Hi so I'm Rachel and I go to high school and I go on tumblr more than participate in real life so I pretty much don't have the time to write the Twilight Saga, all that goes to Stephanie Meyer.

Enjoy... well I'm not ordering you to or anything. Okay, I'm awkward don't listen to me.

Prologue

My name is Ella Mayfair. I'm suicidal, bulimic, and hear my dead brothers voice in my head regularly. June 19 is when I decided to down 27 tablets of Tylenol. Over the outstanding weight of my dead mom and deceased older brother Greg had been overwhelming and that's not even counting my no good for anything father who'd rather drink all night than know I'm fed.

I guess it all started the night of my mom's funeral when my father decided to drink a bottle of Jack Daniels instead of tucking us into bed that night. I was nine years old at the time and I remember hearing picture frames smash to the floor as I hid in my younger sister Kylie's bed until she fell asleep. Little did I know that I would be doing that every night until she went to Kindergarten.

I was suicidal ever since. I couldn't find a purpose, besides going through the same routine as usual of going to school and going to art club on Tuesdays. I found no happiness. I wasn't particularly gifted in the looks department. I had nappy curly brown hair down to my thighs and my seaweed green eyes weren't anything special, either. I had a heart shaped face which isn't as pretty as some people think, and a button nose. It never attracted any type of boyfriends and that's how I knew I was an ugly piece of shit. My dad became more distant than ever when I entered my freshman year of high school. I found no sympathy in my peers because they ended up telling me to go hang myself like my brother Greg did five weeks prior.

My father became more greedy, obsessed with going to the bar and soon enough every night he would bring home a different woman and we would have to fend for ourselves. We were burdens to him. After my mom died, I started wearing more black and to be honest I didn't give a fuck about anything anybody thought about me. Black lipstick became my best friend when no one else would. My blades became my parent because nobody else was. My cigarettes became my peace of mind because I was lacking it everyday. Rock music became my religion.

The night of my attempt I was at a friends party and we were "smoking" in the back when the cops came and shut it down, but by then we were running down the main street laughing our asses off. For the first time in my life I felt weightless and happy. That was until we decided to camp out in the graveyard, where we found my mom's gravestone. I don't remember what came first, the crying or the screaming. They all told me to shut up or we were going to get caught. It was only when a guy named Corey ended up hitting me that I became the figure of silence. They drove me home and I climbed into the window of my bedroom and I decided that I would stop cutting and go for the bottle of pills.

Now that I look back, I was completely in my right mind. I felt like shit and I needed to die. I wasn't a good person. Nobody needed me here why should I stay? I wanted to be with the people who actually gave a shit about me not the ones who couldn't wait for the day I would move out. With one swift motion I poured the pills in my mouth and swallowed.

I woke up in a psychiatric ward with tubes in my arms and little sticky patches with cords all over my body. My family didn't even say goodbye to me before signing me up for a year in there. I was just this thing that needed to be fixed to them and I hated it. I missed my mom. She always would talk me out of my thoughts. Nobody tried to save me when my mom died. I realized in that bed that I wasn't anything to anybody. I was just a girl that wanted to die to the doctors and a sympathy case for anybody else I came across. Maybe selfish and attention seeking to others.

That's how I ended up in Forks, Washington. My grandpa offered to take me in after he heard about my predicament. My dad really didn't care so he said yes. Now I'm stuck in this shit hole for two more years. Junior and senior years are the only ones left and I couldn't be happier to get them over with. If I get them over with.

Review please? I wanna know if I should even put in time to do another chapter! Do you like Ella? Is she realistic? Does everything flow good? Am I a horrible writer? Let me know! ~Rachel