Hope that you enjoy this chapter. I was astonished by the amount of people who added this story to their alert list. Thanks! I fear that I will not be able to update for at least a few days. Don't forget to review! They just make my day!

Chapter One:

Fucking Forks

"ISABELLA MARIE SWAN!"

I rolled my eyes at the unnecessary use of my full name.

"WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING? THIS IS IT! I'VE HAD IT WITH YOUR ATTITUDE AND YOUR FRIENDS AND ALL THE SHIT THAT YOU'VE DONE! THIS IS IT!" my mother, Renee, roared, blue eyes blazing with unconcealed anger. I wouldn't back down, though. Never was I known to forefgo a fight. Adrenaline pulsed in my veins at the thought.

I tugged a hand through my tangled and damp brown hair, thoroughly disgusted with how dirty it felt. I watched with disinterest as Renee stormed into the living room of our large home in Volterra, following her as she kicked one of the coffee tables over in her fury. Glass shards skittered across the tile of the room, decorating the red-brown surface with shards of light that reflected onto the ceiling. Giorgio, my disgusting and perverted step-father just watched with a slight smile from his place in the corner of the room as Renee and I went at each other, violently lashing out with words hastily gathered from three different languages and just barely resisting from ripping out each other's throats. He was enjoying this.

"So what are you doing to fucking do?" I screamed, practically hissing and spitting as I tore at my long hair in frustration and fury, spinning around towards the door before thinking better of it. Leaving would get me nowhere, something I had learned before. This fucking issue would only come up again and again until it was resolved to Renee's satisfaction, never mind what I wanted. For once, I decided I might as well face my raging mother as she went upon another of her tirades. "What the fuck are you going to do?"

"WHAT I AM GOING TO DO?" she screeched, pacing across the floor of the living room. I secretly hoped she'd step on the fucking glass she broke. I had given her that fucking vase as a fucking birthday present last year.

The bitch.

And no matter how much she insisted that this place was my fucking home, it wasn't. My home was in Spain with mi abuelo, this place could never be home, so long as he was here. Sick bastard. Mi padrastro my ass.

"Oh, I'll tell you what I'm going to do," she said in a dangerously quiet voice. I knew then that whatever the hell it was, it would not be good for me. I refused to let the fear run through me, I wouldn't give her the fucking satisfaction of my fear. What was the worst she could do? Trap me inside my room? Take away my cigarettes? I had more stashed away. She was fighting a losing battle.

"I think it's time you visit your father."

I exploded. "WHAT?" I screamed, my ears pounding and heart racing. "No, you can't fucking send me there! Are you fucking insane?"

Renee was babbling to herself in French, her native tongue, while glancing all around the room. "You've left me no choice, Bella," she finally said, still speaking in French.

I knew that Giorgio could understand what was being said simply because French and Italian were so similar, even if he was only getting the basics.

"Between the drinking, drugs, and all the other crap that you've done, I can't take it anymore. This is the last straw. Drinking while driving. Harming yourself. Attacking students at school. Skipping school. And now this! Setting fire to a school building? I get that you legally can drink and smoke and do everything else at your age, but this is it. You're not safe. Maybe a little quality time in Forks with your father will straighten you out, because Lord knows that I've tried everything." Renee seethed and shook her head, running a hand through her short hair.

The bitch couldn't even look at me.

I huffed, this couldn't happen. I had a life here in Volterra, along with my friends. Aro, Marcus, and everyone else were the only people who understood me, the only ones who cared that Giorgio was such a sick, perverted bastard. And I was going to be stranded with Americans in fucking Forks, the center of small-town American ignorance.

Well, fuck.

"Alright, kiddo, your mother told me about everything that has happened over the past few years, and I want to let you know that while you're here I won't hold any of it against you, but if you do break any laws while here, I won't stand for it."

My father, Charlie, had come to pick me up at the airport in Port Angeles when my plane had landed, and now we were on the outskirts of Forks. Stupid, disgustingly cold Forks. I hadn't been here since I was ten, when I had put up a huge fight and finally got Charlie to compromise with me and met me in Florida. I hated Forks with a passion, ever since some of the kids made fun of my accent when I was five while visiting Charlie.

