Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight. I do not.

BPOV

It was my 19th birthday and my gift to myself was escape. I needed to escape Forks, the memories, the pitying looks, and my hollow shell. Heck, I needed to escape Jake. Nothing makes you realize your heart is shattered like your incapability to love again and that boy rubs it in my face. He's so warm, literally, and perfect and I feel…nothing.

I told Charlie I was leaving, because I'm not the kind of girl to just run away, and the man didn't even protest, didn't even ask me where I was going. Can't blame him, I've given him no reason to hope. I'm a lost cause.

The least I can do is give him his freedom back, the freedom to move on from his messed up daughter and estranged wife. Sue is wonderful, really, exactly the kind of take charge woman that a man like my father needs.

Her daughter is a total bitch, but having heard her sob story from Jake, I feel a pathetic kinship with her.

I need to escape that too.

Seth is great though and he's one of the few who can make Leah tolerable. I think he's her sun, like Jake is to me, the contagious optimist. I wish Jake would realize I just see him as a brother though…I can't stand his fucking puppy dog eyes anymore.

Did I mention I've developed an attitude?

All part of survival baby, came alive again 6 months ago to looks so pitying I could hardly endure it. So I took a page from Leah's How to Survive Being the Woman Scorned for Dummies book and turned into a massive bitch. It's the only way to deal with your emotions without being the innocent victim of Fork's sympathy.

I'm quite fond of this attitude adjustment. It comes with some interesting territory. I had to tweak my performance a bit. If you're the bitchy girl with the hoodie over her head, you're motivation is obvious and the pity doesn't stop. So I developed confidence, or rather, I faked it until I made it. Tight pants, tight shirts, and tight muscles to pull it off, plus the endorphins really help with the bad moods.

Anyways, as I was saying, I've made a decision. I don't have enough money or motivation to go to school, and I don't want to sit around Forks for the rest of my life. I'm leaving and I'm taking my clothes, my savings and my truck. I'm going to get a job and some crummy apartment, I'm going to do a bunch of crazy shit just because I promised the bastard that I wouldn't, plus I'm going to die anyways.

I'm going to live my life to it's fucking fullest.

Take that Forks.

Wonder where the old man is...ah never mind, not like I told him when I'd be leaving, and neither of us are good at goodbyes anyways…

What the fuck is he doing here?

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

Well said, Bella.

"I'm coming with you."

"The hell you are! Get out of my truck." I stand there tapping my toe on the gravel, waiting patiently for the big, bronze lug of my best friend to get out. I glance to the bed of the truck and see a duffel bag stuffed to the point where the zipper is straining. Dear Lord, he really does intend to come with me.

"Now Bella," Goddammit, he's using that let's-be-reasonable voice on me, "I feel like I'm meant to go with you."

"How did you even know I was going to leave? I just told Charlie this morning and I didn't even tell him when I was planning on actually leaving!"

"He called Billy."

Huh. Maybe this is tearing the old guy up more than I thought.

Dang. I didn't want to hurt anyone…

"As for knowing when, I just know you and how quickly you act on your impulses. Remember the cliff diving incident?"

I give him a dark look, "Could you please just let that go?"

His eyes go all bulgy, "Bella! You almost drowned!"

Pfft, whatever.

Like I said to that Cullen boy, my number has been up for a long time.

…It helps to refer to him by diminutive names.

"What about Billy? Your dad needs you Jake, more than I do."

He shifted uncomfortably. Got you there, didn't I smart-ass.

"The boys will look after him."

"Jake…" I gave him my most disapproving look, like Ms. Copp would give me when I'd nearly maim my fellow students in gym. I still remember the day I threw a bitch fit on her.

My thesis was rather poignant.

I have two fucking left feet and tripping over Lauren's overused, saggy labia could happen to anyone.

Check. Mate.

Maybe one of the most awful things to have ever left my mouth, but I think even Jesus would agree that Lauren had it coming in spades.

She was the worst.

My favorite of hers had to be, "Don't worry Bella, I bet in college you'll get lots of pity sex."

How many times did I want to answer with 'that's okay Lauren. I'm already fucking your dad'? Something was bound to slip out eventually. The suspension was totally worth it. Of course, I compromised any chance at getting into Dartmouth.

"Bella. I just…feel…like this is something I have to do. I sold the rabbit and the boss and left the money for my dad. He'll be fine."

The 1970 Boss 302 was a panty dropper on wheels. I should know since it was on the hood of that car that I swiped my V-Card. Lost it so Sam's cousin, Hector, brawny and sexy as hell, but considering his fucking style, the rabbit might have been a more appropriate setting.

The girl part of me wishes it had been Jake my first time. But for his sake, I couldn't do it. It wouldn't be fair since if I was going live a fairytale, he'd actually be a distant second. Jake deserves to be a girl's first choice, not a consolation prize.

"He can hire help when he really needs it." Lughead's still blabbering away, "The man isn't entirely dependent on me you know. Besides, you know Emily coddles him."

Of course she does. Emily is Mother fucking Theresa.

I can see he's not going to relent. Fine, I'll bring the bitch along, and when he sees how I plan on living, he'll be running back to daddy in no time. We can do this if he really wants to.

