Disclaimer: Invisible people can;'t own Twilight.

Chapter Two

A sigh of relief escapes her mouth when Riley steps through the kitchen. A year older, Riley had a mirthful personality to match the sly curve of his lips, an expression that never seemed to fade regardless of his emotions; he was very good at compartmentalizing, blocking out memories that didn't appeal to his morals. He shared Bella's – and his mother's - mocha shade of hair but took on the icy blue eyes of his father.

"Hey, sis," he greets, yawning widely, scrubbing his fist over his eye as he sits at the sunshine yellow table. The kitchen of the house was such a polar opposite to the downright homey feel of the rest of the modest home – brightly colored backsplash, cringe-worthy vinyl floor tiles and shocking orange cabinets.

Bella nods at him, turning quickly to the sink in the hopes that she could clean up the mess from her cooking before her father ventured downstairs – and knowing that her effort was in vain. Still, she scrubbed, only pausing once when Bree entered the kitchen breezily, happily reaching for a piece of bacon.

She took a moment to appreciate her twin's girly style and the way she took the time to tie a single baby pink ribbon onto her high ponytail, her hair so long and smooth that it flowed right past her shoulder blades. Unlike Bella, Bree's hair was much darker, her eyes were an exact match to Riley's, and Bree had a light tan that suited her cheery demeanor.

Bree moves to the refrigerator as Bella turns back to the soapy dishes, scrubbing with renewed vigor. "Did you eat?"

Riley pauses chewing as he hears Bree's question, his eyes critically looking over his younger sisters; one who was vibrant, healthy and happy, the other who was much darker, more monotone and decidedly too thin. He frowns, swallowing. "Did you?" he asks, echoing Bree when it becomes clear that Bella has no intention of answering.

Feeling the heavy weight of their eyes on her back, Bella shakes her head reluctantly. "No time."

Before either of her siblings can respond, a deep voice interjects. "Get up late?" Charlie grunts, his chair screeching against the tile as he pulls it out, though he does not sit down.

Bree steps away from Bella's frozen form, not liking the cold eyes on her twin but knowing, after seventeen years, there was nothing she or Riley could do about what was coming next.

"Sorry, sir," Bella answers quietly.

Charlie grunts again, his heavy boots clunking against the floor as he steps closer to the youngest twin. "Lazy bitch," he mutters, peering into the sink. "And look at all this fucking filth!"

Riley grits his teeth when his father's harsh hands bite into a pale upper arm, roughly pulling Bella away from the sink, soapy water splashing against the floor. His stomach churns when Bella doesn't flinch – he knows she's too used to this kind of treatment.

It wasn't fair.

It wasn't Bella's fault that their mother chose her baby's life over her own – not even the doctors could have predicted the complication of the twins' birth.

It wasn't Bella's fault that she completely took after their mother, almost a carbon copy of the late woman.

And it certainly wasn't fair that Bella and Bree were treated so differently – one like a princess and one like an outcast. Riley wanted nothing more than to change it, to bring equality into the house before he went away to college next semester – a large part of him worried about what might happen to Bella if he ever left, as if Charlie might be holding back because there was another male in the house.

But he had never been built as strongly as his father had and he knew that he could never take on that particular brawn.

Charlie jerks Bella's arm again, pulling against the socket, holding her still as his boot connects with her shin. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Bella keeps her eyes to the floor, as she's supposed to, her mind angry and bitter. "Sorry, sir," she apologizes again, no inflection discernable in her voice.

A sharp slapping sound rips through the tense air of the kitchen; Bree's gasp immediately following as bright red blooms on her sister's face, Riley's knuckles becoming white from clenching his fists so hard.

The brief splash of pain is nothing compared to the sharp sting against the side of Bella's head when Charlie shoves her down, her skull connecting with the blinding orange cabinets.

"Clean up this mess," Charlie orders, gesturing to the soapy water on the floor. He turns on his heel and sinks into his chair, greedily piling his plate with food and tucking into his meal.

Bella sits still for a moment before forcing her body to move, dizzy but holding her movements stiffly, being incredibly precise and she cleans up the water and moves back to the dishes. When Charlie is done eating, he pushes away from the table, kisses Bree's forehead, claps Riley's back and, after gathering his holster, leaves the house. None of the siblings dare speak until the crunching of gravel under tires fades.

Bree, of course, is the first to react – despite the way they were raised and the fact that Charlie actively encouraged Bree to look down at her young twin, she loved Bella and it disturbed her heart to witness mornings like this. "Are you okay?"

