Brief Summary: Bella lives in a world of physical abuse, attemtping to shut off the world. Edward is a rebellious drug-addict. They both have good reason to hate each other, but another reason for something entirely different overpowers it all. Not every story has a happy ending. Will theirs?

Hi, everyone. Here's my second FanFic story. Few things first:

1. Disclaimer: I do not own any of Stephenie Meyer's characters or plots. All rights belong to her.
2. First chapter may be a little bit dragging, since I do get wordy when I try to start a story. Please put up with it and read on? (:
3. Review, whether you like it or not. I would really appreciate it, even if it's a criticism. Also, any questions you have, feel free to ask!
4. This is rated T, but there may be some profanities and graphic descriptions later on that some people might be bothered by (though I will try to limit it).

Alright, I'll let you get on with the story. Enjoy!

"First impressions are often the truest, as we find to our cost,
when we have been wheedled out of them by plausible professions or studied actions.
A man's look is the work of years;
it is stamped on his countenance by the events of his whole life, nay, more,
by the hand of nature, and it is not to be got rid of easily."

- William Hazlitt

[2005, June 26 | Phoenix, AZ]

It was at this final point where I could not take it any longer.

I looked into his eyes, and they were beyond human sanity, frenzied with animalistic rage.

I wanted to fight back, and I knew that I should but there was no more strength left in me. I tried to think of the past few months, and the life I had in them with him. Why did it have to be this way?

The reason, the only one, that fed my fire for living slowly drifted away, the pain overtaking it. But the voice never left me; it became stronger, replacing the angry cries for the angelic voice that called my name.

Then through half-closed eyes, I saw both his hands outstretched—claws reaching for my throat... the final death grip....

[2005, January 12 | Forks, WA]

With each step came a quiet, staccato breath. Occasionally a faint gasp. And with that escaped the faint mist from my mouth.

The bitter wind stung my cheeks, the morning coldness mercifully numbing my body. I didn't feel my bag pressing into the tender skin of my shoulder, or the sensitive marks on my arms as I held myself tight together for any possible warmth.

Finally, around the corner, I could see my truck, almost waiting for me with wide open arms. I peeked over my shoulder once before I jogged up to it, ignoring the soreness of my legs.

As soon as I got the heat running, I started up the engine, and its roar made me flinch once more. Keeping both hands steady on the steering wheel, I found my way to the highway and traveled down the street in a moderate pace.

Eventually, I spotted the roof of Forks High up ahead, hidden in the clash of green around it. As the front building came into view, there was no anxiety or fear—no excitement or anticipation. Emotion had long escaped me, leaving behind a dull, lifeless soul inside.

I silently thanked God that I was able to leave the house early enough to avoid other students who also came to school early, and the guaranteed questions that would surely come with. In fact, I hoped to remain invisible for the rest of my junior and senior year here.

There were only about thirty cars or so in the parking lot, mostly staff. I briskly hastened towards the small front office building, eager for the warmth inside. But just before reaching the door, a black figure from my peripheral vision made me jump in surprise.

I turned my head to see, a few meters away, a pale-faced, reddish-brown haired boy dressed entirely in black—black jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt. He was standing with his back leaning against the side of another one of the school buildings, well-hidden in the dimness. He had one ankle crossed over the other and one hand shoved in his pocket. The other hand hung loosely by his side, and I thought I saw a wisp of gray smoke rising from it.

I scowled. Who knew that even a small school like this would have their own druggies? It was suddenly very clear to me that I could not avoid these people no matter where I went.

I looked away and opened the door, the sudden warmth wiping away the black expression on my face. I closed the door behind me and mechanically walked up to the small reception counter, where a large woman glanced up at me.

"You must be Isabella Swan," she said with an overfriendly grin.

I nodded once, a halfhearted smile fixed on my lips.

With that, the lady named Ms. Cope gathered papers from her scattered desk and handed them to me as she cheerfully explained what to do with them.

I went back outside, heading to my truck to look over the school map again—mainly wanting to use up the half hour I had before school started. Then before even realizing I was doing it, I found myself looking in the general direction of where I saw that boy dressed in black.

He was in the same spot as before, and in the same posture. The only difference was that his face was turned as if he was watching me.

With a shock—and slight embarrassment—I instantly whipped my head back down, walking faster towards the parking lot.

It was in my haste to hide that I lost focus on all of my surroundings except the truck that I was heading for. The next thing I knew, something hit my shoulder, hard, and I let out a sharp gasp.

"Whoa!"

I glanced up to see the boy who ran into me, a surprised look set on his face.

"Sorry, I wasn't paying attention to where I was going," he apologized.

"It's okay," I murmured, bending down to pick up the papers that I dropped. The boy helped me gather them, and looked at my new schedule. He then looked at me more closely, and a friendly smile spread across his face. "Hey, you're the new girl, Isabella."

"It's Bella, actually," I answered with another timid smile of my own.

"I'm Mike." He confidently held out his hand, and I awkwardly shook it. "We have English together for first class. We could walk there together." He grinned widely.

