Heysan! :) Sorry for the long hold-up :/ I have good news; I'm on winter-break right now, so that means possible more updates! :D Man I love me some holidays... ;)

DISCLAIMER: Listen, I use all my money on food (almost - it's sad really), and if I was the author of Twilight, I would be super loaded (which I'm not - even sadder) and combining that with my food-obsession I would be real fat right now. Like 5 baby-elephants fat, which I'm not... All that equals in me NOT owning Twilight, so let's stick with that :D

When I was 14 years old, my Uncle started abusing me. Sexually.

I was always developed early, and my puberty was no exception. He came to my room when I was nearly asleep after "yelling" quite much with Amalia. He closed and locked the door before grinning evilly. I crept to the farthest corner of the wall- I slept on a dirty old rug- fear clear in my eyes. I cried out as he neared me slowly. I shuddered remembering his words.

"Now now Isabella. Do not do that. I will have you, and I will have you now. Come here Isabella. I have watched you long enough now. Now I will have you." He said it low, and with no trace of humor. He was as serious as he could get. He meant it. I shivered and whimpered. He placed a hand over my mouth and gripped my arm tightly. I cried out in pain when he gripped me too tight. And I cried because of what was about to happen.

*It's nothing too graphic, but it's definitely not nice…*

He slapped me across my cheek and the glint in his eyes had become more pronounced.

He ripped of my cloths and took no care of the fact that I was still a virgin. I screamed out in pain and tried to escape, but he only slapped me and moaned. It was disgusting. It felt so wrong, and I felt so horrible that I just wished to die.

When he was done I lay whimpering in pain and crying. He locked my room and went to Amalia for another round of screaming and yelling. Did he never sleep? And how could my own uncle do it to me? How could Amalia let it happen? Was she really that cold and heartless?

*End M-rating*

I heard her laughing and had my answer. Yes. Yes she was that cold and heartless.

I tried escaping, but my room was locked and there were no windows in there. I tried kicking the door open but I was weak and tired. I blacked out on the floor only to be woken by a throbbing pain between my legs and on my cheek. Amalia was standing over me with a furious glare and a snarl on her lips.

"Get to work, you filthy animal." And with that I earned another slap and I cried the rest of the day.

My life went on like that for what felt like eternity. James came to my room every other night, and I always cried myself to sleep. Amalia never said anything to James for abusing me; she found it amusing. My life was hell, and I missed my family. My real family. My Mother, my Father. Especially my Father, as I knew he could protect me; take care of me, love me. I missed being loved. I wanted to know my Papa; I wanted to have a happy life. I wanted to start over.

And I could never have any of that. My Father was missing, probably dead. My Mother was dead, my Grandparents on both sides were dead; I lived in hell. My life sucked and I just wanted to get away from there. But I couldn't bring myself to kill myself. I was brought up to the belief that suicide was a crime. I couldn't bring myself to break the only bond I had to my dead family; I couldn't disappoint them like that.

When I was 15 years old, I became pregnant with my Uncle's child. When my period didn't come one week, I freaked out. I had never been late a day in my life, so it was understandable. James and Amalia couldn't get children themselves but I could. And I was about to. With my uncle. I felt disgusting and filthy, unworthy of living and... responsible. I felt responsible of my own fate.

If I had helped my Mother better, I would still be living with her and I would have never even been there. Perhaps I wouldn't even have met them. I tried everything I could to lose the thing that grew inside me. I fell on purpose on my stomach, I hit myself; I did everything I could without sticking a stick up my personal parts and kill it. I was raised not to kill anything, not even a fly. But I felt as if I had to kill it. I hated it. If this had been the baby of someone I loved, I would have never hesitated to love it and care for it, but this was wrong.

Of course Amalia realized that I was getting bigger and I deserved a beating for not telling them that James' baby was growing inside me. She was ecstatic that I was with baby. She was not mad at James for putting her niece through this. Oh no she was ecstatic that her husband had abused her niece so she could have the baby. I cried even more.

