Thousands of people die, why should it make a difference if I die?

I sighed and ran my hand through my tousled copper/bronze hair. Emmet told me to go look for an Isabella Swan since he couldn't go. Emmet had to stay at our SDK, School for Disturbed Kids, to watch if any of the other mentally disturbed kids got out. He was like the school's guard. So now I'm here, standing in front of a lonely Forks High School.

I gritted my teeth as I pushed open the heavy doors, badly in need of new hinges I mentally thought, cringing at the screeching sounds it made. As soon as she heard that Emmet passed the job to me, my mom gave me information about Isabella and told me to interview her teachers, people close to her, and her family.

It's not like I hated my job, recruiting kids who need help, it's just that I wanted to do something more with my life. But as soon as my dad opened the new, highly developed school for disturbed kids, I had to quit college and help him in funding. My dad, Carlisle Cullen, originally a doctor, a normal one that you would see in a hospital, grew interest in helping kids deal with their troubled lives, whether diagnosed with some cancer or to just emotional problems like suicide.

At 26 he met my mom, Esme Cullen and fell in love. But she was already married and she was having trouble with her relationship with her abusive husband at that time. Afraid that he might take it out on her not yet unborn child, now my half-brother Emmet. So she pleaded Carlisle to help her, take care of her son when he was still little and she'll come back for him a few years later. Carlisle couldn't bear to see her begging and distressed, immediately agreed to do as planned.

The plan failed when my mom's ex-husband pushed her down the stairs. Fortunately Carlisle was doing check-ups on her at home and was poking his head at the front door when that happened. He had her ex-husband in jail, and my older brother was delivered safely in no time. They started going out with each other a year later and got married a year after that. I was born the day after their wedding day. I'm now 20, Emmet is 22, my dad 48 and my mom, 46.

I looked around at the dark, narrow hallway and walked down to the office, which was right in the middle of the hallway on the right side. My footsteps echoed as they touched the sick, green tiles. The white, or I'm guessing that they were once white, were peeling off and graffiti was all over it. No wonder why Isabella wanted to commit suicide, I thought as I pushed away a box of empty condom wrappers with my foot. This place was a school of trash! Food, candy wrappers, paper, everything was scattered all across this place.

I reached the office and opened it, the hinges creaking again. There was only one person there sitting behind the large desk in the middle of the room, an old lady, who looked around 50 or 60, was typing away at a computer like there was no tomorrow. Her eyes were trained to stare at the screen, as she didn't notice me come in. She had purple hair, wearing an orange shirt and vibrant green pants. I coughed slightly to catch her attention. It worked, for now she was staring at me like I was her dinner. . .Which was slightly disturbing since she looked like she was old enough to be my grandmother.

"May I help you?" she smiled and asked, with too much enthusiasm if you ask me.

"I'm looking for an Isabella Swan. . .I'm from the SKD." I told her in my most professional voice.

Her smile faltered a bit, "The SKD?"

"Yes, the School for Disturbed Kids."

"Yes, dear, I know what it stands for. . .I was just. . .surprised that you came here early, yes that's it." The last part was rather hesitantly said.

I contained myself from snorting with laughter. It was almost 1:00, and she calls this early? More like disappointed that I wasn't here to ask for a job of teaching.

"She's in Mr. Masen's biology class right now, the room is 105." I could feel that intense gaze of hers as I walked out of the room.

I found that the classroom was right across from the office. I wondered what Isabella looked like. . .My mom never gave me her physical description, only that she had brown hair and brown eyes. . . and that she was 18 and a senior at the high school. I guess it's time to find out, I pushed the door open, stopping the teacher in the middle of his lecture about the cell cycle.

I walked up to him, "I'm here to see miss Isabella Swan, I'm from the SDK."

His expression changed from annoyance to understanding, "Miss Swan, if you please?"

I heard a loud scrapingof a chair being violently pushed back. I looked up and saw the most beautiful girl I ever saw. She had waves of chestnut brown hair cascading down her back, light brown chocolateorbs for eyes, full of emotions, her pale, heart shaped face, but her figure was covered by a large, black shapeless lump of a jacket, she wore dark wash skinny jeans and black converse.

She was staring down at the floor when she came up towards me.

I opened the door for her, "If you will just follow me. . ."

She nodded, pursed her soft, full lips and walked out of the door.

I led her to an empty classroom and sat down on an uncomfortably hard, plastic, blue chair. She did the same, but AI noticed that her chair was distanced a few feet away from mine.

"I'm going to ask you some questions now, if that's alright with you, Isa-"

"It's Bella, I hate being called Bella." She looked at me with an intensely cold gaze.

"Okay, Bella then. So why did you try to commit suicide?"

She smirked at me, "I'll give you three chances to guess."

I read some of her files, "Your parents got divorced and your upset about that."

She nodded. "Go on."

"There's more?"

She sighed, stood up and began taking her jacket off. Once the jacket was off she proceeded in lifting her shirt up.

"Woah! I'm here to ask you questions, not to have sex with you." I cried out in alarm

Bella rolled her eyes, she lifted her shirt to show me her stomach, and on her stomach there was several black/purplish spots varying in sizes. She turned around and on her back there were also some of those spots. She dropped her shirt and brushed her hair back from her face to reveal the most biggest of those black spots, about the size of a baseball, just behind her ear.

I gasped as I realized what they were and looked up at her, "Where did you get those bruises!?"

She looked down at me, her cheeks now had patches of pink, " The only reason I'll tell you this is because I feel safe with you. . .and because I've been wanting to tell someone about this for a long time."

She then started telling me the horrifying tale of those bruises. . .