A/n: new story. I still don't own Twilight. New story. BTW, a sequel for summer equinox is not likely to happen soon. In case you people know what I am talking about

CHAPTER 1: How it all begins

SLAP! A crack of that damned whip. SLAP! Another lash, another cry of pain. You may be curious as to why you hear that slap mixed with my tormented cries. You see, I'm abused. My pathetic excuse of a father Charlie beats me when I don't do things his way. I was supposed to make him dinner, the usual burger, fries, and 4 Coors light. Well, I fell asleep, and forgot about dinner, so Charlie came into my room with that whip and began beating me, which brings us back to where we started. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! And like that my beating is over. I pant heavily and moan as I try to move from my position on the floor, but Charlie's boot holds me down. He is too far gone from alcohol. "That's for forgetting my dinner you ungrateful little Bitch! I am so pissed right now, that I can't express it in words, so I think I'll settle for a punch in the face, and a kick." He said with a frightful sneer on his face. The face of a bear would look innocent compared to that. He yanked me by my long brown hair and I cried out for any help I could find. Sadly, none came as I took the beating. Another punch, the more I think about joining my brother and mother in heaven. My brother had died in Iraq last year. I always hoped he'd be back, and he swore he would save me, but his plane was shot down by opposing forces. That had startled me. You may think that my father feels it's my fault my brother is dead, and that I should be punished, resulting in beatings. WRONG! It's because of my mother. She died when I was 4 years old. Charlie started beating me, because I'm a girl, and he said that I was too much like my mom because of her brown eyes I inherited, so I needed to look different. He never cut me, only used that whip- oh that horrible whip- with the jagged edges and chicken bone pieces. My name doesn't match me. My name is Isabella or Bella for short, meaning beautiful, but I am far from it. I am so skinny from never eating you can see my ribs. My back is so scarred from beatings I still feel the pain of them. My face oh lord you don't want to even know. It's so bruised and swollen sometimes I can't see. Charlie finished the beating, and I fell unconscious praying that either I would never wake up or someone could save me. It's a vain hope