Bella forces herself to nod, her hands grasping the edge of the counter – she didn't want to show weakness, even though the pain on the side of her head was pulsing. "I'm fine. Give me those plates, we're going to be late to school."

Bree quickly gathers the dishes as Riley meticulously cleans up the table. "Maybe you should skip work today," Riley suggests.

Bella snorts bitterly. "Right, Riley. Like I can do that," she replies, her tone completely detached except for the sardonic edge.

Wistfully, his mind transports him to a time when Bella was happy – it was right before their aunt moved away, right before Charlie became their sole caregiver. She played with Bree, blowing bubbles in the summer sunshine; it hurt his chest acutely that the innocence of Bella's childhood was lost before she was four and the abuse started. Sometimes, with the way Charlie looked at Bella, he had to wonder if there was more than hitting and verbal attacks involved in his father's terror – everyday, Bella grew to look more and more like their mother and Charlie's eyes were slowly changing.

It made Riley absolutely sick but he couldn't ask – couldn't find the courage to even suggest – that Charlie might lay his hands on his daughter in another, more vile way. He prayed every night that it would never happen.

Bree is quiet, though upset, as she volunteers to get Bella's ratty book bag from the basement. She shivers when her bare feet come into contact with the concrete floor, her eyes taking in the meager accommodations Bella had made for herself – with a feeling of disgust, she recalled the summer she and Bella turned twelve and her twin finally moved the lumpy twin mattress into the basement, the bed bought with Bella's hard earned money while Bree was gifted a new queen sized bed for no reason. Up until that summer, Bella had slept on a few blankets and a sleeping bag from Riley's Boy Scout gear that she habitually rolled up every morning, afraid to be caught borrowing it. Bree thought of her own room, the lavish girly space she'd had since she was four, while her twin was moved into this dingy basement, and her stomach lurched painfully. Locating Bella's beat up bag, which desperately needed stitching, she frowned – everything that Bella had, she had bought with her own money while Bree didn't have to – and was not allowed to - work at all and it was not right.

To top it all off, Bella's suffering wasn't restrained to her waking life; no, she was burdened with the horrifying nightmares that had plagued her since birth, too.

By the time Bree makes it back upstairs, Riley and Bella are standing by the door, ready to head out. Bella's cheek is bright red and swollen from where Charlie had backhanded her.

Bree holds back her tears – she knew Bella hated pity.

The three siblings squeeze into the cab of an older red Chevy pickup, the engine rumbling away towards their high school. Bella is the first to exit, quickly distancing herself from her siblings, her head low as she walks away, and ignoring Bree's call. Bella desperately didn't want to stick around to see her siblings swarmed by their friends – friends Bella did not have – and in her haste, she failed to avoid the broad chest she ran directly into.

Damn. Just what I need, she scowls, attempting to sidestep the familiar boy she walked into – only he halts her with his hand around her thin bicep, right where Charlie had bruised her earlier. With a hiss, she jerks her arm away, glaring up at her bother's best friend.

Edward – impossibly tall, all lean muscles, sharp grey eyes, and a mess of rust colored hair. She'd known of him since he moved to the small western Washington town, known about the rumors of his prestigious parentage and known about the proof of his complete asshole personality. Unfortunately, she'd been blessed to be in close contact with him due to his and Riley's close friendship.

"Watch where you're going," he growls, looming over her slight height in a way that sent Bella's blood pulsing in fear – it was too much like Charlie.

She looks away, dropping her glare, spotting the scabbed over knuckles of his hands. It wasn't any secret that Edward got into plenty of fights outside of the wrestling team – he was the tiny school's rebel and Bella wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. Instead of responding, she simply steps past him, keeping her head down, hoping her short hair will hide the red mark on her cheek.

Edward rolls his eyes, muttering about stupid girls under his breath. He nods his head to Riley in greeting. "The fuck is wrong with your sister?"

To his surprise, Riley's blue eyes flash dangerously. "Shut up," he says in warning.

Edward cocks his brow, shaking his head. "Whatever. She's a bitch."

"I'll break your face."

"Not before I break yours," Edward replies.

Riley sighs, already tired of the day, and carefully follows Bella's path into the school with his eyes, frowning at how much of a berth people give his sister. Bree notices and sighs dejectedly, tuning out the prattle of her friends – she had a bad feeling about today and she knew it had something to do with Bella.

A/N: Thoughts? Concerns. Hang in there.

As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.

~cupcakeriot