AN: This story was written, because I started thinking about what it would be like, if Alice was the messed-up one, that Jasper had to save and take care of, and not the other way around. Sounds weird, I know. But here it is. A story where Alice is the weird one, and Jasper is the normal. Or almost normal. ;)

Read and review please! This is my first fanfic. So if you can, please be nice.

Alice

I never really thought that I would be the kind of person that would try to take my own life. When I was little, I was the happiest kid in my class. When I was a teenager, I was pretty much the only one that didn't suffer from heartache permanently, and when I got married, I was the most worked-up and hyper bride in the history of the world. Being depressed was not something I was used to. But there's always a limit on how much happiness you can have, right?

There wasn't an actual word that could describe how I felt, when I opened the door to my 'new' apartment. Just a year ago, I had been happily married (or at least that's what I thought back then), living in a huge, white house in the suburbs and expecting my first child.

All that was gone. Erased, lost, thrown away. There was nothing left but a blank feeling, that was eating me up from the inside.

I had finally been released from the insane asylum after seven months, and I was now living in the bad side of town, in an apartment that looked more like an oversized trash can than as a place meant for living. If I had been the same person I used to be, I would have painted the faded, grey walls in bright, happy colors and I would have bought new furniture for the entire apartment/trash can. But I wasn't the same person. And I would never be.

I dumped my luggage on the floor, right in front of the door, and flopped down on the item that had probably once been a couch, but had now been turned into a pile of brown cushions in a weird shape. There was a tiny door (not that it mattered to me, I wasn't very tall) that led in to a tiny bedroom, and then there was a bathroom the size of a box. But at least it had a bathtub.

I decided that my first activity in my new home should be a nice, warm bath. I hadn't had a bath that lasted more than two and a half minutes in all the time I had been in the asylum, and it was one of the only things besides my perfect life, that I had missed.

The only evidence of my life before this very moment was my birth certificate, and a small picture from my wedding day. Everything else, everything that could remind me about my happy days, had been taken away from me. The doctors thought it was unhealthy for me to keep it.

As I looked closely at the picture, I could see how much I had changed. I looked happy, healthy and beautiful on the picture. I wasn't looking into the camera, I was looking at my husband with a loving, adoring look in my eyes. His face was blurry because of some coffee that had been spilled on the corner of the picture, but I remembered him clearly. If I really focused, I could make out a small bump on my stomach.

I looked so different now.

Even though the doctors had practically shoved the food into my mouth, I had lost so much weight. My cheekbones were way too sharp when I touched them, and with my pale skin, empty eyes, and purple eye bags, I looked like a ghost. I remembered the way the woman who gave me the key had looked at me; a sad, pitiful look. But she was probably used to it. This was a neighborhood of junkies, whores and rapists. To her, I was just one out of many.

I didn't think I would ever smile again. Everything was ruined, but at least I didn't want to die anymore. They had done a good job scaring my suicide thoughts out of my head at the asylum. But I knew that could never have a life like the one I always dreamt of when I was little. The scar on my wrist would never go away, and every time I looked at it, I would remember. I could never love anyone like I loved James, and I could never have children. That hurt the most.

I was only 24, and my life was practically over.

I pulled down the black curtains and curled into ball on the couch.