Rosalie's Point of View.

Alice glared at me when I walked through the door. She ran up to me and took my hand in hers.

"What happened to your nails?" she demanded. She didn't wait for an answer, since she already knew. She pulled me towards the couch where there were a bunch of assorted nail products. She started to file my cracked nails.

Carlisle walked into the living room, a slight smile on his face. "Family meeting." he said before walking to the dining room.

I groaned as Alice picked up the nail stuff and brought it to the 'meeting room'. We all met Carlisle in the dining room. Alice sat next to me and continued to pick the dirt out of my nails.

I sat, unmoving, and stared at the table. Emmett sat on the other side of me. He gave me a smile that made my insides buzz. He leaned over and kissed my lips gently before taking the hand that Alice didn't get to yet.

"Alice." Esme said. "Stop doing her nails and listen to your Father."

Carlisle cleared his throat and held Esme's fingers gently. "Esme and I have been talking, and we decided that it's time we changed scenery. None of you are happy here and the people are starting to question my real age."

No one objected and I pretended to be occupied by my nails so Edward would leave my mind. I rattled on about my hair and my beautiful eyes until Edward rolled his eyes and went to the next mind.

"I believe it's Rosalie's turn to choose our destination." Carlisle smiled and pushed the paper of towns towards me.

I glanced at the sheet and looked for a name that stuck out in the cursive handwriting. Forks.

"Forks, Washington." I said while looking up at Carlisle.

Emmett laughed. "Who names a town after an eating utensil?"

Everyone smiled at Emmett's joke and Alice shot up from the table. "Rosalie, you continue to clean your nails, and I'll pack your things! Oh, can I create the back story this time?"

"You always create our back story." Edward reminded, his voice quiet and lonely. I felt bad for him, sure, I snapped at him, but that was pretenses. I didn't hate him, I never could. He was my brother. He had the burden of reading the minds of coupled people while he was alone, mateless.

I picked up the nail care products and dumped them in the garbage. I stared at my nails and blurred up the stairs to help Alice pack my things.

I picked up Henry, Vera's baby boy. He had curly brown hair and dimples. Royce would – could never father a boy as adorable, and happy as Henry. I smiled at Vera who was cuddling with her husband. I set Henry back in his bassinet.

"I should be leaving, Vera." I said quietly. Father enforced talking quiet, whether it be not to wake him up, or just to timid to talk to him.

She got up and hugged me. "It was nice seeing you again, Rosalie. Congratulations on the marriage."

"Thank you." Royce disgusted me. He only cared about money, and it was obvious that I was to be a trophy wife while he went around being unfaithful and loving other women.

I walked out in the bitter cold night. The weather was always haywire in New York, and even though it was Spring, the cold nipped my skin. I wrapped my shawl around my arms. I walked slowly through the cobble stone streets. I still lived with Father, and my leg was sore from last night. I did not want to go home yet.

I heard loud laughter and my name was called. I turned around to find Royce and two other men drinking from a flask.

"Rosalie, baby! C'mere!" he started to walk towards me. "T-This is my beauty, Rosalie Hale." he introduced. "Ain't she a beauty?"

"How are we s'pposed to tell with all those clothes on 'er?" One of the men asked with a grin.

"Yeah!" the other agreed.

Royce smirked. He walked up to me and started to pull off my shall. "Show 'em, baby."

I tried to pull back, but he was stronger. He slapped me across the cheek, leaving a stinging sensation. He tore at my dress and ripped the pins out of my hair. I cried and tried to fight back, but his two friend held me tightly.

Royce hovered above me, trailing sticky alcoholic kisses everywhere.

Everyone took rounds. They beat me, and cut me with a blade someone carried. They raped me again, and again.

I shivered on the floor, welcoming death even more than when Father would beat me. I didn't hear anyone approaching, but suddenly, there was a flash of blond hair. I felt myself being prodded and I knew this was the end.

Especially when I felt razors slice into the skin on my neck and wrists.

2001

Esme was ecstatic, after a couple months she finally finished building our new home. It only took a couple months when you were a vampire.

It was beautiful. The house was mostly made of glass. It had four stories, if you included the underground garage.

I sat in my newly furnished bedroom. I fingered the beautiful silky comforter. I wonder how Marie would have reacted, if she were here. She would have blushed and down right refused to except a room so grand. She would have considered it too overboard, and would have had a tinge of anger, thinking they were pitying her from coming from a broken home.

Emmett jumped onto the bed and smiled playfully. "Feel like breaking in the new mattress?"

I laughed and shook my head. "Not now." I crawled up next to him and rested my head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and played with the ends of my hair.

"How could you?" a smooth voice hissed. "I don't want her! I don't want anyone!"

There was a voiceless reply.

"Don't you understand that she just isn't the one for me! Yes, she's beautiful, but there's more to love than beauty, and you just damned her soul to walk this earth. That's not your decision to make."

