Bella

I inhaled my cigarette while contemplating what would be so wonderful about turning seventeen if being sixteen was anything but sweet. Not to mention fifteen– and I couldn't even think about being fourteen or thirteen without cringing.

Fuck being a teenager.

It was more overrated than anyone portrayed it to be. But I guess that could happen when you've spent most of your teenage years wasting away in a group home for girls with "behavioral problems." Living with all females for that long was way too much estrogen for me– or anyone else– to be content with.

Somehow I managed to make enough progress in the home to get adopted by a single father named Charlie. As I took another drag from my cigarette, I was hoping the plane ride from Las Vegas to Forks, Washington wouldn't be too bad. It was my birthday after all, and I did not want it to get fucked up by being smooshed up against the plane window by a drunken tourist or an immensely overweight turd. With my luck, however, I'd be smooshed in between a drunk-ass tourist and an overweight turd holding a screaming baby.

I killed my cigarette in the ashtray located in the smoking/gambling section of the airport and made my way to a seat by my flight number. I absent-mindedly fidgeted with one of the intentional gashes in my jeans. Suddenly feeling self-conscious, I wondered what Charlie would think of me. Maybe my style was too alternative for him and he'd make me go on some ungodly shopping spree for girly clothes. I sure hoped that wouldn't be the case. After all, I was only a year away from legal adulthood; which implied to me that I was perfectly capable of making my own decisions about attire.

It was clear that the anticipation was getting to me, and anxiety was starting to take over my mind. At times, I could fight my anxiety enough to appear stable. Other times, such as these, my instability could be seen clearly to anyone who cared enough to notice. My stress-ridden thoughts went to Renee, and my face contorted into a painful expression.

Renee was my mother, though the term "mother" was giving her too much credit. I suppose she did mean well, but meaning well and doing well were obviously quite different. And different things produce different outcomes. In this case, the outcome was me.

I never knew the fabulous man who knocked my mother up, but I suspect it might have been just as much of a mystery to Renee. A diet of prescription pain medication and alcohol made her memory and her choices a little foggy. The first father figure in my life was Phil.

Even though I never had anyone to compare him to, Phil wasn't half bad. He arrived in my life when I was four, and he took care of me more than my mother did. We moved in his three bedroom home in Las Vegas, and we were sort of like a family. I was happy. We always had food on the table, and Renee's infatuation with Phil lessened her urges to drink so much. She still took the pills because she would suffer violent withdrawals without them. Other than that, it was clear to me that she was better than she used to be.

It didn't last.

After a few years of contentment, Phil lost his job and had to go on unemployment. The city's opportunities were grim, and it led him to turn to the bottle. Before long, he was drinking so much that he gambled away all the money we had, and we lost the house.

I was ten when we had to move into a shitty one-bedroom apartment in North Las Vegas, which wasn't exactly the best part of town. To be honest, it was fucking ghetto. I was afraid to go outside, and I was afraid to be inside. To make matters worse, Phil's alcohol problem made Renee start drinking again. The two of them were belligerent drunks, and it was a dismal situation.

I suffered for exactly three years because of those pricks. Phil and Renee were always yelling at each other and at me. I don't think they even knew what they were yelling about. When yelling wasn't enough, it became physical. They would beat each other senseless, and when they grew tired of that, they started to hit me.

It started small, but it got worse. Phil gave me a black eye on one occasion. It could not be hidden with makeup because my eye was swollen shut. He told me he'd slit my throat if I ever told anybody, but other people started noticing on their own. I tried to tell them it was from my own clumsiness (which wouldn't be a far-fetched story in my case), but they knew better.

My neighbors were quick to inform authorities that Renee and Phil were unfit parents. They lost custody of me, and I lived with my aunt for a while. She was a good person, but I wasn't happy living with her. Even looking at her reminded me of my mother, so I did anything I could to make her life a living hell. As fucked up as it sounded, I just wanted someone to feel the pain that I had gone through. She couldn't handle it, and that's when I ended up in the group home.

My thoughts were interrupted by a woman announcing that my flight was now boarding. I hadn't even noticed the plane had arrived, and I didn't even realize the previous passengers had exited it.

It was time for me to board the plane and start my new life. I took a deep breath, got in line, and braced myself for the worst.

