Hello there,

Thank you Svaler for beta'ing this story and giving it glitters!

The characters and Twilight belong to Stephenie Meyer.

Chapter 1 - Starting over

September 2006

Excitedly I looked down at the first test of the new school year. I couldn't wait to show it to my daddy. I always had good grades but normally they would get stuck around the B. But today I got my first A.

The year couldn't start any better; I got an A on my 10th birthday.

When the bell rang, I got up as quickly as I could without falling over. I looked around the classroom to find Elena just putting her stuff away in her backpack.

I walked as fast as I could towards her to talk to her. "How did you do on your test?" I asked her, the excitement clear in my voice.

She looked up from her backpack and smiled broadly at me. "I got a B+. How did you do?" She looked curiously at me.

"I got my first A." And when I said it I signed softly. "I can't wait to show my daddy, he will be so happy." Even as I spoke, the words sounded foreign to me. I really hoped he would be happy; it was the first time I had gotten such an high grade.

Elena seemed happy for me as we walked out of the classroom together. We talked about everything and nothing at the same time, but I could tell someone was on Elena's mind as she shifted and moved to speak.

"Soooo Bella," she said, making the 'o' sound ten times longer than it needed to be, "you have a crush?" she accused.

I felt my cheeks start to get warm; the blood made them red. How did Elena know? Feeling slightly uneasy about the sudden accusation I fumbled a bit around with the hem of the jumper I wore. "I do not," I stammered while avoiding looking at Elena.

Elena giggled. "It's Caleb isn't it?" she said in a rush. "I see how you glance his way," and she wiggled her eyebrows.

I kept silent, not really trusting my voice. Slightly embarrassed, I lifted my head to look at Elena. "W-well," I stammered. "I just really like his hair, the way it has that little end always sticking up." The embarrassment was spreading through me like a warm fire.

"It's okay Bella, I won't tell anyone," she assured me before she stopped walking. We had arrived at my street.

"I'm pretty sure he likes you too." And a big grin crossed her face. "This is so exciting," she squealed. "Are you going to write him a letter? Or make him a card, you should define-" She stopped mid sentence with her little ramble eyes slightly wide as if she just realized something.

I stared at her. Trying to figure out why she would behave this way all so sudden.

"It's okay, I don't know what to do. A cart sounds nice though." I smiled at her.

Elena nodded before she gave me a quick hug. "I will see you tomorrow," she said.

"Of course, don't forget your homework!" I reminded her as I stepped back.

"Never," Elena answers dramatically. "Mister Dawson will have our buts if we don't have anything to show."

I nodded, knowing that she was right. I turned around then, waving at Elena before walking down the street.

Mister Dawson was our teacher. He could be nice and such but he was very strict as well, especially if it was about homework.

As my house came closer I walked a little slower, nerves making my stomach feel weak.

I just really hoped daddy was in a good mood.

Without his beer.

I let my feet drag me toward the house. My shoulders dropped a little bit further with each step.

As I approached the front door, I glared at it debating whether or not I really wanted to go inside. I searched through my backpack for the keys. With nerves in my stomach I opened the door while coaching myself. "He will be proud Bella."

Making as little noise as possible I walked through the hall. I let the backpack fall silently in one of my hands before putting it on the stairs. I did the same with my coat and shoes. I searched through my bag for my lunch box and my test and eventually made my way into the small living room.

When I reached the door I peeked around the corner, I tried to look into the living room, but I couldn't see dad.

I counted till five before stepping through the door. Slowly I walked toward the kitchen. When I put my lunchbox down and turned around, I bumped into someone.

A high-pitched screech left my mouth when I saw it was dad.

"Hi daddy," I murmured.

He looked at me, his eyes unfocused, and mouth slightly open.

When he started to talk his words were slurring. It wasn't something unusual, it happened a lot since mom died two years ago. There had been a lot of changes at home, very few I liked.

"Isabella," he grunted. "You are home early." He looked at me, his eyes trying to focus but I didn't think it worked very well.

"I'm right on time daddy, it's four o'clock already," I answered softly; daddy didn't like it when I spoke loudly.

"Oh it is," he slurred with surprise while he looked around for a clock to verify what I just said.

I simply nodded. He shrugged and scanned me until he saw the paper in my hand. "What is that?" he asked, his words more a slur than a sentence.

