I don't own Twilight.


Warning: some drug use coming up.

But it gets better. I promise. Just not this chapter. Or the following 10...

I'll better run for cover.


/Chapter 3/

Are you tired of my ramblings, yet? Tired of my never-ending problems and heavy-as-fuck baggage? Or are you eating this up? I figure I'm at least useful for your social studies and you majoring in Psychology. I mean, who else has the chance to study a total nutcase in its natural habitat?

Am I hurting you with my bluntness? Well, that's how I feel occasionally. Still do ninety-five percent of the day. Not really sure you're cut out to be a psychologist; after all, you're failing miserably with me so far.

Tell you what though, baby, we are slowly getting to the part where we first met. Excited? I know I am.

I bet you want me to pet your head right now. Praising your awesomeness, your incredible talents as a lover, having me scream your name in a matter of seconds. You surely want me to praise your sensitivity, gentleness, unbelievable intelligence and the god given fact that you're always right.

Insert sarcasm here, please.

I'm nothing if not polite.

But before we rehash our golden times and the way I wrecked it all from my point of view, we really, really have to cover the time when it was either make or break me. Do you have a vague idea about this time in my life? I bet you do. It's this one nasty, black spot in my curriculum vitae. The period I wish I could wipe out with a magic eraser. This one chapter in my life I never wanted to talk about, always been evasive about and changed the subject. Quite subtly, if I say so myself. Sugar coating it wasn't really an option.

Yeah, I have been the master of distraction. With my boobs. Very few people actually know what really happened after moving in with my mom's new boyfriend. Surprisingly, you're not one of them. Disappointed? Don't be, baby. I wanted to spare you this disaster. The monumental fail in my existence. I wasn't so sure you could handle it very well, given your sheltered upbringing.

I'm still not sure you can.

Here goes nothing. Try to wrap your pretty, little, wanna-be-psychologist's head around this:

Shortly after moving in with my mom's new boyfriend, I went through a full-on teenage rebellion. It was his demands for early Saturday morning "family" breakfasts that sent me over the edge.

Yeah right, douche. What an idiot.

I guess my mom never told him that I have always been allowed to sleep in on the weekends. Lunch was the earliest I ever had to be present at. Less meals to prepare for her, I guess. Yeah, you try and tell a teenager that she's not allowed to sleep in anymore. Good luck with that.

Suffice to say, it went all downhill from there. I guess if I'm being honest here, it never really stood a chance at all anyway. I was just looking for the first excuse to be done with him, and my mom.

The new love of her life was supposedly successful in some business in Russia at the time and was often away. I used to call it "doing prostitutes" and "being a member of the Russian mafia." But what did I know, right? My mom certainly didn't mind the money, no matter where it came from. It supported her drinking habits on lonely nights just fine. In hindsight, I should be thankful that she never once crossed the line and became violent with me. She only took her hate out on herself. I should write my mom a thank you note, don't you think? Someday.

Yeah, like that's gonna happen.

So Mom was home alone most of the time and at this point, you already know her favorite hobby.

"Drinking herself into a coma?"

Yeah, you got that right, smarty-pants. And the Golden Onion goes to... you, eager beaver!

I was fifteen and pretty much allowed to do anything I wanted. Well, I wouldn't say I was allowed exactly, but my mom simply didn't care.

It was around the time I had my first real friends. Friends, as in plural. Quite the feat for a fifteen year old, don't you think? Well, you see I was never allowed to bring friends home. Up until this point, I had only had one best friend, but she stopped being my friend when I discovered that boys weren't really useless and ugly anymore.

Anyway, I had this huge bunch of new "friends" now. They weren't really the kind of friends you'd want your kid to have. They were into all sorts of shit…smoking pot, rolling on E, and God knows what other shady shit. I felt free for the first time in my life, eagerly participating. It was exciting and new and simply awesome. I was noticed and "cared" for. People wanted to talk to me; they wanted to be around me. They cared about me and my opinions. I threw parties at my home whenever Mom wasn't around. They were fun, and I craved their attention. Badly. Having been the good girl my whole life, I was dying to let go and be a little reckless. These days, I regret the decisions I made when I was my most vulnerable and so incredibly naïve. But you can't turn back time, can you? What's a girl gotta do when lonely and feeling abandoned? Simple, you cling to the first good thing that comes along your way.

Sadly for me, I clung to this one guy who was the first in showing me some attention. Old nerdy hermit-me couldn't tell an asshole from a phone booth. He was my first real hormonal fangirl crush. Rapid heartbeat, spastastic articulation and all. He was a few years older, charming, mysterious. I thought he had life all figured out. And I worshipped the ground he walked on. My eyelashes were morse code telling him: You're a God, I nearly peed my pants because you looked at me, for a whole second. He gave me my first real kiss, and I lost my virginity to him two months after we met. I was far from sober. Drinking some hard stuff in the blasting summer heat will do that to a girl. I remember very little since I had indulged in more alcohol that I ever had before. It was shameful and it hurt. A fucking lot! The nightmare seemed to last forever. It paved the way into my ultimate slut-dom.

My friends told me they had to clean my blood from that stupid couch in a friend's living room afterward. It doesn't get any more humiliating than that. Nevertheless, he was my first boyfriend, and I thought I loved him. I imagined a pink and fluffy future with him.

Well, he dumped me after popping my cherry.

