Preface:

Isabella. Isabella.
Whispers wrapped her pale, white ankles.

"…extreme memory loss that is caused by extensive psychological stress…"

"Don't be afraid of me, sweetheart." Yellowed teeth and a white overcoat swirled beneath her eye lids. Cold iron gripped her hands to her sides. She was manacled to a steel frame.

"Rarely is the memory completely obliterated. When amnesia results from a single psychological incident, such as a severe emotional shock, the victim may forget only the incident itself; only certain isolated events are lost to memory."

"You've been a bad girl, haven't you? Hmm." Terror racked her tiny frame. The taste of helplessness drove her still. She couldn't move, she couldn't breathe. A humming bird fluttered inside her chest.
Moist palms slid down her side, lightly grazed her lean, thin thighs.

Her lips quivered. Tears tasted salty against her raw lips.
She hated his touch.

Hesitantly his fingers rose, and she smelt the scent of him. Salt and iron like blood. The stench tugged at her stomach, tossing and turning; making her heave. He didn't notice, he simply leaned closer to her motionless form, "You're a killer, Isabella. A murderer."

He tugged her hair sharply, making her cry out. Light flashed illuminating a sharp, silver lancet.

"And you're mine." Blood seeped in puddles along the white tiles.

And then she screamed.

"…The recovery is often gradual, the memory slowly reclaiming isolated events while others are still missing."

Chapter 1

The thick fog of smoke, alcohol and marijuana clogged the air, weighing heavily on the grinding bodies on the dance floor. The new Britney Spear's number blaring from the huge speakers shook the doors and rattled the silverware with its intensity. In fact you could barely hear yourself think.

Perfect.

I jumped in with the throngs to find myself wedged in between a perky blond who clearly had too much to drink already (a fact made painfully clear by her apparent lack of clothing aside from a navy blue thong and bra) and a lean Caucasian who was busy making out with his boyfriend. Soon, his hand reached down to grab his friend's ass, further encouraging their little French-athon.
Smirking, I enjoyed the show until it got a little too raunchy for my taste; then threw my head back to finish my Cosmopolitan. Suddenly I was rudely shoved from the side causing me to spill my drink on myself. Flipping the freak off, I wadded my soaked Vintage LBD and stalked, muttering expletives, towards the overcrowded mini bar. Sighing, I got another drink to cheer myself up and scuttled to -thank god- an unoccupied bar stool. I did not want to have to Taser some stoned frat boy for the seat tonight.

Running my fingers through my barely tamed waves, I groaned as I felt the familiar headache making its presence known. Clearly the alcohol was not doing a very good job. My mind had reestablished its ability to think again due to the slightly lesser volume-intensity on this side of the courtyard. All too soon I remembered the very reason I was at the trashy party in the first place.

My screw-up of a stepfather had landed yet another clingy blonde, so there was no way in hell I was going to stay at home. Any place else had been impossible because the constant raging screams that forever pervaded my conscience, were getting louder and louder.

So yet another Upper East Side party on some sugar daddy's favorite lawn it was.

The Gods clearly left the planet after the 90s. Not that I blamed them of course, but I could definitely use some of that good luck that they were known to throw around. Sigh.

Slamming my empty glass down on the counter, I vaguely noticed someone settling her drunken ass on the next vacant seat.
She was tiny, and delicate like those porcelain dolls you see only in vintage stores. Her short hair was dark and sticking up in every different angle possible. Accented, high cheekbones, pale pink lips and startling baby blues— The girl was a little princess. The unmistakable grace she carried herself with (even drunk) gave me the impression of a dancer. Perhaps ballet.

One look at the staggering designer tags raking her form, and I rolled my eyes. Not another gold digging sweetheart.

Unfortunately, she had caught my inspection and instead of the snooty comment or fake compliment I expected to be graced with, she smiled and, shoved her tiny palm in my face, "Hi! I'm Alice!" Her happiness resonated through her eyes- her sapphire eyes lighting up into a clear cerulean.

Shaking it, I grinned, "Bella."

There a short awkward pause. Her eyes had turned a stormy blue now. But her smile remained intact, like she was forcing herself to be cheerful. Sadness crept in those dark orbs, like the clouds before thundering rain. Before I could make any sense of this, she glanced away to examine the other guests.

"Do you really think he's gay?" She asked suddenly pointing to a blond head; I glanced to see her closely examining the very Caucasian and his boy-toy on the dance floor. Confusion was clear in my eyes as I looked up. "Maybe I could change his mind." Just in time to see the spark of mischief glistening in her glazed ones.

"I dare you to," I shot back evenly. Tipping her almost empty glass in my direction, she uncrossed her legs and hobbled off the stool. "Watch and learn sweetheart," She whispered, winking and sashayed in their direction. With the strength her size deemed impossible, she ripped the blond fucker aside and slammed her lips to his.
His body was stilled with shock for a few seconds until he quickly recovered in time to give her ass a squeeze.

I smirked. A twist to the evening. I was not disappointed.

Settling back on the counter, I slowly sipped my Sex on the Beach, only to be shoved, yet again, by another tall asshole.
That fucker better be blind. Or he will be, soon.