Even now, I knew the students at the high school I was being forced to attend would still be as ignorant as they had been seven years ago when I last saw them. I probably wouldn't even be able to ditch school because this town was so small Charlie would hear about it in a fucking heartbeat.

I still couldn't believe that Renee had sent me here, of all places, to live. She hated Forks just as much as I did, and I didn't understand why she didn't just fucking send me to Spain or France to live with her now separated parents. Sure, I drank, I skipped school, hell, I even had a few other problems that were not exactly small, but this was overkill.

"And, remember you're not in Europe anymore. You're seventeen—people can't smoke here until their eighteen or drink until their twenty-one. You do either, I'll arrest you."

I glanced over at Charlie, trying to imagine what my mother had seen in him when they had met almost twenty years ago. She had come to Seattle as a foreign exchange student for college, and Charlie had been in the building across the street finishing his police training. Charlie was your typical American boy who had fallen for the lovely Renee Flores, the daughter of a Spanish university teacher and a French singer. Of course, Renee was beautiful and before long she and Charlie were married. They had me and soon after that, Renee took me and left to Spain where her father was living. We lived with him until Renee met Giorgio.

Giorgio was scum, simply put. I didn't give a flying fuck if he had a steady job and was good to Renee, he treated me like crap. Of course, Renee was too blinded by her 'love' for him to notice anything askew, which made me hate both of them even more. Before I was seven, we had moved to Italy and I had started school again there, amongst all the Italian speakers who made fun of me because I spoke Spanish. I had met a few children who were actually kind to me—Aro and Marcus—who didn't care that my Italian was broken and half the time I spoke Spanish to them. With them, I had blossomed. It was only because of Giorgio that I rebelled. That sick, sick bastard.

"Bella?"

I snapped back to the present, turning to look at Charlie. I would never tell him this because it would hurt his feelings, but I hated how Americans said my name. Bell-la. The e was too short and the l-a was too sharp, too sudden. I missed how people in Italy and Spain said my name, Bel-lah. When it was said like that, it rolled so beautifully. The e was deep and sensuous, the harmony of the l and acoming together at the end melodious. English was so harsh and ugly in comparison to my languages, though I had three of them. I was most comfortable with Spanish (something Aro had always understood and had learned for me), but I spoke Spanish and Italian the best, and then French, from my long summers in the French countryside with ma grand-mère. English was the language I had the most trouble with, my conjugations of the verbs choppy and pronunciations of the harsh consonants that were often put into a word two or three together, poor.

"¿Sí, papá?" Charlie looked a little disconcerted for a moment before he answered me.

"Bella, I know this is going to be hard for you. Don't let the kids get to you, okay?"

The underlying message: Don't burn any buildings with them inside.

I looked over at him, taking in his hopeful face and sighing quietly, willing to humor Charlie, if for a little while. He really wanted this to work for me, and I couldn't feel right about hating him until he actually did something to me. Wow, Bella. You actually do have morals. "Yes, I promise."

Charlie smiled, patting my shoulder awkwardly. It was then that I noticed we had arrived at the house, its familiar red brick driveway and too-fucking-green trees almost like a different world. I climbed out of Charlie's police cruiser, sighing again as I went around the trunk and Charlie helped me bring the suitcases inside the house. While we did this, he explained to me how he still hadn't straightened out the problem of me driving legally here, but hoped to have it cleared up in a few days. So, either I could walk the mile to school for this week, or I could get a ride in Charlie's black and white police car that had flashing lights on top. Obviously, I chose to walk.

Charlie showed me to my old room and left me to unpack my things, something I was highly grateful for. Renee would have stuck around to try to talk to me as I was attempting to get settled, something I was never in the fucking mood for.

It was still early in the day here because I had taken a flight in the dark hours of the morning from Rome to Chicago, and then took a connecting flight to Seattle. After that, it was yet another forty-five minutes on a third plane to Port Angeles. In the end, I had spent about fifteen hours in a plane, and I was both tired and hungry. I knew Charlie wouldn't begrudge me for wanting to sleep, but I didn't want to retreat to my room without saying something to him. I may hate being here and all, but it wasn't his fault. Plus, if he told Renee that things were working out for me here, then I might be able to go back to Italy before summer.

