Disclaimer: I do wish that I owned Twilight, I really do. But darn it I don't.

How sad.

Ok, so there's been some confusion. Jasper IS incredibly OOC at the beginning of this story, and probably most of the way through. He is, in the nicest way possible, a cocky, arrogant jackass that does what he wants regardless of who he hurts.

But there is more of his history in this chapter, and hopefully you will learn to find out why he acts how he does.

Yes I will be introducing the rest of the characters in a few chapters time, and they will play a HUGE part in this story.

Musical tuuunes for this chapter –

Rebel Yell – Billy Idol

Sale Of The Century – Sleeper

The Whore's Hustle, and The Hustler's Whore – PJ Harvey

**********

It was nearly two weeks before we spoke again. Every History lesson was the same – she would enter the room, throw a few glares my way and proceed to ignore me for the rest of the lesson.

I was perfectly happy with this version of events, because while she was studiously pretending that I didn't exist, it gave me the perfect opportunity to examine her.

Every lesson she would write in a different colour – bright blue, vivid green, neon orange – she had them all. She would ink swirling patterns of flowers and faces on her hands and arms, decorating every surface she could reach.

She was well dressed for a Forks inhabitant, and I frequently saw her clothed in designer labels – but she didn't give off the air of a pretentious rich kid the way Alec and Jane did.

It was true as well that she was never seem with the same people, but everyone in the year seemed to have heard of her. Apart from my group of friends, everyone seemed to love the perky pixie that was Alice Brandon.

"Do you mind?!" She hissed at me, breaking through my hazy thoughts on a particularly rainy afternoon.

"I beg your pardon darlin'?"

"Leering at me all lesson!" she snapped, "And don't call me darling."

I grinned, turning back to face her, "Does it offend you? I'm sorry what would you prefer? Sweetheart?"

"If we're gonna go down that road, then I'd rather you didn't talk to me at all."

Ok, this is getting ridiculous.

"Why the fuck do you hate me so much?!" I questioned in a harsh whisper, "I don't even know you! What could I have possably done to make you hate me?!"

She raised a condescending eyebrow, "Why do you care. It's not like you know me."

"I don't like people hating me."

She scoffed, "Yeah, like I'm the only person in this room who hates you."

"Who else hates me?"

Her eyes scanned the room quickly before flicking back to mine with a slight smirk, "I've counted at least 5. And 3 people are off today."

My mouth dropped open in outrage, and my eyes followed the path hers had around the room, examining everyone's faces. None of them stood out, none of them brought any memories to sharp relief.

"Who?" I protested angrily, knowing I sounded more like a petulant child than anything, but not caring.

Her smirk deepened and she pointed into the far corner, at a girl with long dark hair and horn rimmed glasses, "Number one, Angela Webber."

I scrutinised her for a moment; pretty but plain, average body. I definitely hadn't had sex with her. Not that I remembered anyway.

"You didn't shag her Casanova," Alice sighed, dropping her pen and leaning back in her chair, "You stood her up when you were twelve, and she's pined over you ever since. Sure she thinks she loves you, but she hates you as well."

Huh. I don't even remember that.

But Alice wasn't done yet, "That," she pointed a few seats away from Angela, "that's Ben. Angela's boyfriend. He hates you because she loves you." she shrugged. "Simple really. He stays on your good side because it's better for him."

"Alright, so I'm a bastard. It's hardly my fault."

"Right. It's not your fault at all that you strut around the place like you own it, using as many people as you can get your filthy hands on for your own entertainment and not caring about the ramifications."

And with that she slammed her book closed, rested her chin on her arms and ignored me for the rest of the lesson.

**********

I wrenched at the buttons at the top of my shirt as I left school, unbuttoning the first three and ruffling my fingers through my hair. My fingers paused for a moment on my collar, acknowledging a pink smudge of lipstick on the blue cotton. Courtesy of...Gina? Gianna?

Fuck knows.

Detention was a bitch. But the cheerleaders behind the bleachers really made up for it.

I swung myself into my Aston Martin Vanquish and revved the engine, resting my head against the steering wheel in an attempt to get rid of the pounding headache that had taken up residence in my temple after Alice's rant at me.

I think I hate you Alice Brandon.

