All recognizable characters are owned by Stephanie Meyer.

Prologue

The most horrifying sound in the world is the sound of a dish breaking. Well at least it is in my world.

I had been daydreaming again while I was doing dishes. A glass slipped out of my hands and shattered. I immediately heard the footsteps of my father stomping into the kitchen. "What the hell did you break this time?"

"I'm s-s-sorry sir," I stuttered. From his red cheeks and the half empty whiskey bottle in his hand, I knew he had been drinking. Being face to face with my father was scary when he was sober. When he was drunk, he absolutely terrified me. "A cup slipped out of my hands. It was an accident."

"Oh, I'm sure it was. I know you just love breaking my things," he sneered. "You are such an ungrateful little bitch." He took a long swig of his whiskey. "How about I break something of yours? How about your pretty face?" He threw the bottle at me. With his drunken aim, he missed my face and hit my shoulder instead. I cried out in pain.

"Oh, I missed," he said with mock regret. "I guess I'll have to make up for it." Before I knew what was happening, he was in front of me. He quickly drew back his fist and punched me in the face. The force of the hit knocked me to the ground, but he didn't stop there. He proceeded to kick me repeatedly, first in my stomach, then in my legs.

Finally, he got tired of me, and left me bleeding and crying in the kitchen floor, but not before he grabbed a beer out of the fridge. He purposely tripped over me as he returned to the living room and his football game. After a few minutes, I had recovered enough to stand up. I spit blood into the empty side of the sink, and rinsed my mouth out as well as I could.

Carefully, I cleaned the broken glass out of the sink before finishing the dishes. As soon as I was finished, I went to the freezer and put a few ice cubes in a baggie. I also put one in my mouth, hoping to soothe my aching jaw. After wrapping the bag of ice in an old dish towel, I quietly made my way out of the kitchen. My father, Charlie, had fallen asleep on the couch and was snoring loudly. I knew he would sleep there until morning. On the nights that he was drunk, his bedroom usually stayed empty.

I went upstairs and into my bedroom. I plopped down on my bed, pressing the ice to my stomach. Why does he do this to me? I asked myself. Why does he hate me so much? I asked myself those question every time he hurt me. I already knew the answer. He blamed me for my mother leaving him. She hadn't been ready to be a mom, so she left us when I was six. She didn't even tell me goodbye. I just came home from school one day and she was gone.

When the ice was almost melted, I got up and dropped the baggie in the trash. I went to my dresser, and whimpered as I bent down to open my bottom drawer. I grabbed the pack of cigarettes and lighter that I kept hidden under my pajamas. I opened my window and climbed out onto the thick branch right outside. Once I was seated against the tree trunk as securely as possible, I lit a cigarette and took a large puff. I looked up at the stars. Why didn't Renee take me with her? I thought as I exhaled the smoke. The thought made the tears start again.

I looked at my watch. Midnight. "Happy seventeenth birthday, Bella,"I whispered to myself as I sat under the stars, smoking and crying.

~X~

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