The girl stood in the bathroom, completely nude, in front of a full lengh mirror. Brown eyes, once full of life and curiosity were now lifeless, filled only with pain and tears that didn't dare fall flicked over every bruise, every scar. Scissors rested on the toilet seat, waiting for their purpose. The girl reached for them, wincing slighly as she saw another bruise on her hip.

She cluched the scissors in her left hand, her right was palm up facing the mirror all scars on display. Opening the scissors she started at the begining of her wrist, pressing down and slowly moving up she did not flinch. With an alcoholic and abusive father, a drunken whore of a mother she did not feel any pain. Any problems she had dissapeared as she watched the blood trail down her hand, dripping off her fingertips.

She stopped just before she reached her elbow, for the was a big, yellow-ish purple bruise there. she remembered how she got it.

*start flashback*

It was a week ago, and she was in her room. Buried under her covers she waited for her father, this was routine. At night he would come in drunk and sometimes high off his head. He would pull the covers off of her and run his fingers down her body. never would she dare move, or fight back, if she did it would be worse. Her father would undress him, then her making her remove her clothing slowly so he wouldn't miss anything. When she was fully nude he would make her walk to the bed on her hands and knees, only this time he threw her onto the bed, grasping her elbows tighly as she froze. she always did when he touched her.

As he grunted atop her, he would whisper what a dirty whore she was... only good for fucking. Sometimes he would whisper how much he loved her as he stroked her hair lovingly.

Just then the door wa thrown open and her mother walked in, a bottle of vodka in her hands. Leaning aainst the doorway she watched as her husband raped their only daughter, their only child. Taking a swig of the bottle the mother locked eyes with the girl once. Empty brown eyes met glazed hazel ones. No remorse or guilt entered the hazel eyes as she walked away as quickly as she arivved.

When the man on top of her came he whispered his thanks before leaving, not bothering to dress or look back.

*end flashback*

The girl shook her head as she remembered. That was pain... knowing that no one cared or loved you... knowing that the only reason you lived was to be a sex toy... a thing to be played with then tossed aside. This all started at 8 years old. Her father first hit her at 8, he took her inncoence on er 9th birthday. She hated that day, September 13th.

*start flashback*

The 9 year old sat on her bed, hugging her knees to her chest. It was her birthday and she hadn't gotten anything... no one remembered. Just then her father walked in, a grin on his face and his hands behind his back.

"I got you a birthday present" he told her. The little girl smiled, happy someone had remembered.

"What is it daddy?" daddy is all she was allowed to call him. Not dad or Charlie, it was daddy. 'Daddy' removed his t-shirt.

"This" he pounced on her and he had her pinned to the bed. She fought, she punched and kicked. She fell limp when he smacked her hard in the face. The second time he had hit her. Piece by piece their clothing went. her father took her hand and wrapped it around something. This was wrong... she know how she knew... she just knew this wasn't right but the smack hurt and she didn't want another one. Her father began to touch her, he did this for a while before he removed her hand and grasped it himself. He pulled himself to her. She could see it dissapear when the most agonizing pain ripped through the lower half of her body

"Stop. Please stop!" the girl begged but no avail. If anything he went harder... deeper. She screamed for the pain to go away. Charlie made a noise and then he was gone, the pain was still there but he was gone. She tried to stand but her legs crumpled and she fell to the floor.

There she cried until she passed out from the pain.

*end flashback*

It would all be over soon. The pain... the suffering would end and she would be free. Heaven or Hell she didn't know which, anything was better than here.

Moving the scissors to just before half way, she splaced the scissors to the right side and cut deep. She watched through the mirror as she scissors moved and made a cross shape covering her right arm from the elbow down. Several scars had been re-opened but the pattern was clear. To cross the cuts hurt like a bitch but still... it didn't compare to past expirences. No one would miss her, she had no friends apart from the Cullens but she wrote a letter to each of them. She was quiet in school, never talking unless asked a question.

Satisfaction filled her as the blood dripped. A sigh escaped her as she entered the bath, already filled with steaming hot water. Leaning her arm against the bathtub a few drops of blood slipped into the water. She watched it turn red and smiled. Her first real smile since she was 9 as she felt herself slipping away. Almost completely numb she closed her eyes. She was finally free...

That night Isabella Marie Swan died at the age of 17 years old. Only she awakened three days later with red eyes, face to face with Carlisle Cullen.