I held the paper up, showing him the grade I got. "It's an English test we had last week," I answered him slightly bouncing from excitement. "Look I got an A."

"Since when do you get such grades," he barked, while turning slightly purple.

My smile dropped fast and I shifted slowly back and fort feeling uncomfortable. "I studied real hard daddy, I wanted to make you proud," I answered quietly.

I was still looking down when I felt it. The sting of his hand, the one that had come in contact with my cheek. Automatically I reached my hand up to grab it.

"You aren't making me proud, girl," his voice thundered. "You're trying to be a smart girl," he screamed, all signs of his slur gone. "You can't be smart." His finger pointed at me. "You are a worthless little bitch, eating all my food."

I blinked furiously with my eyes, trying to keep the tears at bay. Daddy hated tears, even more so than he hated me. I tried to tune the sound of his screaming out. I tried ignoring everything he said. Some part of me knew that he didn't mean it. Or at least, I hoped for it. Sometimes dad was nice to me and every day after school I hoped for that. In the weekends, if I didn't bother him throughout the day, he would sometimes cook us fish, which he caught. Dad was really good at fishing. He could catch fish almost as big as my arm.

But now, right now I felt like he didn't care for me at all. Why would he scream at me and call me mean names? What did I do wrong? I didn't eat all his food, I ate everything he gave me, never more.

He would sometimes say 'Do you have any idea how much beer costs?'. Maybe he didn't have a lot of money. Maybe I needed to eat less. Maybe I needed to get lower grades, to make him happy again.

"Just leave, go! I can't stand to look at you right now. You're good for nothing, you hear me, nothing!"

I turned around quickly and ran to my room, letting myself fall on my bed slowly letting the tears flow. Because of my tears I didn't hear Charlie come in. If I had, I could have defended myself in some sort of way.

Why did today have to be so horrible? I got my best grade for the first time ever! I just wanted daddy to be nice to me.

Because of my loud sobbing I didn't hear daddy come in. If I had, I could have defended myself in some sort of way.

I felt it then. His hands gripped my arms fiercely, making me stand. "Take your shirt off," he commanded. I knew what was coming next. I saw the belt on my bed. Shuddering I took off my shirt and turned around slowly. He pushed me onto the bed so my bare back was facing him.

He picked up his belt and started to hit me. With each strike, he slammed harder onto my back. Tears started to flow again and I closed my eyes.

I hid my face in my pillow again. Happy birthday Bella, I told myself, never saying the words out loud.

X

With a loud thud I fell out of the bed, waking up with feelings of fright. I looked around me as fast as I could, back and forth. While I did so, I moved my hands toward my back. I could feel the burning pain, even though it hadn't been real. It was just a horrible dream. I tried to take deep slow breaths, in an attempt not to wake Carmen.

Carmen was a middle-aged woman, who lived with her husband in South Port, North Carolina. She and her husband Eleazar had taken me in when I left that place. They had been kind enough to let me stay, taking care of me.

I started pacing in the small bedroom. Those days were over. I wasn't supposed to relive them at night. I was done with that, even though my head had other thoughts about that. My mind was still showing me the same cruel events of the past, like it didn't even matter that it had taken place almost nine years ago.

A soft knock on the door made me stop. Slowly I turned towards the door. "Come in," I murmured, loud enough so the person on the other end of the door would still be able to hear me.

I waited while the door opened. Carmen's head peaked around the corner. She furrowed her eyebrows as she saw me standing in the middle of the room.

"Are you okay, Bella?" she asked softly, looking at me with worried eyes.

I nodded and replied, "Just a bad dream."

Carmen stared at me; her brown eyes pierced themselves into my own. I swallowed, trying to avoid her stare.

My mom once told me how my eyes could betray any lie I said, like my mouth said one thing, but my eyes said another. Each time I told a lie about either misbehaving, or a grade at school, mom would instantly know if I were telling the truth. At the young age of just six years old, I thought she was a witch who used a special spell to figure out the truth.

I still remembered, not long before she died, how I had been crying and angry at my own eyes. It was totally silly, but that day she told me something, which I would never forget.

"I hate them," I screamed. "I hate them! I wish I didn't have them. I wish I had other eyes!"