I learned years later that it was kind of a hobby for him to take a girl's virginity and then dump them. I learned even later that he still doesn't have life figured out at all. The various drugs will do that to your brain cells. But what's done is done. No need to fret about it anymore. If I could turn back time, I'd make sure not to make the same mistakes again. But ultimately, they led me to you. I guess. Not sure if it's a blessing or a curse, though.

Where was I? Yeah, my mom was drunk off her ass every single day by then. So it was no surprise when on her birthday, she had to be brought home by a colleague from work. She couldn't walk a straight line to safe her life much less drive her car. I had to put her in the shower with all her clothes on to try and sober her up. I begged her to change, to notice me, to care for me, to just love me, to stop wrecking herself.

Well, she didn't. Surprised, huh? Sometimes I wonder what she'd think of you. You're all she ever "worked" for her whole life. In one word? Wealth. I'm not sure she'd be proud of me or slap me silly for letting you go without your ring on my finger. Probably the latter.

I started to ditch school every now and then. And suddenly there was this new guy. He was tall, very handsome, and simply stunning. Built like an athlete. Hazel eyes. His dyed blond hair was shaped into a Mohawk. He had this bad boy persona going on and there were lots of rumors about him taking hard drugs. Still he could talk every girl out of their panties in record time.

Suffice to say, I fell for him immediately.

But I wasn't this innocent girl anymore. God knows I already knew the power of sex by then, my mom being the best teacher, figuratively.

I tried to catch his attention at school. You remember how you used to tell me on a regular basis that I am beautiful? I don't believe this now and certainly didn't think so back then. I just learned early on how to put my assets in the spotlight, you know? But one day - and I don't know if it was for my beauty (I'm snorting) or my too huge boobs for my tiny body - he did notice me.

And it was the beginning of the end.

My end.

He started to hang out with my friends every day. We would meet up, smoke some pot, drink cheap booze, and roll on E. I was mesmerized, but honestly, barely not a single day went by that I wasn't high on something. Yet, he was so gentle. A fragile human being underneath the bad boy image. Obviously we craved the same thing. LOVE. No matter from whom. We talked for hours. I told him everything about my life: my mother who neglected me, my daddy issues, everything. We had only kissed once before we decided to run away to the big city.

I ignored my friends' warnings. I didn't even care anymore. I just wanted to get away. Out of my life. No matter what, no matter with whom. Though I won't lie, I thought I wanted it to be him who took me away from it all. He cherished me, promised me the world and more. Promised to take care of me, like my mother always should have.

He was gorgeous. A real man compared to the scrawny, pimply guys in my class. Despite him being only one year older, he knew his way around the world.

I was sixteen and wanted to start living. Finally. Preferably with him. Jesus, I seriously want to roll my eyes at my own stupidity.

Far too late did I realize he was doing heroin. Even later than that did I realize he was working the streets for money.

You see, after we ran away together, he provided everything for me: A nice apartment, food, and some spending money. We didn't have a lot, but we had our love, or so I thought.

He taught me how to do everything.

Sexually.

How to give a blow job, how to ride him real good, how to take it up the ass and still a little bit further. He showed me what to do with my own body. Taught me how to take my own pleasure. And I know, he really cared for me, loved me even. With everything he had. The only way he knew how to. And damn, did he know how to make me feel like a princess and a goddess at times.

Looking back now, I realize I was still a child and so incredibly naïve. Craving only my mommy's love and yet giving mine so easily to some random person.

I didn't have a job. Obviously. I was sixteen, a high school dropout and a runaway. I trusted him with my life. There was no other way. He was the only person I had left.

Funny how one night – just a few hours - can change your whole perspective. This one night he came home with a lot of money in his pockets. He fed me a line about having met some friends who paid back some money they borrowed from him. We went out, I figured out later that he was searching for some heroin. I didn't realize this immediately, simply wondered what we were doing in this creepy area of town, roaming dark alleys. Eventually he found what he was searching for.

Back home, he showed me that stuff, packed into a small ball, looking like no harm could come from a thing this small. He said he just wanted us to try together. Trip together. One time.

The first time, I only watched. Watched the bliss on his face. The second, I participated, fearing I'd lose him if I didn't. I wanted that bliss for myself. I watched him, putting the needle into my veins, squirting the damned liquid into my system.

It was nothing like I'd ever felt before. The vomiting that came after was the best feeling in the world and simultaneously the worst. I knew then he was an addict. It just clicked in my head. I knew then that he was taking it up the ass, to get money, to buy the next shot and I knew then I had to get away from him. Get away before it was meworking the streets.

Yes, the shit was that good.

To this day, I'm still afraid of needles. Drawing blood at the doctor's is a drama with me. Though he never meant any harm, I had to leave him after six months. He was too far gone, and he started to get violent. I told him I wanted to go back home and he flipped out; lost his shit completely. He was too afraid of losing me, his anchor. The only companion he had left. In his fear he begged, screamed, and started to choke me. Tears fell heavily in our frenzy.

On both our faces.

In the end, I ran from him, too. I went back home to my gran. A year later, he was found in a public restroom. OD'd. I didn't go to his funeral, simply because I liked to run from my past.

Strange thing is that sometimes I still miss him and often think of him. It's twisted that for the longest time, with him, I felt cared for.

Welcome to my world.


A/N: Last chapter the moron forgot to thank all her lovelies.

The moron?

That'd be me.

For Bnjwl.

A huge thank you to mcc101180, Korinneraylie, and ButterflyBetty Cullen. Not to forget Pain Jane for beta'ing chapter 2.

Thanks to everyone reading & reviewing.