Edward

I took a long swig from my bottle of Absolut, slightly cringing from the taste. Though I was usually one to utilize chasers, I was plastered enough not to need one. I had a theory as to why my favorite vodka was called Absolut– the feeling of that vodka in my system was absolutely fucking amazing.

The theme song for Intervention reverberated throughout the room on my father's glorious surround sound. Being plastered while watching that show was priceless.

"People can drink with just one kidney, so I don't see why I can't drink with one and a third," said the female alcoholic on the show. I laughed so hard I could have pissed my fucking pants.

I heard my mother, Esme, and sister, Alice, in the other room. They were bickering about the most sensible way to store the ornaments from our tree. Christmas had recently passed, and they were putting away the elaborate decorations that had overflowed our house. Alice was in charge of that kind of stuff. I had to give it to her: she was great at themes and decorations. She fucking rocked at throwing the occasional house party when our parents were out of town. Even though she didn't drink, everyone always had fun when she put it together.

"Look Alice, you can fit more ornaments in this way!" Esme said.

"Mom, they are not going in the box when they aren't color coordinated! That's just ridiculous!" Alice pouted.

I heard Esme sigh. She knew there really wasn't any use in arguing with Alice about decorations.

Alice basically danced into the living room I was in, and she crinkled her nose. "What the hell are you drinking?" she asked.

I poured some of my vodka in a shot glass and tried to hand it to her.

"That's disgusting!" Alice cried as her usually graceful face contorted in a hilariously gross expression.

"Actually, it would be even more disgusting if your face got stuck like that," I spat back. I hated when my family gave me shit for drinking.

The colorful lights were still hung in the living room, and they slightly lit her short, black hair. I would miss the way the lights made a fuzzy glow when I was shit faced. In fact, I'd miss a lot about drinking. It was impacting my life, but making my family upset was what really crawled under my skin. Carlisle, my father, would always tell me how drinking both physically and mentally impacted one's life for the worst. He would tell me horror stories of treating people with alcohol poisoning. He knew that since I was only seventeen, I wouldn't be worried about cirrhosis; but it didn't stop him from telling me it could be my fate someday.

I knew that he was both a doctor and my parent, so I couldn't blame him too much for all the preaching. However, he was the one that had the constantly-stocked liquor cabinet. Lots of people my age would be drinking if they had such easy access to alcohol. I think.

To make my family happy, I was going to try damn hard to quit drinking. I think the hardest part would be turning my neighbor down when he wanted to get hammered. His name was Emmett, and he was like a brother to me. I'd known him ever since I was young and my family moved to Forks. He was married to this blonde, bitchy, nagging woman named Rosalie. He liked to drink with me when she was acting up . . . which was often. It got his mind off things for a while, and I enjoyed his company.

I suddenly imagined Emmett and I walking in a room full of our family. The interventionist gave us a welcoming smile, and everyone could read the "oh shit" looks on our faces. I'd be damned if I ever ended up on my favorite show, on the butt end of a secret intervention.

"Edward," Esme would say, her eyes full to the brim with tears. "Your drinking has negatively impacted my life in the following ways . . ."

I would roll my eyes and deny having a problem, telling them all I could stop drinking any day.

Carlisle would talk about drinking affecting my medical health, as usual.

Alice would cry and tell me she loved me. She would say she couldn't stand losing me to alcohol. "Jasper is basically dead to us in the position he's in," she would say, "And I can't lose the only brother I have left."

Rosalie would tell Emmett their relationship would be over if he did not go directly to treatment. Her perfect red pout would look menacing, and he would realize she was serious.

Emmett and I would look at each other, shrug, and get the fuck out of there.

The imagined intervention faded away. I wondered what kind of look I had on my face, but it must have been fucking weird. Alice was still in the room, and she looked at me with a quizzical expression.

"I hope you feel like shit at school tomorrow," she said.

"Who says I'm going to school tomorrow?" I replied, pouring another shot of Absolut for myself.

"Edward, you can't just miss school every time you drink on a school night!" she hissed. As small as she was, she could appear to be menacing when she was upset.

"You and I both know I have a perfect GPA. What the fuck would I be missing anyway?" I took the shot I poured for myself. Alice crossed her arms and rolled her eyes, giving in.

"Suit yourself," she said, disappearing from the room.

Nothing ever happened at school, good or bad. Staying at home hung over would be a perfect excuse to avoid that shit hole. I sighed, letting the vodka lull me into a dreamless night on the couch.