Mommy was angry with me because I pulled Kyra's ponytail, but she kept calling me names! So I pulled her ponytail real hard and she cried and told the teacher, and then the teacher told mommy about what I had done. When we got home, and mommy asked me if this was true, I denied it.

"Bella, don't lie to me," she had said. "I can see it in your eyes that you're lying."

But now, she smiled and shook her head.

"Sweetie, there's nothing wrong with you eyes. Don't hate them. You're eyes are the best."

I shook my head, still crying. "No. You always say that you know everything because of my eyes. I can never have secrets."

"Oh, so you want to have secrets?" she said jokily, bending through her knees. She wiped my tears away with her sleeve.

I nodded quickly.

"But why, Bella? Secrets aren't fun. I hate secrets."

"You do?" I asked in surprise.

"Oh, yes, Bella! Secrets are horrible. Be glad with your eyes. They always tell the truth. And I love all of you and your honest big, brown eyes."

She gave a kiss on each of my eyelids and got back on her feet again.

"So, secrets are bad?" I asked.

Mommy nodded quickly and hard. "Definitely."

I wanted to be mad at her, but I couldn't. That day she told me repeatedly that secrets were bad and that she hated them. The fact that she had kept her illness a secret from me, while hating secrets, meant that she really did it to protect me from the horrors that a child would go through if she knew that her mother would soon die.

Mom was a happy, good person. She always made sure that I was a happy kid, and at that she excelled. In my first eight years when I still had her in my life, I was so happy. I loved to see her smile whenever I brought her flowers that I had sneakily picked out of someone's garden. Of course, she didn't know where those flowers came from.

But that happiness crushed when she died. She never prepared me anyhow. She knew about her illness, but she made a choice not to tell me.

She passed away when I was eight. I remembered how I hated losing her. It was unexpected and I was in a strange state of shock for days. The impact was big on both Charlie and me, but it changed Charlie completely. He started drinking too much, he would curse at nobody in particular; sometimes he even threw plates and cups on the ground out of anger.

When mom was still alive, Charlie never hurt me. He was a good father. But when mom died, he was hurt too much. That pain eventually turned him into a monster. At first, he would give me my basic needs, but I remembered how he never came by my bedroom anymore to tuck me in and kiss me goodnight. He fed me, clothed me and helped me get up in the morning to go to school, but slowly those few deeds faded away into nothing. There was a small period where he completely ignored me. I would try to talk to him, make him happy again, but he would always grumble to leave, because I was blocking the television.

Exactly one year after mom's death, I had picked a beer bottle in the evening and brought it to dad.

"Please, daddy, why won't you ever talk to me anymore?" I had said. "It's been a year since mommy died."

He had glanced at me angrily, and when saw the beer in my hand, he had screamed, "What are you doing with that bottle?"

"Nothing, daddy," I had said, looking at him anxiously. "I brought it for you."

"For me? You wanted to drink that, didn't you?"

He had gotten off the couch and yanked that bottle out of my tiny hands. The sharp edge of the cap had scratched against the palm of my hand.

I hadn't seen it coming, but I remembered how my head jerked to the right and how I stumbled to the ground, because of the impact of his slap on my cheeks. I still remembered clearly how I kept staring at the ground with wide eyes, which instantly filled with tears. My cheek was aching, burning and tingling.

That day Charlie didn't believe me for the first time. And he hit me for the first time.

I couldn't remember a thing after that, except that I was crying in bed.

"You lied to me, mommy," I had whispered while staring at my stuffed bunny. "You said my eyes always speak the truth. But why didn't daddy believe me then?"

Thinking back of those times made my eyes sting a little, because it made me wonder how people could turn their backs on the ones they loved.

"They will pass Carmen, it's okay." I smiled, even though I didn't believe it myself.

Carmen nodded before her eyes turned soft again.

"Do you want a cup of tea?" she asked me. I bit softly on my lip. I loved tea, but couldn't accept it from Carmen. She had already given me so much and I couldn't give her anything in return.

"It isn't a bother, Bella," she said as if she could read my mind. Carmen walked towards the living room and I followed her.

Carefully I let myself drop on the couch while I watched as Carmen made the tea. I thought back about that dream.

It felt so real.

