A/N: I don't own these characters. This first chapter is just a little background and may be a jumbled mess, but the other chapters will be more (some word).

Looking at her, I could see my future; she was the sun, she was the angel in my abysmal world that gave life meaning. But, with every angel there are a thousand demons trying to capture your soul. What would you do if you had to choose between saving your angel or succumbing to your demons?

We met in kindergarten in Ms. Jones class. She was wearing her hair in pigtails with overalls and a white thermal sweater underneath. She was holding her father's hand when he knelt down, gave her a hug and a kiss on the forehead, told her to behave and left. While she smiled after her dad, I studied her. Alice, my twin, ganged up on her as soon as she saw her - Alice was always the most talkative of the two, before she came along Alice was the only one I talked too.

"My name is Alice Louise Masen and my twin's name is Edward Anthony Masen. We're 5 but our birthday is October 5, and then we'll be six. Do you want to come to our birthday party? That would be cool. Your daddy looked cool in his uniform, is he a cop? My daddy is a lawyer….What's your name?" she finally asked, flipping her black hair and tilting her head to the side.

"Isabella - but my daddy calls me Bells or Bella," her voice was soft while she looked at Alice with the same expression. They both smiled grabbed arms, and the rest, as you say, is history.

We all shared the same classes up until our sophomore year. By this time, Alice and Jasper's relationship was going on into their third year. I gave him hell when I found out they were dating, although Alice was older (by 45 seconds - she keeps reminding me), she was smaller and I fell into big brother mode. Jasper brought his twin, Rosalie who, in turn brought her boyfriend, Emmett, and soon I had a circle of 5 people I talked to regularly.

Tragedy struck Alice and I our sophomore year, when our dad suddenly died in a car accident. He was my best friend, other than Alice, and he was just gone. I was the shoulder to cry on for my mother and for Alice. In her grief my mother tried to swallow a bottle full of pills, when I grabbed them out of her hand she sank to her knees and begged for the pills. I was able to talk her down and lead her back to her bedroom and put her to sleep. Alice was having nightmares, coming to copes with the death of our beloved father was hard for her, between watching my mother and Alice's nightmares, the only time I got to sleep was when I went to Bella's house to study. Soon, the days got easier for them and the nights got easier for all of us; I no longer had to stay up with Alice or count every pill in the bottle.

And then one day, Alice made a comment about Dad and I couldn't believe she could actually mention his name without sobbing. The thought of Dad made me sick to my stomach, still, that someone else had a hand in my father's death. I can admit it now because I see it, I didn't get over my dad's death until much later in life.

I can't say when it started or why. I had baseball - got drafted by the Rays senior year, and was expected at camp that summer - I had friends, I had good grades, I was going to Stanford, I had plans. I remember that it was the last Championship game I would play, before I went into the Minors; we won the game in the bottom of the 12th two outs, none on, when I hit a line drive down the third base line, it went into the corner and I ran as if my life depended on it. With the championship win, the team went out and we got pulled into the rush of the feeling, wanting it to last forever we were able to score some cocaine from one of the frats we were out with. The rush was something I never experienced before. I remember seeing my dad, I remember when he said how proud he was of me. My friends were all around me and wishing me luck while we all goofed off the way we did since middle school. I was happy, for the first time since my dad died, I felt happy. I never got over the feeling.

Two years later, at 21, I'm back home with this low that was worse from when my dad died. The Rays had me at their camp for Spring Training when I suffered a severe broken ankle. I was released two months later. With a pain in my ankle and a pain in my heart that intensified the pain from my dad's death, I found myself taking my percs more than religiously. Eventually I stretched out the pills by crushing them and snorting it. It brought that same happy feeling I got after the championship game; then happiness turned into darkness.

I had everything planned, last night was my last night with my friends and my family. They wouldn't have to deal with a drug addicted brother/son/friend/boyfriend. I couldn't add that to their many problems. We had fun that last night, I made love to Bella one last time and then wrote a letter that said "I can't live a lie and I won't drag you guys into it. I love you, you are the sun that kept me going for so long."

I grabbed my prescription, called Sabestian, a resident at the local hospital who was able to get some more percs for me, and left.

It was two years later, on my 23rd birthday when it got worse. Celebrating my twin's birthday alone for the third time was rough. I went out for drinks, having earned money doing odd jobs here and there, when I was able to score some cocaine. "Happy Birthday to me" I said before falling down a flight of stairs. I laughed on my way down, felt cold metal against my skull and then everything went black.