Without another word I jump in and start the engine. …Maybe having a mechanic as a passenger might not be such a bad idea.

Fuck these pants are tight. I undo the button and the movement draws Jake's perpetually lustful gaze. Too bad I'd be fucking him over if I actually fucked him. The boy's grown so much I could swear he's on steroids, of course, he's as confused by it as I am, so maybe I'm wrong…

"You should try out for the Pussycat Dolls, you already have the leather pants for it."

I snorted, "Please, I'm not the kind of girl to use her body to make cash."

Turns out, I'm wrong about a few things.

~~*~~*~~*~~

Three weeks later we're holed up in a loft style, one bedroom apartment in Brooklyn, sharing a bed and working full time jobs. I somehow managed to get a job at a bar and if I don't want to get fired, I'm going to have to learn some grace. According to my boss, a skeezy middle-aged Russian man, it's my 'fine ass and perky tits' that keep me in the bakery. He forgot to mention my fake I.D. As for Jake, he works normal hours as a mechanic. Wakes me up each morning before he goes to work. How? Every single fucking time his alarm goes off he automatically curls into me, trying to avoid waking up for a few more minutes, and his goddamn morning wood pokes me in the ass, jarring me out of sleep like his alarm couldn't. Let me tell you, his junk is not something you can ignore.

Four weeks in, we have a mice problem. Five weeks, Jake starts getting weird phone calls from home, saying he should come back in case he has some genetic disorder that a bunch of his friends have and needs help. When he asked what it was, they couldn't explain it. Weirdest fucking thing ever. Although it could explain why I keep waking up sweating because sleeping with Jake is like cuddling up to a furnace. Not that he minds the tiny excuse for pajamas I've started wearing in order to keep cool.

Six weeks in…six weeks in, a guy at the bar grabs my ass and my life changes forever.

I would describe the moment to you, if it were special or different or really even memorable. But the truth was, I'd been pinched, prodded and downright smacked ever since I started working for Trevlin. At first I complained, I told him to make sure his goddamn patrons keep their dirty paws off me or I'd give one of them what they have coming. Trevlin laughed it off, told me it came with the territory so if I wanted space, I should become an astronaut, clever guy, I know, but he failed to take my threat seriously.

Like I said before, I'd been working out, and while I wasn't buff, I was fit. A small fist can apply an alarmingly concentrated amount of force. There's a reason why a bullet is so small. Asshole number 142 learned that when I broke his nose.

It was beautiful, there was no arc like you'd think there'd be, I wasn't going for the side of his ear or anything. Instead it was like a piston, pull back, propel forward and the shockwaves primarily impacting the neck. Beautiful, violent, raw.

The best part about it - I'd hurt myself so much over the last year, since with Edward gone I had become increasingly reckless, that the blood didn't even faze me. Oh, and Trevlin gave me a pay raise, said angry hot chicks draw in customers. I felt like a lioness for the first time in my life. Only I was caged in and observed by curious visitors, pinched, prodded and smacked more than ever.

That night, drunk on adrenaline and the release, I stayed out. I went to the slums of the city because I could, because I wasn't scared and I had nothing to live for, because I was ready to fight back, if only for the sake of having something to fight for – the win, the victory, the satisfaction, the independence, the me vs. the world and the loneliness that is lost to instinct. I wasn't about to start a fight, but hopefully one would find me, trouble usually does. But wouldn't you know it? No one bothered me and in the morning, I went on my merry way, cold, tired and crashing down from my high. Not to mention my hand hurt like a bitch.

Jake freaked on me when I got home, his arms started shaking and everything. That guy is definitely on something. He thought I spent the night with someone. While that assumption would save me a lot of trouble, I just didn't have it in me to hurt Jake like that, to be so brutally insensitive to him. He still doesn't know of my less than pure ways and what he doesn't know won't hurt him.

I still hadn't talked to my parents and Jake hadn't told Billy a thing, not about where we were, what we were doing, anything. It felt completely liberating- scary, exhilarating and my own. It was my best-case scenario and I hated it because it wasn't what I wanted. What I wanted was out of reach, living God knows where.

The next week I got into a bar fight with a coed. Apparently it was her boyfriend who I had recently fucked on top of the bar. Smug bastard stood in the background wide eyed with a smile threatening to break through when his girl took a swing at me. Now she actually swung her arm, so when I ducked she went spinning around like an idiot so I kicked her in the back. Maybe it was a cheap shot but it's becoming obvious that I am not averse to fighting dirty. Anyways, it's her boyfriend she should be mad at, not me. It's not like I knew anything about him besides the fact that he seemed to have an extensive mental library of horrible pick up lines. He wasn't drunk and he certainly wasn't talking about any girlfriend. I gave her time to get up and come charging back at me. I ended up with 18 stitches in my back from the broken glass, some nice complimentary scars to the one on my arm. Ironically enough the majority of the brawl took place on the exact surface where her boyfriend ate me out. Trevlin paid for the damages to his bar without comment. As for the coed, a suddenly concerned boyfriend carried her off.

A month later I met Jace and the events set in motion six weeks earlier finally snowballed. That was the point of no return.