When I was about 15 years and 3 months old, I lost the baby. It died of starvation I think. Even though I was pregnant with James' child, they didn't give me more food. Clever, they certainly were not. I was so relieved when the tiny thing from inside me came out. It hurt like nothing I had ever experienced before, but I was happy. Well, as happy as I could be considering the circumstances. It didn't deserve to die; it was just as much a victim as I was. Yet I was glad; I didn't need to go through the labor; I didn't need to provide the world with an unnatural – even if a victim – creature. But of course Amalia and James weren't happy. Not at all. I got the worst beating I could ever imagine, when I frightened told them the baby had died.

They screamed and yelled at me for hours and hit me, kicked me, left me bleeding on the floor before walking away. I was whimpering and crying, trying to keep it down so they wouldn't come out and beat me once again. I crawled to the thing I had to call my room and bleed and cried until I couldn't anymore.

The next morning I was woken again with a slap and a scream that I should get to cooking and cleaning. My life turned into a whole new level of hell that faithful day I lost the thing. The abusing continued, and I think they only kept me as long as they did to try and make me conceive again.

But when I was 16 years old I was kicked out from the house because of the abortion. Or because I couldn't get pregnant again. Pick one. Or both. I don't know which one.

They kicked me out of their house one day when I had got such a heavy beating I couldn't walk. I thought they broke my rib and sprained my leg, at least.

I was rather bright by a girl living in the late 1600s who had never gone to school. But my Mother had told me my Papa's dream and I would like to live it out for him. I loved him. I would do that for him. As I was homeschooled I learnt a whole lot of things. I learned how to cook and clean, how to sew and how to handle babies. I learnt how to take care of the most basic wounds and burns that needed medical attention. I learnt the difference between broken and sprained, and the treatment for it.

I tore apart my dress and tied it tightly around me for support. I found some branches thick enough to bear my weight on them and used them as crutches.

And then I went back to where I came from. I lived on the streets begging for food and some money. Not many were polite enough to show me some mercy; here I was, with a sprained leg and a broken rib, and they just worried about getting hurt by me.

I never stole anything. That was below me, no matter how low I seemed to be getting. My Papa and my Mother would not be proud of me if I became a thief. So I never did, and I never hurt anybody.

Somehow I came to London, and found my previous home. The tears started flowing hard as I thought of all the good parts of my life that happened there. I thanked my few lucky stars that it was still the same as when I left it.

I went inside and rummaged around in there. I found some old paintings and jewelry from my Mother and Papa's time. The old family crest my Mother gave me when I became 10. Some of the cloths my Mother sewed me. The ring my Father gave my Mother when he proposed to her. I took everything that meant something to me.

I took some of my Papa's old cloths and an old backpack. I packed cloths and my most precious belongings. But it felt wrong to be in the house alone.

I slept in there for a night, praying before I went to sleep. Praying it would all go away, that I could start over and not have to be bothered with myself anymore. I just wished to get away from all the horrible memories that haunted my mind. Only the good ones, the soothing ones, did I let enter my sleepy mind as I slept on the bed where I was born. With the family crest around my neck and the ring in a silver necklace I found, around my neck too.

For the first time in 3 years I had a peaceful sleep.

I stayed in the house for a couple of days, until the police came one day.

I had been washed and was now feeling somewhat renewed, when two police-officers knocked on the front door. They were dressed in uniform complete with a stick and a large hat.

I only stayed in the house as long as I did because I had nowhere else to go, and I didn't want to live on the streets again.

"Miss? We have been informed that a young woman has been living in here for an amount of days. Correct?" Asked one.

"Yes, that is me. I am Isabella Cullen. This is my mother and fathers old house. Both of them have died, I am all alone now." I said, whispering at the end.

"Stop that; we will not believe it. You will be out of this house in one hour, or you will be hanged as a witch. Understood?" Asked the other. I merely nodded, frightened out of my mind.

"Understood Sir, you will not see me again." They both nodded and turned on their heel to walk away. I stood there for a couple of minutes in complete shock. They did not believe I was the daughter of the old priest's lost son?

I went inside and took the backpack I had packed when I first got there. I took on the crest and cried silent tears as I left the only place I had ever felt safe, once again.

I don't know about you guys, but writing this made me really emotional... :/ I hope you liked it, despite it being sad (:

- Lu