Chapter One

Constipated Lady

'My name is Bella Swan. I have blue eyes and an impressive collection of lesbian porn because, well, masturbating on your own is depressing. I lack decency, modesty, courtesy and many other qualities ending in -y. I hate eating. I hate drinking. I hate talking about eating or drinking. Actually, I hate most things about my life. I'm angry, but probably just confused. I'm known as Blow Job Swan at my school, which is better than being unknown, thank you very fucking much Jessica hair-the-color-of-shit Stanley. Everything about me is boring, but I'd hate you to figure that out. I'm crazy selfish. I don't self harm because I think that's pathetic and I'd like to think I'm not pathetic. I love to play the guitar but I'm actually shit at it. Most days I'm far too fat but sometimes I feel skinny. I hate most teenage girls because they are psycho's who are out to kill one another. I slit my wrists so therefore, by my own admission, I am pathetic. Afterwards I swallowed roughly 45 tablets of 100mg Zydol. That's why I'm here.'

My guidance counselor, Renee, my "mother" for my stay at Purity House nodded gently, willing me to continue. This cold, forest gated place was the only youth rehabilitation facility within a 150 mile reach of Forks. It was home to old caring hippies and kids like me. We all had our poison; Crack, booze, Bora Aksu. Renee's dream catcher earrings swayed slowly as she continued her attempt at nudging me into my first breakdown here. I stayed strong, decided I hated her and continued.

'I am a walking contradiction. I have no idea who I am, not even a vague notion. I tell jokes I see on TV. I don't know if actually like The Simpsons or not, they're just comforting to watch. I give away too much and I always get hurt. The end.'

'Very good Bella. Everyone, welcome Bella please.' I really fucking hated Renee, especially for the pseudo compassionate tone she used. You don't know me, idiot.

I stared at the group of ten, dead in the eye, all at once, or at least I really tried. I wanted to shock them, surprise them, hurt them. . .evoke some sort of response. I was not ready for their reaction. They were paying attention but utterly under-whelmed. We were addicts, we had our own issues. We didn't really care about each other. A red haired girl was grinding her teeth and staring at me. I didn't practice my speech, but I was hoping that they would feel something. I just told them everything, or at least I tried to. I mean, I'm in rehab for fuck's sake. That was my moment to tell my story and it was so pointless. So fucking empty.

'Welcome Bella.' The sing song of sad voices cut me into pieces.

'Fuck you all very much', I replied. God, one feels very alone when twenty blood shot eyes holding irises that practically rape you are staring straight at you. They read me, judged me. They knew more about me than I could figure out on my own already. I really didn't like it, the not knowing.

'May I be fucking excused?', I half asked, I wasn't sure if I wanted to go.

'Yes and no', Renee replied.

'What the fuck does that even mean? You're meant to help with my general state of fucking confusion not add to it you. . .you constipated-lady.' Charlie couldn't say I wasn't trying; I did call the idiotic hippy a lady.

'You may leave, but you will have to owe me, or yourself, another group session to complete at your own time. You will also have to have a discussion with the camp director, Charlie, to deal with. However, the alternative is staying.'

Why the fuck was constipated-lady smiling? We all hate you constipated-lady. You.We hate you. You hate yourself just as much as we do, so don't you sit around here acting so fucking smug. You have lipstick on your teeth, by the way.

'Fine.'

'Well, which is it?'

'I'm still here', I replied through clenched teeth.

Still smiling at me. . .Why is she smiling?? Fucking joker wannabe.

'Ok then, I'm going to continue talking to the group', Renee said patronizingly.

'Please do.'

What the fuck is this place? Budget rehab?

I kicked off my Chucks and got familiar with my chair. Looking around the room again, I let my mind melt. I didn't listen to constipation-lady. I saw a guy I could fuck later. He was cute in an entirely predictable way; sandy blonde hair, green eyes, dimples. Whatever, I had played three games of scrabble with the janitor since arriving last night, I needed something else to distract me. I did like fucking but I always thought my tits were too small so it never really became an obsession of mine. It's difficult to be sexual when you look like a little boy. I was proud I never fucked for drugs, unlike Lauren. She never paid for them. He would do all right.

My eyes roamed to a girl with tit's much bigger than mine. I'd punch her later. She had that look about her a person usually associates with the preppy head-cheerleader. You know, the one everyone hates and wants to do at the same time. Girls included. I liked fighting, preferably before fucking but my thought process usually places fucking first. I tried to calm down so I contemplated all the shitty things in this world. Aids, starvation, genocide, rape, abuse, racism, Madonna. Then I imagined what concoction of shit I'd take once I got back out there.

Entrée

Weed from Malaga.

Spice.

A shoulder of Malibu.

I zoned back into the bullshit conversation occurring in front of me, some other bitch was moaning about how her mother never loved her. Constipated-lady just did that stupid head nodding thing with her mouth curled into a smile. The red blob of color smeared on her white teeth screamed at me. I held out for a moment, trying to keep it together. I couldn't.

'Could you please wipe that fucking lipstick off your teeth? It's incredibly distracting', I growled. The escape of those words gave me the release I needed for now, I settled back down and considered my main course.