One look at his furious Persian brown orbs and my mouth shut right back up; clearly he had had a bad day. His shaggy wheat waves enveloped his head, giving him a subtle glow. His bronze skin and toned body gave the impression of a surfer; subtle cheekbones, a straight nose and thin lips settled softly on his face. A quick once over and I hastily corrected myself, a very high-class surfer if the Armani shirt and grey pant suit suggested anything. In the blink of an eye, the golden head stalked towards the groping couple, ripped the two apart and with one punch, the Caucasian slammed head first into a stack of wooden tables.

Broken glass skittered across the marble floor and thick alcohol sloshed down the chairs as his body crumpled in the heap. Aside from a round of garbled curses in the general direction, the party continued full swing. Most partiers were too wasted or didn't bother enough to complain.

Alice, who had watched the whole scene with a look of absolute shock, turned to her boyfriend? ex? With menacing glare and stalked off. Coming right in my direction. Grabbing her previously discarded clutch from the stool, I saw her stormy eyes again. But this time, they were raining. Biting her lips to restrain herself, she gave me a watery smile. Without thinking, I wrapped her in my arms. Her tiny frame shuddered lightly before clutching my dress with whitened knuckles. "I hate him, I hate him…" she whimpered into the crook of my neck, her tears like little rain drops.

Shooting the blond asshole a glare of my own, he swallowed thickly before he made his way towards us.

A hesitate tanned palm shot to her shoulder, but she brushed it off with distain. Her voice was steely when she bit out, "Stay the fuck away from me. I don't want to hear it." His eyes turned hard, but they melted when they cast on her blotched face. His voice was husky, apologetic, "Allie, please, I'm so sorry—"

She spun around sharply. Apparently, that was just the wrong thing to say. She stared him down, until he looked like he wanted nothing more than to slowly back away.

"Are you jealous? Is that what this is all about? Because you and I both know, I can fuck whoever the hell I want." He flinched at this, like someone had burned his skin. "And you can't say or do anything about it." She smirked, eyes bright as she got herself worked up, "Or wait, did Father send you to make sure I come back home safe, again?" She laughed humorlessly. "I can cross the street on my own, hell, I can even hail my own cab Jasper! Now, isn't that something?" She growled, sarcasm frosting her words.

I winced. Pretty boy had clearly dug his own grave. Jasper (did she say?) looked pained by this. He reached out to palm her wet cheeks, but she slapped them away. Her face was flushed with anger and her eyes were dark, swirling and flat. "I hate you. I hope you drown in your own guilt, because when you realized the one thing you wanted most, you pushed it away. I hate you for everything you made me feel. I hate that I loved you enough to shoot down the next bitch who looked you the wrong way—"

Jasper had clearly heard enough, with a blur; he pulled her to his chest and softly kissed her lips. Even as her tears renewed at this gentle gesture, she didn't pull away. But hung on tightly, her palms gripping his. I turned away to give them privacy, as I heard his gentle murmurs of condolence and fervent apologies.

Biting my lower lip, I couldn't help the smile that tugged my lips. That was undeniably the sweetest thing I had seen in my life. They make such a cute—

"Excuse me?" A meaty arm wrapped around my elbow. Shrugging off a shiver, I tossed the greasy looking guy a withering glare. Don't touch me.

He didn't seem to catch the hint. "Hi. I'm Sam." Sharply tugging out of his gasp, I ignored him. Why did I always get myself into these situations? I felt his sleazy grin and slithering gaze rake my body greedily. It was enough to make me snap. "That's nice." I did not have time for this.

"Listen, how about we head back to my place for more privacy?" His breath stank of nicotine and cheap liquor. Who the hell was he anyway? The pool guy? He clearly did not belong here. Gagging, I responded shortly, "No," and coupled it with a faux sugary smile.

"Baby. Don't be like that—" Jesus, was he high? The loser was grating on my nerves. He better not make a move on me or I'll Taser his ass six ways to—

My face steeled itself, I hissed, "What part of I'm not interested don't you understand?" He didn't like this. Snarling, his amicable act vanished, and he grabbed my wrist painfully. "Listen here bitch, I have hard cash and all I want is an hour of your time—"

That little fucktart. Pulling my Taser out as inconspicuously as possible, I quickly hid it under my dress and right above his crotch. I cursed him to the deepest pits of hell, as I glared menacingly.
One more move asshole, just one more.

He stopped suddenly as he glanced at me fearfully. Or behind me.

In a breath, he was plastered onto the bar counter with Jasper's hand clenched painfully around his throat. His voice stung in its frightening calmness. "I believe the lady said she was not interested."

Alice quickly grabbed my hands, "Oh my god, are you okay?" I waved it off, repeating, "I'm fine, it's okay," until she calmed down enough to watch Jasper make the greasy fucker piss in his pants. Only when the sleaze sobbed for his mother and choked in his own spit for air, did he let go with a look of absolute disgust on his hard face. Turning to me, he quickly assessed me from head to toe to see if I was hurt in anyway. Seeing me pouting, he lifted his eyebrow in surprise.

"You couldn't have waited five more minutes?" He looked at me incredulously and exchanged looks with Alice. Rolling my eyes, I pulled out my Taser from underneath my dress and grinned cheekily, "I wanted to try out my new Taser."

He looked at me strangely for a second before he joined Alice's loud, burbling laughter.

And that's how I met Allie and Jazzy.

I've been dying to get this on paper...or well, typed.
Anyway, there. Finally!
Tell me what you guys think!

Oh and anyway I can contact a Beta for my story?

Thanks,
SeirFire