I frowned. "I thought class didn't start until seven-thirty."

"Yeah. But I thought maybe you'd want to meet some of my friends." The last part of his sentence sounded like a question.

I honestly didn't want to. I just wanted to get through my high school years quietly and inconspicuously. But Mike seemed very nice, and for the moment, I felt the need for company.

"Um, sure, I guess." I shrugged.

Mike seemed ecstatic at my reply, and led me in towards the school, chatting animatedly. I tried to look enthusiastic for him, nodding and smiling.

"Does your shoulder hurt a lot?" he suddenly asked me in concern.

I realized that I was absentmindedly rubbing the sore spot in my shoulder where I bumped into Mike.

"No, no, I'm fine," I told him, hoping he wouldn't ask any questions.

Thankfully, before he had a chance to ask me anything, we reached a table where Mike's friends were hanging out, and he named each of them as they pleasantly smiled at me.

I sat with Mike and his friends, occasionally answering their questions about Phoenix and my life back there. I tried to keep my face blank, blocking away the painful memories, and answered as simply as I could.

Finally, the first bell rang to send students to their first class, and Mike automatically walked by my side to building three, describing the teacher and the class assignments for me.

All throughout the day, everything was repetitive. Mike, and another boy named Eric, would help me find my classes, I would give the teacher my schedule to sign, and then I would sit in the back, trying to ignore the curious peeks that were pointed at me.

It wasn't until my sixth class after lunch—which I spent with the people I met today—in Biology.

Just as I did with my classes before, I went up the teacher and asked him to sign the slip of paper. He smiled and said, "Welcome to Forks High," and pointed out the only unoccupied lab table available, in the very back of the classroom.

I avoided my new classmates' looks as I kept my eyes on the ground. As soon as I got settled into my seat, Mr. Banner began his lecture on cell division.

I had already learned about the whole topic at my school back in Phoenix, so I daydreamed. I had my head down when a few minutes into the lecture, the door opened and Mr. Banner stopped talking.

"Thank you for honoring us with your presence, Mr. Cullen," he said with disapproval.

I raised my head and saw the boy with auburn hair walking towards me with his hands shoved in his pockets. For a moment, I was stunned. This morning, I was not able to see the features of his face very clearly because of the distance and the brevity of my glances.

Now, however, as he got closer, I received the full image of his face—the tight, square jaw, high and prominent cheekbones, and the sharp angle of his brow, causing his eyes to smolder deeply. But despite these details, I could not believe that someone with eyes so beautiful, almost bright, could do drugs of any kind. It was disorienting.

Then his eyes met mine, and I quickly looked away again, staring down at my hands. I felt my cheeks burn, and I couldn't explain to myself why.

He sat down at the empty stool right next to me, casually cleared his throat, and said, "Sorry, Mr. Banner."

With slight annoyance in his voice, the teacher continued on with his lesson.

The Cullen boy then shifted in his seat, leaning forward to rest his head on his hand. It was then that I caught a whiff of the strong smell lingering on him.

Whether it was from this morning, or the reason that he was late for this class, I could smell the traces of nicotine coming off of him. Maybe it could be the fact that I was only a few feet away from him, but I knew that I was much more sensitive to the stench of any drug than anyone else.

I peeked at his face again, trying not to move my head. At first look, he seemed bored out of his mind. But looking closer, I saw that the edges of the whites of his eyes were red, and he had purple shadows under them.

I looked back down at the desk in front of me, and I realized that certain feelings for him were starting to form—anger and irritation, though I knew I shouldn't feel that way, since I never even talked to the boy.

But I knew from my own experiences that I could judge a person by their choices; their own decisions on right and wrong.

I discreetly turned my face slightly away from him to save a headache from the smell as class dragged on and on.

The bell finally rang, and Mike walked up to my desk, waiting for me so that we could walk to Gym. I slung my bag over my shoulder, when the voice from behind spoke to me.

"So you're the new kid, right?"

I turned around, unsure of what expressions were playing across my face. I narrowed my eyes at the way he called me 'kid,' as if he thought he was superior to me.

"Isabella Swan," he dragged out, the corner of his lips lifted into half a smirk. His eyes did not show much of any interest; they seemed to stare down at me. He shoved his hand out towards me, presumptuous beyond belief. "Edward Cullen."

I reluctantly shook his hand once, trying my hardest to keep from grimacing, and breathing as little as possible.

"Nice to meet you," I muttered.

And then I turned to Mike and walked out of the classroom.

He kept up his line of small talk with me. "So how do you think you're going to do on tomorrow's lab?"

I struggled to concentrate. "We're doing a lab?"

"Yeah, Mr. Banner was talking about that for like, twenty minutes. We're supposed to identify all the different stages of cell division." He groaned.

Suddenly a thought caught up to me. "Do we have to do it with our lab partners?" I asked warily.

"Yep."

I sighed more sharply than I meant to, squeezing my eyes shut. "Great."

Thank you for putting up with the first chapter! Please, please leave a review and tell me what you thought. And feel free to ask any questions. Thank you!