So, story's up! As it says in the summary, this story is fairly dark, but if that's your thing, awesome. If not, that's good too, give it a shot anyway!

Cheers,

Rose

Chapter 1: Hope.

When I was young, I had hope. Hope to see my dad and brother again.

Hope to escape from him.

I stopped hoping years ago because I realized: hope only leads to disappointment.

"BELLA!" a voice yelled from below me. I sat up on the dirty mattress haphazardly placed on the floor and rubbed my eyes. I sighed and threw the single blanket off of me and ran down the stairs as fast as I could.

"Bella, where the hell is my breakfast?" he hissed, his voice raising at the end.

"I-I'm sorry, sir." I said. I began shutting down and bracing myself for what was to come next, what I knew would come next. I saw his hand draw back then connect to my cheek. I didn't let my position waver as I stood, silent and waiting for his next move. I felt him shove me back into the bright orange wall that was behind me and pin my arms above my head. I drew in a shaky breath and tried to look away as he unzipped his pants and pulled down my pajamas. I closed my eyes and held back tears as I thought back to another time, hoping it could distract me from what I knew was happening. I thought back to the last time I was truly happy, before everything was taken away from me moments later…

"EMMY! Come back here!" I yelled to my brother, giggling. We were running around the backyard playing tag at our house in Forks, Washington. Right as I tapped him, we heard shouting from inside the house. We both stopped and looked at each other, grabbed hands, and ran into the tool shed.

"It's going to be okay, Belly!" Emmett said, trying to comfort me. He was always the one that made me feel better, and I tried to do the same. Even though he was born not two minutes before me, he still calls himself my big brother and says it's his job to cheer me up. Only this time, we knew that nothing was going to be okay. Even at just eight years old, we knew that this fight would be the one that broke our family for real. The shouting ceased and we waited anxiously. When we finally heard footsteps outside and our names being called, we left the shed. In front of us was our father. His eyes were red and brimming with tears threatening to spill at any second.

"Daddy?" I questioned, my own eyes threatening to pour, "What's going on?"

"Oh, Bells. I love you so much. Trust me when I tell you I will always be here for you and none of this was my idea." He whispered, pulling me into a hug as he finally let some tears drop onto his navy shirt.

"None of what, Daddy?" Emmett asked as I saw my mother come out of the house looking angry.

"Come now, Bella. It's time to leave." She said.

"Leave for where? What's going on?"

She didn't answer but instead yanked me from my father's bone-crushing hug and began dragging me towards a black car I didn't recognize. I tried to pull away as I heard Emmett begin to sob in the yard. He tried to run after me, and I to him but our father pulled him away.

"Elizabeth, please. Just let them say goodbye!" my dad begged her.

"No, Charlie. It'll just be harder for them" she stated.

"BELLA!" Emmett cried as I was shoved into the back seat. I tried to open up the door but I couldn't. Stupid child locks. I looked out the window at my mother who was dragging two small suitcases out of the house, shrugging off my brother as he tried to hug her and I began crying harder.

"Will you never shut up!?" a disgustingly raspy voice snarled from the front seat. I looked up in shock at the man I never noticed before on the driver's side. I shrunk back in my seat at the blonde man in the front. My eyes grew wide as he turned around, his cold blue eyes piercing my green ones as I saw his face. I took in his rather large nose and small eyes as they looked me over, causing me to shiver. "You must be Bella. Elizabeth never told me how pretty you were..." He trailed off still searching me over, and then started speaking again "you're looking a little pudgy, though. We'll need to fix that." He smirked as I looked down at myself, frowning. Just then, my mother entered the car and I looked out the window again into one on the front of our large colonial house and saw Em standing on a chair he pulled from the dining room and staring back at me. He kept watching for a minute and then pointed to his eye, then his heart, and then to me. I beamed and let my tears silently fall as I repeated the gesture back to him and then began to fiddle with my fingers. When we finally pulled away and disappeared from the house's view, I felt as if I was being watched again. I wiped my tears and glanced up and saw the man creepily smiling and looked away just as my eyes caught his. "Who are you?" I blurted out without thinking to the man.

