Ok so first of this story is about living with severe depression and child abuse but it's also pretty supernatural. Before each chapter there will be a quoit on ether depression, child abuse or just being different- whatever fits to that chapter. But I won't always have the names of who said the quoit becaues I find them of Google.

Anyway, here is my new story- A Girl Like You...

Under every scar there's a battle I've lost.

Prolouge

Cut.
Cut.
Cut.

I've been cutting since it happened and I barely notice the pain anymore, but I still cut.
Did you know that people would rather pretend everything's okay rather then admit that something was wrong? Or at least this seems to be the case with me. It's been four years now but no one ever notices, no one but Alice. Then again she would notice, she does it too.

Drip.
Drip.
Drip.

I have more scars then I care to count but that's okay, I like them in a weird way.

I'm Bella. Bella Swan and I moved to Forks to live with my dad, Charlie, four years ago.

I was thirteen when it happened, just thirteen and so scared.

I guess what I went through is nothing compared to what my best friend, Alice, has been going through everyday of her life since she turned ten.

It's like we're in our own little bubble and at first we tried to break out, to scream and have someone notice, but then...

...then we gave up.

We're alone. We thought we'd never get through it, never live; only survive.

That was until the Cullens showed up and everything changed.

Fire. The flames were licking their way higher and higher, consuming everything in there path.

"Mom, mom!"

The fire raged on, cutting off all the exits; it was getting harder to breathe.

"Mom, Mom! Mom, get out of there! Mom!"

I jerked straight up, my breathing erratic and my heartbeat pumping so loud that I was slightly surprised Charlie hadn't come in, although, why would he? He never heard my screams, my cries for help, I made sure of that.

Cut. A dark voice whispered deep in my dead mind.

I de-tangle myself from my duvet and reach over my bed, opening my bedside table drawer and slipping my hand in.

I feel my fingers curl around the long, thin, rectangular box I kept in there. It was metal and had a lock I kept on to stop Charlie for finding out what was really in there; I think he thought it was something of Renee's but it wasn't. I kept a small but efficient surgical blade in it and unlocked the box using a key I kept around my neck and never took of.

I got the blade's handle out of the box and picked how big a blade I wanted, I had various sizes that I could use depending on what I felt I needed. Now I know that you might be thinking 'What? She's crazy! She actually owns different sized blades so she can decide what sized cuts she wants? Who does that?'. Well, I'll answer your questions with a question of my own. Have you ever been the cause of your mothers death? I think not.

And if so, you might understand.

I decided that this time was bad and picked up my biggest and sharpest blade, a blade I hardly ever used. I attached it to the handle and rolled up my left arm sleeve, revealing hundreds of different shaped scars and cuts that completely littered my arm. I swiftly brought the blade down and across the skin just under the inside of my elbow and pulled it across.

I winced and bit my tongue as a sharp pain echoed through my arm and did nothing but watch as the blood started trickling down my arm, slow but steady.

Blood used to make me faint, but now? Now I was so used to it that it didn't effect me anymore. I mean, I cut at least twice a day, sometimes more. I gave over to the depression long ago, in fact the only reason I wasn't dead was because it would kill Charlie to loose me, too.

And then there's Alice. I'm her only friend as she is mine.

So I go on, everyday. Barely surviving; never living. Dead to the world.