DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters in this story, they all belong to Stephanie Meyer.

Ok, so I got bored and I wanted to write a Twilight Fanfic. Some of you may even know my sister on here (twiXlite) (the one with the story that's so good she's been threatened to be hunted down with pitch forks if she didn't update soon enough) and I felt like writing my own fic! It's just a try out and it'll be crap, especially compared to my sisters, but seeing as I make the videos and make the avatars, I may as well make a story!

Everyone is human in this story.

Enjoy :)

EPOV

Roses. They were one of the most beautiful flowers to exist. Each unique and eye catching, yet living things. They're perfect. The perfect plant, the perfect gift, the perfect declaration of love. But just like any other plant, in order to stay alive you have to take care of it. I needs love. Not as in close and tender, but looking after and attention, like a mother's love. Everyday you check on it to make sure it's still alive and well. It's a sign of love, even if it doesn't take much love or even if you don't feel the love you have for it, it's there.

And when that love goes away, the rose begins to fall apart. It tries up on the windowsill, frying in the sun, unhealthy, gasping for water. The colour slowly fades from the rose. Once it was gorgeous, blood-red and beautiful. The stalk cool, thick, strong and a healthy bright green. The petals chilled and sparkling in little droplets of water clinging against the smooth, soft petal. But with no love, soon enough it shrivels up. The colour is lost only to show a dark brown, and purple petals. The stalk of the flower is no longer healthy and green. It's thin, feeble and barely alive. The petals are shrunk on the windowsill, very few still clinging to the stalk. The sign of a dead flower.

My mother, Elizabeth, loved roses. Every birthday, mothers day, Christmas and even Valentines Day I would buy her red roses. Especially Valentines Day. It was always a difficult day for my mother, as she never got the affection she deserved from my father, Edward Sr. But at times, I hated to call him…Dad.

He was a cruel man. He treated my mother so dreadful, I was even terrified to touch her in fear I would hurt her from her injuries. I would be kept awake almost every night, listening to the vicious shouting of my father, yelling at her because she didn't make him the perfect cup of tea.

Of course, those drinks were always topped up with booze. He drank almost every night, which helped start this whole thing between him and my mother. It was actually my fault this was happening. When I was born, Dad saw me as a burden straight away. Many times the same words have replayed in my head. Ones I could never forget from one night…

I was fourteen years old and about to go back to school after summer break. All I asked is for my dad to take me out to buy new school equipment. Something very child needed and it was expected. But he was too busy. Too busy watched the football game and drinking with his friends in the local bar. It was two days before I started school and I needed new equipment. He was the only one who could. He had complete control any money in the house and made sure he and my mother had a joint account, which was really his account. He'd never let Mom know the pin to the credit card. She had no control.

All of a sudden, he lost it. He shouted at me and I was so scared of him and his words.

"All I want to do is watch the game!" he yelled at me. "I don't give a shit about your stupid school! Why should I pay for your crap you use up anyway?!"

I had no answer to him. I didn't expect him to suddenly lose it over school stuff. He never did before.

"All you are to me is a waste of space!" he shouted. "I never even wanted you in the first place. You ruined my life when you were born and you continue to ruin it now, so fuck off out of my way before I do something you'll regret!"

And it was something I would regret him doing. I didn't delay. I stayed in my room for the rest of the day, not quite in tears, but shocked he said all of those things. It was then I realised he hated my. My own father officially hated me.

Two years later and I'm now sixteen, those words still ringing in my ears. It was also when he first started to hit my mother when he got bored of arguing over the years. My mother was a sweet, tender young woman. As innocent as they come yet such an awful thing she had to go through.

Then one night, things changed forever. My father was out at the bar down the road and I was taking this chance to watch some television for a change. As I laughed at a silly parody movie, I heard a thump to the floor coming from upstairs. I wondered what it was and called Mom upstairs.

But there wasn't any answer.

I wasn't concerned until there was no answer after at least five calls. I made up way up the stairs and knocked on her bedroom door.

"Mom" I called, "are you ok?"

Again, there was no answer. Surely she would have heard me if there was nothing wrong. I tried to open the door and was surprised at the sudden stop. She had locked the door. She never locks the door. Because there was no lock on the door, I figured she kept a chair shoved under the handle. I continued to call her as I tried knocking the door down with my shoulder. I eventually knocked down the door, causing the desk chair to crash to the floor. I felt a rush of relief, knowing I opened the door, however that only lasted a few seconds. The sight of my dear mother lifeless on the floor give me the biggest chills I'd ever felt causing my heart to stop in shock for a few seconds. I rushed to help her, but I was too late. I fumbled about in panic through the empty medicine bottles on the bedside table and there were many of them. I checked her pulse. I found none. I checked for breath. There was none.

That memory, no matter how long I try to block it out, will always be there, haunting my nights of sleep, depressing me in my days of wake. As the police and the paramedics dealt with her, I knew I would be taken away. And to be honest, I wanted to leave. I wanted to be away from my father. I hated him so much. In my eyes, he was the one to kill her. He was the reason for her suicide.

I kept one of her precious roses before I left to look after. It was one of the few things I could link to my mothers presence around me. It was the only living thing that linked me to her after she died. And believe it or not, it's still alive. I look after it everyday, make sure it's still healthy. It continues to be a healthy, large , blood red rose even when I was adopted by Carlisle and Esme.

Hope you liked, but if it was crap please excuse it as it's my first try and I haven't yet read the books.

New Moon is difficult to read when your best friend takes forever.

Reviews would be really helpful to know how I'm doing. Constructive criticism welcome!