AN: Oh my God, I apologize for being late with this chapter. I got caught up with some work. I am really, really sorry. I made this chapter longer and hopefully very good quality.

Of course, the first chapter or chapters will be kind of boring because it's the beginning of the story, but I am going to try and make them as interesting as possible.

Hope per you enjoy it!


BPOV:

"Bella, come here. I need to speak with you."

Shit.

"Coming, Dad!" I yell from my room.

I get up from my place on the couch and head up the stairs to my dads office. Before I let my presence be known, I stand in the hallway considering what I did wrong. What I have to improve, or what event I am involved with next. I know for a damn fact that I did nothing wrong. At least, nothing that he knows of.

I turn the knob to the office and step inside.

"You wanted to speak with me?" I asked as I sat down on the plush, leather couch directly in front of his desk.

He looks up from his work, which I'm assuming is a lesson plan for Sunday service. "Your mother mentioned something about seeing you with a boy after school today."

Bloody hell. "Yes, sir."

"She also said something about seeing a cigarette in said boys hand." He looked at me over the rim of his dark glasses, giving me a look that said 'I'm not in the mood to mess around'.

She didn't fail to leave anything out, did she?

"Yes, sir." I gulped.

He sighed, taking off his glasses and dropping them on the stack of papers. We sit in silence as he scrubbed his face roughly with his hands.

"Isabella," he mumbled as he began one of his many mini preaching sessions. "You know how your mother and I feel about you associating with that crowd. We will not stand for it."

I internally groaned, knowing where this was headed. He was going to tell me abiut the consequences of hanging out with 'that group' of people. Getting pressured into trying drugs, having sex before marriage… anything in that boat.

"Daddy, it wasn't hat big of a deal," I interrupted before he could get deeper into the speech. "I wasn't smoking, and he is actually a good friend. He's really nice," I rushed as a last attempt of getting out of the repetitive conversation.

He stared at me as if I had grown a second head. "Not a big deal?" He asked me incredulously.

"Yes, sir. It really wasn't. And besides, don't you trust me?" I asked.

"Isabella, of course I trust you," he groaned. As he stood from his desk, I prepared for the lecture that is constantly repeated throughout my life.


A hour later, I am still in my fathers office. Except now I am doing my own fair share of the talking.

"You can't have this control over who I associate with and who I choose to befriend forever, father!" I yell at him.

"Do not raise your voice at me, young lady!" He demands as he paces the floor between his desk and the wall.

I rub my eyes, sighing as I try and calm myself. "I apologize, father, but can't you see this from my point of view?" I ask pathetically. "It is as if I have no control over my own life."

"I know you do not understand this now," he says, treating me like a child, "But you're mother and I are doing this for your own good."

"Really, Dad?" I sigh.

Obviously, I am not going to get him to see this from my point of view, so I decide to end this. "Okay, I understand. No more hanging out with certain people. May I go to my room now?"

He sits back down in his chair and turns it towards the floor length windows.

"Yes, you may go." He sighs.

I rise from this couch and speed walk my way out of the office. I make my way to my room and sit on the couch in the corner.

Why can I never get him to see things from my perspective? Is it always going to be like this? Having every decision made for me? I just want to decide for myself for once, but I always have to set the visual of a perfect preachers daughter.

I can't go to parties because it's not what a preachers daughter would do. I can not socialize with cwrtain people because that's not the crowd for the preachers daughter.

This is not because they are worried about how doing these certain things will effect me. It is because my father and mother want to look as if they are doing it right. Yes, I love my mother and father dearly, but sometimes it feels like it's all about the image.

For once, I want to do something for me.


The next morning, I wake up to the obnoxiously loud ringing of my phone. I sit up in bed just enough to be able to reach my phone. Sliding the button to talk, I fall back down onto my pillow.

"Hello?"

"Get up and get ready because I'm coming to get you. We are going to get coffee. After school we are going to hang out and possibly the mall, so grab you purse. Now hurry up, I'm almost ready to go." That's all I hear from Rosalie before the line is disconnected.

Groaning, I shuffle out of bed and slowly walk to the bathroom connected to my room. Looking in the mirror, I wince at my reflection. As I turn on the shower, I hurry back into my room and grab my phone.

It's 6:30. So I have about a half a hour to get ready. walking back into my bathroom, I choose my favorite playlist, set my phone on the counter and step into the steaming water of the shower.

The hot water replaces the warmth of the bed that I had to get out of. I wash and condition my hair, wash my body with warm vanilla sugar bean body wash, shave and jump out of the shower. I get a fluffy brown towel and dry off. I then get another smaller towel to put my hair in.

Walking into my room, I slide my closer door open and ponder what to wear. I decide p, since it's getting colder outside, to wear some skinny jeans, a pink tank top with a tan cardigan and my brown, knee high boots.

Once I'm done getting dressed, I dry my hair, trying to give the lifeless mess some volume. When that's over with, I put some make up on my pale face. Settling on base blush, eyeshadow and mascara, I grab my purse, phone, and backpack and head downstairs.

Right on cue, the blonde bombshell bursts through the front door.

"Bella!" She yells.

"In the living room!" I scream/laugh back.

As she struts in the room, my mom comes inside from the back patio. Rose walks over to the couch and drops down right beside me.

"Girls, keep it down." Mom laughs.

The smile instantly drops from my face. "Sorry."

Rose looks between me and my mom, wondering why there is now tension in the room. Usually, my mom and I are always joking around with each other, but I'm still pissed about her telling dad what happened yesterday.

"Okay, umm, ready to go, Bella?" Rose asks, breaking the awkwardness.

"Yeah, let's go." I answer, getting up off the couch and picking up my backpack. "Mom, we are leaving." I tell her in a controlled voice.

"Oh, okay." She responds, looking at me a little hurt. "Where are you girls going? It's only 7:00."

"We are going to go and get some coffee, Mrs. Swan." Rose rushes, knowing better than to let me answer. She knows that I would smart off and get myself in trouble.

"Okay. Bella, since you aren't taking your car, do I need to come pick you up?" She asks as a last attempt at getting me to talk to her.

"Oh, Bella and I are going to hang out at my house or go to the mall or something after school. I can just drop her off." Rose supplies.

"Oh, alright then." She sighs. "I'll see you later, Bella. Goodbye, Rosalie."

"Bye," we both mumble as we rush out the door.


AN: I'm sorry for leaving off in an awkward spot, but I rushed to finish the ending as soon as possible since I was already late. I won't be on her much after the holidays. I may update once, but it's iffy. So, review!