"Please make it stop!" I screamed. I cried. "Where's my sister?"

A soothing, maternal voice whispered into my ear. "It's alright, you'll be fine. You're almost there."

My temperature was steadily hiking, I felt as if I were burning alive. My heart thundered in my chest before finally stopping. Was this it? Was I dead?

I opened my eyes. Was this Heaven? Beautiful angels surrounded me. One was scowling. That's not right. Angels aren't supposed to be angry.

"Hello, darling." the beautiful woman greeted. "I'm Esme and this is my husband Carlisle and our son Edward."

Carlisle smiled at me. "Welcome."

"A-Am I dead?" I whispered. "Are you an angel?"

He chuckled. "Hardly. We have much to tell you."

I sat in stunned silence when they were done explaining. They must be crazy! I was certainly not a vampire. I stood up in a graceful step and I walked over to the nearest mirror, feeling like I was a dancer.

Whoever was in the reflection, was not me. She was beautiful. She had no scars, or blemishes. Her hair was long and looked soft. All of her imperfections were beautiful. Her eyebrows were perfect and her beauty mark contrasted shockingly with her pale cool skin.

Her eyes weren't violet.

They were red.

I turned around to see them staring at me. I looked back in the mirror and cried out. I broke the glass and screamed. "This isn't me!" I tore at my skin and waited for the blood to come, but it didn't. Nor did the tears. My arm was hanging from it's socket before slowly attaching it's self back to my shoulder.

I tore at my new clothes and my hair. I tried to make myself look ugly, like Father had told me I was, so many times before.

"No one would want a slut as wife. Or an ugly whore." he would tell me after hitting me and then repeat that to Marie. But she didn't cry. She bled, but did not flinch. She was detached when it came to his flesh beating hers.

I cried tearlessly. They were sobs as my skin knit itself together. I balled up on the floor and whispered Marie's name inside my mind. No one would know about her, I decided. I put up a front. I stood strong and looked in the mirror again. I was beautiful, I would lie. Much more beautiful than that human on the street. And that man that stares at me, I love it. He can stare, want, and bow down at my feet, but he will never have me.

I erased Marie out of my life when I told the Cullens about my past. I told them I was pampered and loved, but in reality, I was dying inside without my sister.

Bella's Point of View.

2001

His name was Matt. He had dark hair and a tattoo of a skull on his arm. He had muscles, but most importantly, my Mom's heart. Crap.

He drank, a lot, too much, actually. I complained about it to my mom. She got angry and insisted that Charlie (my Dad) drank too. Every time he watched a game...which was every night. He may have, but in the couple years that I lived with him, I couldn't recall Charlie ever hitting me.

Matt only hit me once. Mom was in the next room, grabbing a towel. He slapped me, on the cheek, leaving a sharp sting. He had apologized the next day, claiming that he was drunk and I had said something smart, and he had a quick temper when he was drunk, but that was a lie.

He was completely sober. One drink wouldn't make him drunk. I had stumbled on the table leg and accidentally knocked his Pepsi onto his white button up. Mom had glared at me for embarrassing her and apologized to him, running into the bathroom to grab a towel to dab at the mess. He brought up his hand and whacked it across my cheek. I stood, shocked. He threatened that I had better not do it again.

But then he hit me again for rolling my eyes at him and mom's antics. . .And then again for accidentally burning the dinner. And then again. And again. And again. She had seen none of it. Except one, where she thought it was a playful slap because I laughed hysterically.

I didn't dare say anything about it, though. The other times, anyway. Mom was so happy and I didn't want to ruin this for her. It happened more frequent, when Mom left us home together so we could bond. She noticed how I was awkward around him and wanted me to get to know him.

He called me fat, and how I'll never get anyone, but then he called me a slut who was hooking up with everyone on the block. He claimed I was a burden to my mother and made her cry and how I disgusted him.

I retired in my bed every night, cradling a sore stomach or an aching jaw and waiting for the sad violet eyes to appear in my dreams.

I was a little sad at the response I got on the first chapter. I don't mean to boast, but I do think my writing is different (in a good way) - especially for a thirteen-year-old - and I dunno, I guess I thought I would get a lot of feedback. But you know what? It's alright. I have a feeling as the story wears on that more people will give it a chance despite the over used plot. Oh, and it's not going to be all doom and gloom and teenage angst through out the story. Pinky swear.

I was too impatient to wait a week to post the second chapter (I have all of the chapters written, I just figured that I would do a regular update every week). I would really like opinions not only on the story, but the writing it's self. Am I moving along to slow? Not capturing your attention well enough? Too many typo? If there are typos, point them out and I'll fix them.

As you can tell I'm super insecure about my writing. I started when I was eleven or twelve, and I just want a lot of opinions.