I smiled slightly to myself as I imagined the scene of Italy in the summer. It would truly be wonderful.

After taking a quick shower and changing into a pair of pajamas, I walked carefully down the stairs, not wanting to end up in a hospital before I had even been here a full day. I could hear Charlie watching television in the living room, and I decided to eat something before I went to sleep. My stomach was growling the whole time I was making the ham and cheese sandwich, making horribly embarrassing noises that I was glad no one but I could hear. Charlie's kitchen was in serious need of restocking.

Just as I sat down at the table to begin eating my food, the phone began to ring. I was tempted to ignore it, seeing as I had a much more pressing matter at hand, but was forced to get up when Charlie asked me to answer it. Grumbling, I marched over to it and reminded myself yet again that I had to be civil while here, simply because I wanted to go home as soon as possible.

"Papá," I called down the hall when I reached the awful ringing contraption, "I say 'hello,' yes?" My English courtesies were a little rusty.

"Swan Residence," Charlie called back, sounding distracted.

I turned back to the obnoxious telephone, picking up the receiver and saying, "Hello, Swan Resident." I knew I had miss pronounced that horribly, but I didn't care.

"Bella." Never would I forget the rich rumbling of that voice, so beautiful as it said my name.

I screamed in excitement, the happiest I had been since two weeks ago, before I had found out I was being sent here. "¡Abuelo! ¿Cómo está usted?" I asked eagerly, wanting to talk to my grandpa, mi abuelo. He was the only one who had really put up a fight against Renee's decision. I continued in Spanish, wanting to tell him about how miserable this place was. "Abuelo, it's so awful here. It's freezing and wet and too green. Muy verde."

Mi abuelo laughed, the sensuous sound calming. "I know, I know. I wish I could have stopped her from sending you there, but she wouldn't listen to reason."

I nodded, forgetting that he couldn't see me. "Me gustaria que estuvieras aqui. It is so boring."

He laughed again, his deep voice resonating. "But, my darling, you have only been there what, an hour now?"

"Exactly."

I could tell my abuelo was shaking his head, even if I couldn't see him. "You never know, Bella. I know you don't like it there, but you might find something of interest."

"I doubt that."

He chuckled, and we continued to chat until he told me that he had to go, it was dinner time there. I smirked, thinking about how he was eating dinner, while I was going for a breakfast/lunch combination at the moment. We hung up, and I went back to my sandwich. It wasn't too warm yet, so it was still good. I was nevertheless in a bad mood, even if it was lightened by the fact that my abuelo had called. I still couldn't get past the fact that Renee had sent me here, of all places. I could have gone to live with mi Abuelo, or ma Grand- mere, or even Renee's siblings, most of which were scattered throughout Europe and the UK. But she had sent me to Charlie, and the reason was not lost upon me. Charlie was a police officer. If anyone could keep me 'in line' it would be him. Plus, she knew how much I hated Forks and the Americans that lived in it. This was her rubbing my face in my failure.

I said good night to Charlie without even having to go into the living room, simply calling it from the stairs before I closed my bedroom door and curtains, collapsing onto my bed.

Due to me blacking out on my bed at ten thirty in the morning, when I woke up, it was dark and I had a throbbing headache. I could hear the rain pounding on the roof as I sat up in bed and threw off the black sheets. I was intensely surprised that I had been able to sleep so long. Rarely was I able to get a full night's sleep, as the insomnia that plagued me on a regular basis and the nightmares were enough to keep me awake the entire night most of the time. I stumbled over to the window—always graceful—and pulled back the curtains.

Although it was clearly dark outside, I still could see quite well. My bedroom window faced the street and my walls were dark purple in color. Correction, three were dark purple and one was black. Looks like Charlie decided to go more with my sense of décor instead of Renee's. Better not tell her, or she'd be hissing for a month.

I walked over to my bed, pulling out the box of cigarettes and the lighter I had smuggled with me in my suitcase. Of course, Renee wasn't that stupid. She had checked my luggage and carry-on items for all paraphernalia that she deemed shouldn't be taken with me. That included cigarettes (though technically I was old enough to smoke, even if it was only in Europe), drugs, lighters (you know, in case I decided to burn the school down, though I could do that with matches, too), alcohol, and any form of sharp metal items that were not the one razor I took to shave my legs.

