It's been a while ain't it? First off, I have to apologize for the VERYY long delay! But you'll be happy to know that in this time I have found a beta (YAY!) and she's been helping me out fixing up chapters and such and I've decided to make the chapters a bit longer so instead of having 12 chapters so far, there are only 4 so far. Everything's being re done and certain parts are re written. So I apologize in advance because this is not new information or a new chapter just an updated, revisited, better written version of the first couple chapters. I will be posting the rest of the chapters in the next few days until Chapter 4 which is where we ended. Chapter 5 is being written and it will be posted ASAP. Again I apologize in advance that this is not new but I hope you all are excited for the new chapter soon!

As always, all characters and anything else you recognize is not mine, its Stephanie Meyers!

Chapter Playlist

Vulnerable - Secondhand Serenade

Everybody Hurts - Avril Lavigne

Hate Me - Blue October

Chapter 1

Edward's Point of View

No one knew about the murders, the drugs, or the alcohol. They thought the evidence they found showed that they did. They thought they knew everything, but I can assure you they didn't. And now, for once when I told the truth, that I actually didn't do anything, they don't believe me. Sure I have a bad boy reputation but isn't there something about innocent until proven guilty? But even if there was, they had "the evidence". Now I was going to jail. Well maybe not jail, but something as equally bad if not worse. I was going to Washington's very own residential treatment facility.

"Wake up sweetie, we're here," my mom called from the front seat as we pulled into the facility grounds.

I wasn't sleeping but it was better to pretend to sleep rather than be harassed with the pity and sympathy my parents gave me.

To say that my parents were loaded was an understatement. They bathed in bathtubs full of money but despite the money, they were still "concerned about my behaviour" as they put it. Most of my friends were pretty rich too, but their parents were too busy with their own shit. My parents were concerned about me but I think their concern was only because of what happened to my sister.

My dad, Carlisle Masen Cullen the second, had inherited billions from my great grandfather. When he married my mother, Esme Elizabeth Cullen née Platt, the only child of the owner of the biggest gold trader in America, the both of them together had enough money to buy 20 states.

But money can't buy happiness. My parents knew about my anger issues, the drugs, and the constant fighting going on in our wealthy part of town.

And whether they liked it or not, their son was the boy all the parents didn't want their children to get involved with. People ran across the road of a street busy with traffic if they saw me walking towards them. It wasn't like I was going to do anything…then again, with my anger, you couldn't tell. Even the slightest annoyance could send me into a rampage. It wasn't something I could control.

That's just the way it was.

That is until two months ago.

When my sister, Rosalie, committed suicide.

Or if you want to know the newspaper version: Edward Cullen Homicide Case: 18-year-old Kills Older Sibling.

I fought the memory of that night as we walked into the facility. I took a second to look around and instantly regretted it. My new home, for the next two years was going to be this dark grey building made of stone bricks. There was a grassy field but a barbed fence surrounded it. Hell, the entire goddamn place had barbed wire around it. There were a limited number of windows and even they were locked shut and tinted dark. The ambience around the entire place was dark, it was the place a person like me deserved to live…or so I thought.

Snapping back into reality, I saw a doctor in her early forties make her way towards us…my mom, my dad, me…oh and I almost forgot…a police officer. A police officer that had handcuffs around my wrists.

I wasn't a criminal!

I didn't kill her!

But no one believed me…and that was why I was here.

"Hello Mr. and Mrs. Cullen, I'm Dr. Emily Young," the women exclaimed as she shook hands with my parents, "I'm the doctor in charge of your son."

Oh great, I was going to be stuck with this old hen for the next 2 years.

Aren't there supposed to be hot doctors around here?

Preferably my age?

Of course not.

I looked around the inside of the building to see if the scenery inside could be just as enlightening as the outside but as I turned my head to look to the left, I saw HER at the other side of the building. Her small petite body, the body I once loved. I saw her long mahogany hair, the hair that I had played with so many times before. I saw her chocolate brown eyes - the eyes that I found myself falling into deeper and deeper only a couple of months ago – until she was the reason the only person I loved was dead.

Just the sight of her made my blood boil. My feet started shifting in her direction. And my eyes narrowed as I looked at her more closely. It had to be her. But why was she here in a place where they 'helped' druggies, alcoholics and people that needed anger management. From what I remembered about her, she was calm and alcohol/drug free. But then again, maybe the police believed my story and she was going to be sent here…maybe I could be free!

Before I knew what I was doing, I ran towards her…despite the yelling of my parents and the pursuit of the police officer. I wanted to hit her, scream at her; I just wanted her to die.

"Edward, get back here right now!" I heard my dad yell from behind me, but I didn't even look back. She had to die…she had to die NOW and she was going to die by being strangled by my bare hands!

I ran faster than I had ever run before and in less than a minute, I was at the other side of the building. I made my way over to her and immediately her bodyguard, police officer, father, whatever the shit he was came in front of her. But I wasn't going to let her get away that easily.

I pushed the big guy over and yanked her towards me…she whimpered in pain and looked at me with glassy eyes.

Only then did I notice that she wasn't the her I wanted.

This one had delicate, soft pink lips, one more full than the other and a small rounded nose. Her hair fell onto her shoulder in endless waves and her eyes were sad.

They were scared.

They were cold.

But I didn't let go of her. My nails pierced the flesh of her pearl colored shoulders, but she didn't say anything. The tears were the only things that gave away the fact that she was in pain. It was like she was used to this. The only thing I did notice was her hand twitching like it was trying to grab something. I could feel the warmth of the blood underneath my fingernails as it flowered from the cuts.

