We know everything about each other and often seeks comfort at each other's houses when our own gets to be too much.

"Bad night, bad morning, bad day. Oh happy belated," she responds throwing me a pack of cigarettes.

"My birthday was yesterday."

"Like I said bad night."

And that was the end of it, I could see her busted lip even if couldn't see the rest of the it. Make up is Alice's best friend in these situations. We walk in silence the rest of the way to the park, where we meet up with the rest of the group.

"What's going on," I ask taking the joint form Kate and jumping on the picnic table top next to Alice. Mike and Sam are talking some man by the street. Now that I'm looking at him, really looking at him, I can tell he's beautiful. A head full of copper hair that he's pulling his hand through frustratingly. Thick eyebrows, a straight nose, and a strong angular jaw line. He's wearing blue jean shorts and black combat boots and a tight black short sleeve shirt. I give him the once over again eyebrow ring, lip pierced, and tattoos covering his arms and neck. I myself, have my tongue, nose and lip pierced, along with piercing along my left ear and an industrial in my right. I also have a number of tattoos.

Almost as if he can feel me staring at him, his glaze leaves that of Mike's who is talking to him, and locks on mine. I inhale sharply, and stop breathing. His eyes are the most brilliant green color I ever seen. It literally leaves me dizzy and short of breathe. He looks me over, taking in my purple streak hair, my multiple piercing, my leather jacket, white shirt, black skinny jeans, and my own combat boots I paired with the outfit. When his eyes reach my own again, I exhale loudly finally breathing again. If I thought his eyes were beautiful, its nothing compared to his smile. More like smirk, one side of his mouth lifts higher than the other and rows of perfect white teeth are nearly my undoing.

As he walks towards me, still looking intently into my eyes, I know that this man….this creature would either be my salvation or my damnation.

A/N: Sooo what did you think? I would it was a lot to take in, a lot of heavy stuff in this chapter. But it gets better I promise! I believe in HEA, and Bella and Edward will get theirs, cuz that's the only type of stories I like. So should I continue this? Let me know