Those emotions, created against my own will, were still tangible. It hurt too much and I tried to not think about it anymore. Instead I forced my eyes on Carmen, as she poured water in two cups.

"You liked strawberry tea, right? Or peach? This morning, I bought a really funny tea flavor. It's called strawberry cupcake." She showed me the box and scowled at it. "I wonder if it really tastes like strawberry cupcake."

I couldn't help but smile, however small but genuine, at her silly worry. "Let's try it," I said.

She nodded and came with two cups of steaming hot tea, specially flavored.

"I'm sorry I woke you up," I apologized softly, no louder than a whisper. Carmen looked at me with concern.

"Don't worry Bella," she brushed off. I smiled, grateful that Carmen hasn't asked me any questions yet. If she did, I wasn't sure how to answer them.

Carmen has a pretty big and good heart, I had stated.

I started to get lost in my memories again. They were taking me back to my dream, but also the happy years. The early years of my life when my mother still lived.

I felt a pair of eyes on me. The curiosity was radiating from those eyes.

I shook my head to get my thoughts straight and leaned forward toward the table. I picked up my mug with tea and re-positioned myself on the couch.

But, I knew secrets wouldn't stay secrets for long. When Carmen took me in, as awkward as it was, I knew she would eventually figure out the truth. The fading bruises and raw scars on my sides and back were easy to hide, but the scratches and cuts on arms and the nape of my neck weren't quite so easy.

When I came to Southport with Carmen and Eleazar I had nothing more than the clothes I was wearing, I wasn't expecting much. After everything I had witnessed and been through it was hard to keep faith in humanity.

But they had proven me wrong, having a bigger hart than anyone I knew.

We drank in silence before bidding each other a good night.

As I lay down in bed, I hoped with all my might to have a good dream instead, or even no dreams at all. The complete darkness was better then any nightmare that I could see.

X

I woke up pretty early. The dreams hadn't returned that night for which I was grateful. I listened, trying to figure out if Carmen was up already. When I didn't hear anything I rolled out of bed.

I didn't bother putting anything over my short nightdress before walking straight to the kitchen.

I filled the kettle with water and placed bread in the toaster. Out of the fridge, I grabbed some butter and jelly and waited.

The water still had to boil. The bread was still getting roasted. I sighed softly and glanced around the house. The kitchen had an open connection with the living room. There was a low wall where the dining room table was placed against, but not quite high enough to look over it if you sat down

I turned slightly looking at the wall on the other side. Picture frames hung neatly next to each other in a symmetric pattern. I stepped a bit closer, looking more closely at the details.

The centered picture was a wedding photo of Carmen and Eleazar, but around that picture, there where so many captured moments of their happy times.

I smiled softly, but couldn't help myself to swallow hard as a lump had gotten in my throat. They looked so happy, with bright eyes and big grins on every photo. I could see that they loved to travel, because the scenery on so many pictures was different.

A hollow feeling made place in my stomach, and I secretly wished I hadn't seen the photos. The feeling of longing and having a place in a family crept through me.

Of course I recognized Carmen and Eleazar's face in most of them, even as some of their pictures were of their younger years surrounded by several children, in other pictures the children had grown up a lot.

A handsome young man with bronze like hair and piercing green eyes smiled widely at the camera while one of his arms hung loosely around the shoulders of an other young man who had been kind to me since the moment I met him. The first time he saw me, he had scowled. I had scowled right at him. But Carmen had scolded him, telling him not to stare at me rudely and to go and introduce him to me. He had extended his hand to me and waited for me to take it. His hand had gripped mine tightly, and mine just remained loose in his.

"Hello," he had said, "I'm Emmett. Carmen and Eleazar are my aunt and uncle."

"Bella," I had muttered.

"You're Bella?" he had asked in surprise.

I tried pulling my hand out of his, but he had held tightly onto me. My internal thoughts had been screaming angrily.

Let me go!

"Yeah, Carmen told me about you," he had said, nodding.

I remembered laughing nervously and nearly yanking my hand out of his.

Stepping away from those pictures, I pulled my bread out of the toaster. I was about to butter my toast, when I heard a knock on the door.

Startled I looked up, dropping the knife and hearing it drop to the ground. I cursed at myself as the stranger behind the door could have heard that. I stood shocked in place as fear washed over me like a big wave.

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