I backed out of the parking lot, and was half way to the school gates when I caught sight of a tiny figure, lugging a huge guitar case almost as big as she was across the empty lot.

Speak of the devil...

I watched as she loaded the case into the back of a banana yellow Porsche, before waving to the tall lanky figure of a bronze-haired boy who was getting into a silver Volvo opposite.

Band geek. Riiight.

**********

The house was silent as I let myself in, but I wasn't sure what I was actually expecting. I dropped my keys into the bowl in the side table, threw my coat onto the sofa and made my way up the stairs.

I left my bag against the wall, and knocked softly on the door down the hallway, "Mother?"

There was a faint rustling like the wings of a bird from inside the room, and a sleepy whimper, "Mother?" I tried again louder, pushing the door open a crack.

The light from the hallway streamed into the dark room, casting dark, sporadic shadows on the floor.

"Jazzy?" a quiet voice whispered from the bed across the room, "Is that you Jazzy?"

"It's me mother," I murmured, making my way across the room towards the moving bundle of blankets on the bed.

"Oh Jazzy I had such a horrible dream," she sobbed, reaching towards me with thin arms, "he...he was back. He was whispering to me from the shadows," she broke off choking. "He...told me he would always...find me."

"It's Ok mother," I sighed, smoothing the wispy blonde hair down on her forehead, "he'll never find you again, I promise."

"You were always such a good boy Jazzy," she whispered, her eyelids drooping sleepily, "Such a good boy."

I pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, before laying her back on the covers, and stretching the duvet over her thin form. She murmured and curled her fingers into the covers.

"Goodnight mother." I whispered as I crossed the room towards the door. I slipped outside the room, and managed to close the door fully before my legs gave way. I slid down the wall to the floor, burying my head in my hands, trying to ignore the tears that pricked at my eyes.

The buzzing of my phone in my pocket snapped me out of it, and I brushed angrily at my eyes before answering.

"Yeah?"

"Alright Jasper? You comin' out tonight?"

"Where're you goin'?"

"Volterra. Cheap booze, loud music and chicks in short skirts!"

"Sure."

I hung up before he could answer, dropping the phone back in my pocket before pushing myself off the ground and making for my bedroom. Cheap booze, loud music and sluts in skirts was exactly what I needed right now.

Knowing I wouldn't be expected to turn up for at least another two hours, I pulled off my shirt and threw myself onto the bed, grabbing my vodka bottle from under my bed with one hand and my cigarettes with the other.

I took a mouthful, not even wincing as the liquor burned my throat,and lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke in a lazy pattern above my head.

My thoughts unwittingly turned to the room down the hall, a room which would look completely normal to any visitor of the house, but I knew different.

It had been three years, but she had barely left the room.

Three years since that bastard got sent to prison.

Three years since my mother's sanity faded away.

I sat up, facing the mirror opposite the bed, glaring at my reflection. It was too much to look at; too much like him. His eyes, his nose, even his hair.

I could see him everytime I saw myself, and I hated him.

I hated him for everytime he made me cower under my bed, my blanket around my ears.

I hated him for everytime his fingers touched her.

I hated him for every single word of hate he had drilled into our skulls for fifteen years, before I worked up the courage to tell somebody.

I hated myself for slowly becoming like him.

**********

The music was pounding in my ears, as heavy bass beat that sent vibrations rattling up my spine with every note. The air was smoky and hazy, bodies pressed together, grinding in the heat.

I leant against the bar, downing a shot of vodka before turning back to what could only be described as a sex-pit, in front of me.

I think the polite term is 'dance floor'

- Fuck off.

First sign of madness, talking to yourself.

- Or first sign of intoxication.

That girl over there's looking at you like you're retarded. Do something, fucking idiot.

My blurry eyes focused on the girl across from me, and I smirked. Long red hair, top so low cut that her boobs where practically looking at me.

Easy.

I dropped her a lazy wink, before turning back to the bar and ordering two more shots.

5, 4, 3, 2...

"Hey there, handsome," she purred in my ear, draping a tanned arm over my shoulders. The opening notes of Billy Idol's 'Rebel Yell' span from the speakers and I grinned, turning back to the redhead and handing her a shot before downing my own.

And so it begins.

Again.