"Bella, be nice." My mother chided me before continuing, "Sweetie, this is Phil. He's your new daddy." I looked up in shock at her words. Phil caught my surprised expression and his mouth twisted into what I thought was some form of a smile and said "Just call me sir."

I didn't see my brother until I was twelve.

I gasped for air as I felt him press on my throat and punch me in the ribs before zipping back up and letting me drop to the floor, kicking me in the side two times for good measure. "Don't let it happen again." He said, walking out the front door. I looked down at myself and gently pulled up my shirt to just above my ribs to see what the damage was for today. I sighed as I felt the old bruises begin to get covered by the new ones over my disfigured ribs. I saw little droplets of blood falling and I reached up to my nose and felt the blood from when he slapped me. I got up off the floor and pulled up my ratty pants and decided to go to my room and get ready to go to school. I took the time to gently wash off the blood and then went to the first aid kit. When I finished wrapping and putting the gauze on my wounds, I pulled on an old band tee shirt that used to be my father's before I took it from him when I was 7, as well as the turtle necklace that Em gave to me on the last birthday we celebrated together. I never allowed myself to let Phil see it, otherwise he would surely take it. I pulled on a zip up black hoodie and attempted to make the sleeves longer so they could cover the finger marks from where I was grabbed. After I was finally done getting ready, I looked in the fridge for what was needed at the store and saw that the fridge was pretty much stoked. How I wish I could just have something, anything besides what Phil allowed. Even though I had a restricted diet, I was still too fat in Phil's eyes. He said that at 5"5, 102 pounds just wasn't acceptable. So I am only allowed half of a salad for dinner along with water and one piece of bread. At first, I was annoyed with it, but then I started losing weight and began to feel better. Finally, there was something I could control. With a glance to the clock set on my floor, I slung my backpack over my shoulder and began the walk to school.

I braced myself for the cold weather that was coming and attempted to pull my sleeves down further so I could cover the bruises that peppered my arms. As I neared the school, the dread from seeing Mary and her group began to set in. When we had first moved to Chicago, Elizabeth insisted that she and I go to the park so I could cheer up. It was there that I met Mary.

"Mommy, can I go swinging?" I asked
"Sure, sweetie. I'll be right over here." she said, pointing to one of the various benches that scattered the playground-park. I took off running towards the swing set and plopped onto one of the seats. I began pushing until I soared up towards the trees above me, pumping my legs forward and back as much as I could so I could touch the leaves. "Hey, we're married!" I heard a voice to my left giggle. I looked over to see a girl about my age with long, curly blonde hair and blue eyes. Still swinging in synch with me, I began to laugh with her as we swung higher and higher, finally touching the leaves from the tree hanging above me. "Hey, want to go climb the monkey bars?" the girl asked. "Okay!" I exclaimed, happy to have met someone new. "Oh, I'm Isabella Swan, by the way. You can call me Bella." I told her.
"Mary Hopper. Now let's go!" she said smiling.

-
Mary and I soon became inseparable after that, sleeping over the other's house almost every weekend. This lasted up until our freshman year of high school when she stopped being my friend. Whether it was that she thought she was too good to be my friend or something else, she decided not to inform me of this. By the time the school year rolled in, I was thoroughly confused on why she didn't pick me up for our first day.

Waiting on my front porch, I stood up every few minutes to peer around. It was 6:55 in the morning, school started at 7:30, and Mary should have been here to pick me up 10 minutes ago. I stood for a few more minutes and decided to walk to school instead. As I was walking, my mind ran through the various possibilities of what could have transpired until I stuck with one. Maybe Mary was sick. Yeah, that must be it! Why else wouldn't she have picked me up?

I soon found that out. I arrived at school at 7:15 and stopped short once I saw the scene before me. There was Mary leaning up against her white Mercedes Benz, (I had been so jealous of her because, even as only a freshman, she was able to get her license) with a flock of girls surrounding her. I stomped up to her and demanded to know why she didn't pick me up. All of a sudden, I was shoved to the ground. Looking up at her in surprise, she simply rolled her eyes, flipped her hair, and sauntered off.