However, after Renee had checked all my bags and deemed what I so lovingly called Operation Send Bella Into Exile (or OSBIE) a go, I claimed I had to go to the bathroom and took out my secret stash of cigarettes, a lighter, and a knife, placing them into my bag and leaving the house. Renee was too naïve to notice a thing.

First order of operation: burn the List.

The List was something Renee had given me. The List was comprised of all the things I was not allowed to do. I hated the list.

I took the List out of the back pocket of my traveling clothes, unfolding the heavily creased paper to read it one last time so I could watch it burn with true pleasure. It was just light enough in my room to read the scrawling handwriting of that belonged to Renee. It was entirely in Italian, something I was sure she only did to piss me off. Ever since she had married the scumbag that was Giorgio, she nearly always spoke and wrote in Italian. And I hated it. The only reason I really used the language at all was because of school. Aro didn't even make me speak it, being the darling that he was. He almost always spoke Spanish, simply for my happiness.

I glared at the words on the page as I read them.

Rules

1. Listen to what your father says.

2. No swearing (in ANY language).

3. No smoking.

4. No drugs. Period.

5. No skipping school.

6. No speeding.

7. No drinking.

8. No setting fire to the school, the houses, or anything else. Or people.

9. No self-mutilation.

10. Don't call or in any way contact your "Volturi" friends.

Well, shit. I'll just be a good little girl then. Should have been called "Bella's Ten Commandments," because it might as well have fucking been that. Trust Renee to go all 'religious references' on me in a list. Renee was supposedly a devout Catholic, because supposedly Giorgio was (what a lie).

I crumpled the List in my fist, gritting my teeth and taking in a deep breath. Aro, our friends, and I called ourselves the Volturi, a play on the name of the city we lived in. Sure, we were all drinking and smoking before we legally were able to, and we did drugs occasionally. Whatever. It wasn't that big of a deal. As for the self-harm…that was a different story. It wasn't the Volturi's fault, really. That was all on my dear padrastro,Giorgio.

I smoothed out the List, grabbing the lighter from the drawer of my nightstand and a bowl I had snuck up from the kitchen. Opening my window so some air would dilute the smell of smoke and not set off the fire alarm, I sat down on the wooden floor cross-legged and set the List, bowl, cigarettes, and lighter before me on the floor, the bowl in the middle. The cigarettes I pushed off to the side and I picked up the List in my left hand, the lighter in my right.

With a flick of my thumb, a flame sprang to life and flickered, giving off a dim orange glow in the semi-dark room. I brought it up to the List, watching with satisfaction as the corner of the List began to burn. I let the flame of the lighter go, instead favoring the brighter light of the burning list. I let it drop into the ceramic bowl, smirking. To cement my broken deal with Renee, I opened the pack of cigarettes and took one out, lighting it in the blaze created by the List and sucking the smoke into my lungs happily.

When I was almost done with the cigarette and the fire in the bowl was out, I rolled up the sleeve of my shirt and touched the smoldering end of the cigarette to the exposed flesh of my inner arm.

I hissed contentedly, pressing the burning end deeper into the skin and sighing as I felt the familiar wave of pleasure roll over me, a fucking blessing along with setting something on fire and smoking after being watched like a hawk for the past two weeks. I wouldn't even call it self-mutilation, because if I was bringing bliss to my body, then how could it be harm? The long silver lines and round circles were beautiful in their simplicity, the patterns that they created across my skin so intricate.

Oh yes, Renee. Rules 2, 3, 8, and 9 broken, all in the span of one day. This was going to be pathetically easy.

I reached for the cordless house phone on my nightstand, about to shatter Rule 10 into a million pieces.

Victory, even if it is after being defeated, is sweet.

Review and let me know what you guys think!

Signed,

V

Mi padrastro – Spanish for "My step-father."

grand-mère – French for grandmother

¿Sí, papá? – Spanish for "Yes, dad?"

¡Abuelo! ¿Cómo está usted? – Spanish for "Grandpa! How are you?"

Muy verde. – Spanish for "Very green."

Me gustaria que estuvieras aqui. – Spanish for "I wish you were here."