My breathing was coming in short, shallow gasps and my eyes where wide open. Reality had crashed down on me so hard that I was barely able to think straight. The enormity of the situation – being taken to a mental house, having to be dragged from my own home because of what I have done to myself – scared me to death.

What am I going to tell Edward? I asked myself, for this question I have no answer right now, no way of letting myself cope. I wanted to scream – at myself and the men driving the van – but I couldn't, I screamed so much when I was being taken out the house and a few minuets into this journey that my throat is sore.

The van jerked to a halt and the engine cut off. The men got out and came to the back door of the van to get me. I didn't see the use in protesting, my throat hurt so I couldn't yell and I was weak form struggling and also faint form the blood loos of my last cutting session a day ago.

The door open and they grasped my arm lightly but on the alert in case I tried to run for it. The building was very large and painted white, but I could see that all of the windows had bars across them – looks more like a prison in my opinion.

The double doors opened automatically when we approached, leading into a lobby area.

"Isabella Swan." The man on my left said and the receptionist looked up at him then to me.

She pushed her glasses up her nose slightly and then began sifting through a pile of papers cluttering her large wooden desk and said, "Room 229." She didn't seem to care much, but at least she was not staring at me because I am here.

I was lead down many corridors and up a few flights of stairs on the way to where I would be living for now. I could hear people shouting and banging from the other rooms in the building, it scared me slightly.

We came to a stop in front of a door with the number 229 on it; there was also a sliding metal plate to look into the room. The door was opened for me and I walked in slowly, looking around did not take long at all, the room was so small.

One of the men who escorted me here said, "Enjoy your stay," his voice seemed amused but cold and heartless at the same time, he wore a sickly smile as he continued, "You'll be here a while." They turned around and slammed the door behind them; I jumped at the loud noise. I heard the lock click on the other side of the thick metal door and their loud laughter echo as they walked away down the corridor.

My eyes started to water and sobs shook my body hard. I fell to my knees on the concrete floor and tears flowed freely form my eyes as I cried. I was locked in here and I had no way out, I also didn't know what was going to happen to me.

After what felt like forever, my sniffles died down and I calmed myself, I raised my head. There was a note on the pillow, a single piece of paper folded crisply in half and placed there as if someone wanted me to find it. Curiously I went over to examine it. Picking up the little note I read it.

This place is not what you think.

It is hell – literally.

My advice to you is this:

Get out while you can

If you are reading this you have just arrived

Don't stay, leave while you can

And by any means necessary

Trust me

Signed, the previous occupant of this cell

P.S. look under the bed

Look under the bed, what could that possibly mean? I asked myself. Doing as the note said, I placed the letter on the bedside table and got down on my hands and knees. I lifted up the bed covers and look to find what was under the bed.

A rope. I let out a shaky, breath I didn't even realize how much I missed home already. I stared at the rope, I knew exactly what the note meant, but I couldn't believe it. This place must have been really bad for something like this to be left here.

I don't know how long I sat on the floor staring at the rope in my hands, it felt like days, but was probably just hours. Unable to look anymore, I shoved the rope back under the bed, not yet knowing if I should believe the note from the last person in here or if I should just forget about it.

I stood up and glanced about the room. One window with bars over it, a single bed with simple covers, a small metal bedside table and a light bulb hanging between the iron beams on the ceiling above me.

Plain much? I asked myself. How was I meant to survive in here, it is practically a prison. A knock on the door snapped me out of my musings. The door opened and a very tall man entered my room. I did not trust anyone here, I started to back away to the other side of the confined space while the guy came further in and closed the thick door gently.

This guy had black glossy hair that fell in his grey eyes and he also wore a shirt that showed of his small amount of muscle. He looked me up and down a few times before speaking to me.

"Well, well, well, little miss Isabella, our newest arrival," he chuckled darkly before raising his eyes to mine and continuing, "I guess you are lucky, that I'm the first to meet you I mean, this could be so much worse. I'm Derek, by the way."

His words puzzled me, as did his attitude, his voice was cold and heartless but his facial features showed amusement – much like the men who escorted me here. He stalked over to me until he as right up in my face, I could smell his breath – it smelt like oranges.

"Mental patients must be punished for being inadequate in society." He whispered, I understood immediately, he left no doubt as to what kind of punishment he was referring too.

Without warning, Derek took a very small step away from me and raised his hand. As his hand collided with my right cheek, the force knocked me to the ground with a thud, my skull made a loud noise too as it hit the floor. My head hurt, a lot, I reached to touch where I was hit but I didn't get the chance because Derek's foot slammed into my ribs, making me cry out from the pain.

"Stop!" I screamed at him, "You can't do this, you can't! Stop!" This did not help much, he just continued to assault me.

Derek stopped kicking my now bruised ribs and knelt down beside me. My breathing was coming in short pants and most of my upper body hurt. I thought he was going to stop – for now at least.

I was wrong. He grabbed a large fistful of my hair and yanked me up. "Listen," Derek said, "You will say nothing, do anything or try anything, to get away. Cause it won't work." He grinned. I glared at him furiously. He chuckled and touched his free hand's index finger to the tip of my nose, "So cute." I spat at him and he just looked at me with a blank expression.

He dropped me down and turned to leave. "Bastard!" I yelled as he reached the door. Derek glanced at me and smiled but left and closed the door behind him.

I hate him. I thought, I hate this place and all the people here.

I licked my lips and tasted blood; I must have busted my lip when he dropped me. The tears once again started to fall and I began to cry. I just felt like screaming, but decided against it because it might bring Derek back – or someone else.

Feeling utterly helpless, I crawled over to my bed and curled up on my right side facing the wall. I cried for hours and hours. I wanted out. I missed being at home, although I hated my life before, it seriously sucked now.

I turned over, wincing because of my battered body, the folded paper caught my eye, and it was still there. Derek didn't know about the note or the rope.

The rope.

I know what I must do. It is clear what the note was meaning now. But can I really do it. I screwed my eyes shut and tried to clear my crowed mind.

What am I going to do?

Good? Bad? Let me know. This chapter was hard so if it is not good help me so I cant make the next chapter better. Thanks