The rest of my interactions with her were… disconcerting, to say the least. Our friendship soon dwindled to hatred, and the only associations with me spanned from spreading rumors to physical violence. At first, it was nothing bad, that I had made out with the hockey team, or that I was gay (which, by the way, totally contradicts itself), but then the rumors developed into something much, much worse. Mary and her friends began saying that I was a cutter, which turned me into one. They said I was anorexic. It made me as such. Then they began saying I took and sold drugs. That was the end of the line and all hell broke loose. I went from being the freak that no one talked to, to the freak who no one talked to unless they wanted some weed. The want for weed spread to the want for coke, ecstasy, and heroin. Those developed into people wanting things like angel dust, poppers, and black beauties, and were willing to do anything in exchange for it. Other rumors surfaced, like how I slept with a teacher to get a better grade, or how I would be willing to do anything in exchange for drugs. When Mary became bored with rumors, she decided to take her anger out on me, and her friends followed. As both Mary and Phil worsened, my "mother" was none the wiser. This was most likely because she decided to quit her job as a stay-at-home mom, to a full time heroin addict. She was always so strung out that she never noticed if I had a new black eye or cuts on my arms, or that every night Phil came into my room to "play".

Whatever.

Although school sucked, it was better than being at home, or, at least it did until the start of second semester.

Looking at my schedule, I groaned in disappointment as I saw GYM: PERIOD 7 on it. It isn't the fact that I am not athletic or that I don't like gym, it's the fact that my cuts and bruises will most definitely get hit, especially because people always aim for me. As I was changing in the locker room, I had to stifle my screech as Mary and a girl named Lucy walked in. They took it upon themselves to "put me in my place", as they so thoughtfully put it. It started with my head hitting a locker, and ended with me on the floor in the corner, bleeding from their acrylic red nails. I was huddled in the corner as I watched them wash their hands of blood in the sink and then leave for class, but not before Lucy came over and gave me one hard kick to my already bruised ribs.

I ended up skipping gym all together and haven't been going since. That day in the locker room changed me. From that day, everything changed.

I keep my head down in the halls.

I no longer refute rumors, both the new and old.

I keep to myself at home, only leaving my room to do chores or when Phil needs to "use" me.

I no longer cry, I can only stand as silent as the grave when my hits are given, and I take them without fail.

Slowly but surely, I build resistance to feeling anything and everything. I know I must have done something to deserve what cards have been dealt to me. Self assurance now gone, I can turn only to the blade for comfort, reminding me of my shortcomings. Each cut only slightly deeper than the next.

Maybe he would stop burning my arms with his cigarettes if I had dinner on the table at the exact right moment.

A line of red is drawn.

Maybe he and his "friends" would stop cutting me with glass if I would only stop struggling like they say to.

The silver cuts in between each mark they have made.

Maybe he wouldn't hit me as hard if I stopped speaking out of turn.

One final line seeps vermillion.

I now speak only when spoken to, but with no more than apologies or single worded replies. I no longer beg for mercy on my broken and used body, it did not do anything anyway, and I expected as such. I no longer speak for myself. I do not deserve mercy, I only deserve what hit he gives. I am undeserving of all, including feelings.

So I am numb. And that is fine. I am a shell. No, less than that.

I am Nothing. I become an object.

And that's okay. An object is meant for what it is made for.

It was made as the receiver of hits, slashes, burns, threats, torture, and rape. Objects are meant to be broken. And It is fine with that. Objects are not meant to feel.

So I etched it with my little sharp silver friend. I etched it along my wrist the first time, followed by the second and third. By the time the fourth rolled around, reminders were carved up my arm and embedded in my mind. Each time I gracefully drew the blade, I let myself detach. I allow myself to feel the pain, the anguish, if just for a moment, embracing it.

Then I allow the numb to overtake me once more.

And I am fine with that.

If only for a moment.

Hope you liked it! Please review(: