Disclaimer for all chapters: I do not own Twilight Saga. SM owns it. I do not intend to copy any of her ideas for my own. I only own the plot to this story. And I do not intend to copy any other author either. There are many stories out the re and I have not been able to read all of them.

This story contains mention of physical and emotional abuse, strong language, etc. Do not read if you are uncomfortable with such topics.

Enjoy and please review.

Chapter 2

By the time I was in the 8th grade, I had perfected my cloak of invisibility. My personal uniform was simple: black, comfortable and able to hide bruises. If it wasn't available at a thrift shop, then I didn't buy it. I was petite, about 5,6" tall, skinny, with dark brown hair that I wore super short, almost like a crew cut. My short hair made my brown eyes stand out on my face... I laughed whenever I caught my reflection in a mirror because I kind of dug my alien, manga look. One time Dad had caught me by my hair as I was trying to get away from him, and as a result, I had gotten a pretty bad beating. As soon as I could after that, I cut my hair off. Mom cried when I came home; she had loved my mahogany hair, thick and long down my back. Dad was angry too; he called me a dyke. I just shrugged in response although on the inside my dad's cruelty stung. But I preferred dad's ugly words to his hits.

My secret pleasure was comic books. Atomic Comics was my favorite comic book store and I spent as many hours as I could there. I loved super heroes. Buffy, Wonder Woman, X Men, Spiderman... you name it, I love them all. I needed to be strong and unafraid so I borrowed their strength and courage. Plenty of kids from Forks Middle School also hung out there, but no one noticed me. I didn't matter to anyone so it was easy to blend in with my surroundings. And since my mom and dad still kept their public face relatively intact, no one had any idea of what my life was really like.

On Sunday, I was sitting on the edge of the bathroom tub watching mom get ready for work. While I watched mom put on her makeup, I thought my mom was the most beautiful woman in the world with her sky blue eyes, dark brown hair, petite features and beautiful skin. Even though she had dark rings under her eyes and was paler than normal, she was gorgeous. But as I looked at her eyes reflected in the mirror, her expression was blank. I shivered. I stopped looking at mom and started looking at my shoes instead. I felt all the love I had for my mom, but I also felt fucking disappointed in her too. There were times that I was sure that she was going to run away and leave me alone with dad. Instead, she did something worse - nothing. At first, I didn't understand why she couldn't take me and we leave to protect us from dad, but over time I came to realize that I wasn't worth it to her.

Antsy, I chewed my fingernails and decided to make another stab at it. I just couldn't learn.

"Mom," I said. "Yes, honey."

"Let's go. Let's leave here and go. We can go anywhere and we can make it. We don't need dad. You already earn all the money anyway. We can do it", I pleaded.

Mom didn't answer me or look me in the eyes. Her expression stayed neutral. She just nodded. "That's a possibility, but let's not talk about it now. I need to get to work and I'll drop you at the mall to hang out." She generated a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes and gave me a hug. This was mom code for "conversation over."

Every time, she shot down the idea of leaving, it felt like a little prick in my heart. We drove together to Port Angeles in an uneasy silence. I was angry, and she knew it. She dropped me at one end of the mall, while she went to work to work at the other. "Fuck this", I thought as I headed to the comic book store.

Being in the comic book store wasn't doing anything for me today. I went to the food court and got a slice of pizza and a soda from Gordy's and found a table in the corner. As I sat there people watching and eating, I wondered about my life. Could I runaway and leave home? No, I couldn't leave mom. Would I go to college? I didn't have any idea. I didn't even know what tomorrow would bring. I watched the people in the mall who seemed to go through life oblivious to things going on around them, and I was jealous. I was jealous of their ignorance. I totally understood the saying "ignorance is bliss". I fucking knew too much about people and how cruel they can be to one another to ever feel blissful. To get myself out of this negative funk, I got up and went to the bookstore in the mall, and read magazines and books until closing. Since it was Sunday, the mall closed at 6 p.m. Meeting mom at the car, we drove home together, again in silence.

Around 11 p.m. later that night, Dad was drunk and screaming at mom. As they brought their fight out of the master bedroom and into the upstairs hallway, I came out of my room, leaning on the door frame, watching cautiously. I had been awake, just staring at my ceiling in the dark, listening to this fight escalate. As I came to my doorway, I saw that my mom had been drinking too, but she wasn't drunk.

She now stood at the top of the steps getting ready to go down, and she turned to face him and screamed, "I've had it Phil. You're a drunk. I'm taking Bella and we're leaving. I don't love you anymore!" For a second, I was dazed. Had mom really told dad that we are leaving? Before I could move, Dad came storming after her and grabbed her left triceps with his right hand yanking her around to face him. "How dare you", he screamed back. "You can't leave me. I'm your husband. For better or for worse," he sneered.

Then, in what seemed like slow motion, he took his left arm and swung it in a full arc toward her face. The power of the hit to the right side of her jaw knocked her out cold. As her knees started to buckle, the force of dad's hit forced her into the stairway wall. Instead of stopping at the top of the stairs, her body fell backwards. Horrified, I started screaming "mom" as I ran to try to grab her. Everything turned into one of those super slow-motion shots like the movies where I could see everything exactly as it happened... Dad stood there stunned and motionless. Mom fell down the stairs backward with her head hitting hard on each step as she went down. Her head and shoulders landed with a grotesque thud on the first floor.

I ran down the steps and checked mom for a pulse. There was none. I ran to the phone and called 911. "Help", I cried into the phone. "My mom fell down the stairs and is unconscious. I can't tell if she is breathing." The dispatcher calmed me down enough to get our address and when she asked if there was another adult at home, I put Phil on the phone and collapsed on my knees next to mom. I held her hand and gently stroked it, rocking and crying softly and repeatedly, "mom, come back, I need you, wake up. I love you, wake up mom, I need you, come back."

Mom didn't come back. She died at the foot of our stairs, but they didn't pronounce her dead until she was at the hospital. The paramedics spent the whole time trying to revive her. I learned later that she died of an epidural hematoma due to blunt trauma to her head.

Phil had pulled out all of his psychopathic liar skills when he was interviewed by the police. Yes, they both been drinking heavily and had been arguing earlier in the evening. The fight died down, and he had been lying in bed watching The Tonight Show, and Renee had gotten up to put her wash in the dryer as she needed the clothes for work the next day. The lights in the stairwell were off so she as she was walking back up the stairs with the laundry, she must have lost her footing. Why was Bella up? She had been studying late and when she heard the loud noises on the stairwell, she came out of her room.

It's true, between the time I called 911 and the time the paramedics arrived, Phil had gotten clothes and the laundry basket and staged the whole laundry angle. I agreed with his story... who else did I have and where could I go now that mom was gone? While the police chalked it up to a tragic accident, I knew better. My dad had killed my mom.