Suddenly I felt two big hands pulling me back and I turned around to see my police officer trying to restrain me. I didn't fight back. I watched as a chubby nurse skittishly wiped away the blood on her shoulders from where I had held her when the memories of when I walked in on my sister lying in a pool of her own blood, dead had invaded my head.

Her phone in one hand and my gun lying grasped tightly between her fingers on the other.

I remembered reading the texts Tanya had sent her; the ones that made my sister choose between her own life and the one other person she loved more than herself: me. Tanya was Rosalie's best friend…and the girl I was in love with. I didn't realize my close relationship with Rosalie would affect Tanya. I mean my sister was always there for me.

She was 19, only a year older than me.

And we were inseparable.

We looked different but were the same. I had messy bronze coloured hair with green eyes and an angular face. Rosalie, was the most beautiful girl ever, she had the same blonde hair as my father and eyes that looked violet.

She was the big sister anyone could ask for. She protected me from bullies in elementary school. Got me my first girlfriend in middle school and did whatever it took for me to not get kicked out of high school. I made a lot of mistakes but she always covered them up. Made deals that she thought I didn't know about. She'd go out wearing the sluttiest outfit she could find and she came back with swollen lips, cuts, and bruises. She would always ignore my yelling and go to her room to change.

The countless fights we had about her stopping her disgusting behaviour when I didn't…couldn't…wouldn't even think about the fact that I was causing it. The sex that resembled rape and the abuse that stimulated brutal murder. She paid for my mistakes. But Rosalie, being the person she was, told me shut up and stop making mistakes if I didn't want to see her hurt.

And to be honest, I tried. I tried to stop with the drugs, the fighting, the alcohol, the parties, the gan–… well I stopped trying a lot of stuff – but it was no use. With my temper, a calm family meal could turn into driving to the hospital for stitches.

But my family dealt with it.

They were always supportive.

I just don't know why.

Tanya seemed cool with my relationship with Rosalie. Hell, what relationship…we were family. It was a no brainer we were close. But apparently we were too close for her liking.

Maybe that's why she told Rosalie to choose.

Reliving the memory of finding my sister on the floor and then being dragged out in handcuffs for suspected murder, I snapped back into the present. No use crying over spilled milk. No use trying to persuade the judge that I was innocent. My gun, my fingerprints, Tanya's misinterpreted texts. How can I be telling the truth when they had their evidence?

The girl that looked like Tanya was trying not to cry as the nurse put some antiseptic onto her cuts. I looked away. My parents had finally come around and started yelling.

"What were you thinking Edward?"

"Are you insane?"

"What the hell!?"

I was bombarded with questions.

"S-s-she…I thought...She looked like Tanya," I said, my voice barely above a whisper and my parents looked away.

The averted eyes and tightened faces of two middle-aged parents who looked older than they were looked back up at me moments later.

Of course I told them my story and even though they didn't want to believe it…I know they knew in the bottom of their hearts it was true.

Or maybe the fucking evidence was enough to convince them, too.

"I'm sorry I wasn't who you thought I was. My name is Bella," I heard a small voice whisper. I turned around and saw the girl stick her hand out, "Isabella Marie Swan."

I shook her hand with a little more force than I had intended as I felt her flinch. I could feel myself getting angrier.

"Edward Anthony Cullen,"I replied trying to sound apologetic but it was more hostile.

She was quick to turn away to talk to a police officer that had just arrived and Dr. Emily Young finished explaining to my parents what would happen to me here.

Their expressions were as strong as their hearts probably were right now. The goodbye's and I love you's were there…so were the hugs and kisses but of course something was missing. How could they miss the boy who had killed their daughter?

The next couple of years were not entertaining. I didn't know how I was going to survive.

I got my room and it turns out…I didn't have a roommate…at least not yet. I guess my luck wasn't that bad.

I got my schedule for the day every morning and it rarely changed.

Breakfast.

Medication/Doctor's Appointment.

Free Time.

Lunch.

Anger Management.

Free Time.

Dinner.

Counselling.

Bed Time.

Of course they didn't call it Anger Management; it was called some stupid crap that sounded a lot like "Soothing The Soul."

But other than that, it wasn't a bad schedule…I mean free time was always fun. I made some new…acquaintances if I could even call them that. Chatted with some girls who weren't that bad looking – well they were as good as they got after coming from drug abuse and broken homes.

And got along with my therapists, doctors and counsellors.

But there was one thing on my mind and her name was Tan–Isabella.

I hadn't seen her since that first day…it was like she didn't come out of her room. Or maybe our schedules were so different that I didn't get to see her at all. Oh well, why did I even care?

I just finished lunch with my mates and was going to Anger Management. It was a session that I actually hated with my gut. They talked about the things that triggered me and the things I hated. The doctor there, Dr. Samuel Uley, had recently started talking about the things I loved and what made me happy.

He had told me two days ago that we'd be talking about home, my sister and my drugs and alcohol abuse in relation to my anger. I didn't mind the drug and alcohol talk but I know I couldn't handle that dumbass doctor saying anything about my sister.

I walked into the door that had Dr. Uley written on the outside and sighed. It was going to be an eventful day…I could feel it.

I ran out of the room as fast as I could once my time was up. Who the hell did that doctor thing he was? A slut! My sister? How dare he call my sister a slut? She did it for me. They asked me what triggered my anger – well there you fucking have it – you don't say a thing about my sister.

I ran across the field to get to the dorms. I just turned into my corridor, when I saw her.

Isabella.