This is my first fanfic, so be nice! I hope you like it...

Summary:

Anti-social geek, Bella, gets abused by Charlie. She hides it from everyone, but Edward, the popular jock who always teases her, thinks something is up. One night when things go too far between Charlie and Bella, she runs to Edward for help. Edward, who knows people that can help her, takes her across the country to free her from Charlie.

I don't think I have ever experienced so much anger in my life. At least, that's what I thought at the time. Some happy song was playing on the radio, and I turned it up loud, so I wouldn't have to listen to my mother nag at me.

My mom, Renee, turns to me and sighs. You could tell she was getting tired of me being so disobedient. I was no older than 14. She tried to speak over the blaring music, but couldn't.

We were in the car, and we were fighting over the volume.

"Stop! I don't want to talk to you!" I scream.

"Bella! Stop being ridiculous!" she yells back, trying to pull my arm away with one hand and turn the volume down with the other.

She was looking at me and driving with her knee. She multitasked all the time, so it was like a second nature for her to drive with her knee. I messed it up, though. I went too far.

It's still hazy in my mind, but I do remember crashing in the car. I remember hearing the sickening crunch of my mother's legs. I still hear her screams at night. We were trapped under the car for thirty long minutes. My mom died ten minutes before the ambulance came, while the twenty one year old girl died as soon as we collided. I was the only survivor of the crash.

After my mother died, I had to move from Phoenix, Arizona to Forks, Washington. My mom's husband, my stepfather, disowned me after my mom's funeral. The only family member I had left was my dad.

My mom left him before I could walk, and I didn't have any impression of him. My mother never talked about him either, so I assumed it was because he broke her heart. It turns out; it was the other way around.

Moving in with my dad was the biggest mistake of my life. My mom walked out on him and he still holds it against her. He didn't come to her funeral. I'm not even sure if he's upset about her death. Or he might be a little too upset.

Now here I am, 3 years later, holding an ice pack on my head and downing as many pills as I can without killing myself.

Charlie hasn't hit me as hard as he normally does. I think it's because school starts up tomorrow, and he doesn't want me filled with bruises. Charlie's a drunk, and he likes to hit me. It's how he gets his anger out, and I'm fine with it. I deserve it, after everything I've done.

He came home for a lunch break, and I didn't know. There was no food made for him, and he flipped. He grabbed me by the hair and spit in my face.

"How dare you not make me anything to eat! I provide you with so much, and you can't even do a simple task of making me a sandwich?" he yells. Charlie throws me into a wall, and I smack into it with a lot of force.

I make myself get up and I say, "I'll make you one now. It'll only take a few minutes." My voice was weak and croaky.

"No." Charlie glares. "I'll just go out to eat." I shrink back from him as he comes closer to my face. I bite my lip to keep myself from crying. He doesn't deserve my tears. I save them for when I'm alone.

I look at my image in the bathroom mirror and scowl. I'm a horrible excuse for a girl. I have pale skin to the point that I could probably blend in with a piece of paper. My hair and eyes are both brown, so I'm plain and average. I'm way too skinny, and I have no sense of fashion.

I don't want anyone to notice me. I don't want friends, and I don't want to get hit on. No guy would find me attractive if I actually tried anyway. I'm uncomfortable around guys. Charlie has made it almost impossible for me to have any friends. If girls want to come over and hang out, Charlie won't allow it. I always feel like the guy I'm with will hit me any second. I can't lead on that I'm getting abused, so I have to be as unsocial as possible.

After sitting on the toilet for a few more minutes, I get up. I was happy that I wasn't dizzy anymore. Charlie's favorite spot to punch is the back of my head. Since my hair is so dark, you can't see any bruising. My head is probably really deformed, though.

I head to my tiny bedroom and lay down on my bed gingerly. I was hoping that sleep, for once, would consume me. The only time I actually ever sleep is when Charlie knocks me unconscious. It's only happened three times. Let's hope it stays that way. I never sleep. I usually nap for an hour a few times a day.

I made sure my alarm clock was set to go off two hours before he came home, and I closed my eyes.

"Isabella!" Charlie screams from downstairs.

"What?" I reply, running down the stairs quickly.

He's sitting at the kitchen table with a disappointed look on his face.

"What's wrong?" I ask, sitting across from him.

Charlie's holding a white piece of paper in his hands, and my heart picks up pace. I have a feeling that it's my report card. I was hoping that my PE teacher would cut me a break. I am just incapable of hitting a ball with a bat. I'm only in 8th grade, though. Why should he get so obsessed over something that college scouts aren't even going to look over?

"You have a C," he states.

I link my hands together and look at the table, deciding it would be wise to not talk at all.

"Why do you have a C?" His face was absolutely furious.

"I'm not good at sports," I tell him quietly. I avoided eye contact. It usually ticks him off even more.

"Do you know what happens with people who get C's at school?" His eyes look menacing, and I hear my mom screaming in the background.

Suddenly, Charlie is on top of me, screaming profanities in my ear and slamming my head against the ground repeatedly.

I jump out of bed gasping. My eyes are wide as I look around my room wildly. You're safe, I tell myself. For now.

It's 3:30, so I decide to make dinner early. It can't hurt anything. I usually start at 4, but I'm already awake. Tonight, I've decided to make spaghetti for Charlie. Whatever he doesn't eat, he gives to me. I try to make extra for me without making it look like I did it on purpose. I learned my lesson the last time I did that.

I made sure I made it perfect before setting it down at his seat at the table. I set a beer and a glass of milk next to it. I always let him choose between the two. He never touches the milk. I can't help but keep trying. I'm still kind of hoping that there's still hope for us, and that he'll become a nice, loving father.

My hope dies down a little bit each day.

By the time I'm all done, I estimated that Charlie would be home in twenty minutes. I quickly arrange everything in the living room so he'll be able to get right to his sports channel without any problems.

I was just walking out of the living room when I hear his Police Cruiser pull up. My heart picks up pace. I won't lie; he scares the crap out of me.

Charlie opens the door and stomps into the room. I stand by his seat at the table silently. I hear him taking his shoes off, then his belt, and lastly, his gun. I relaxed a little bit. All he has now are his fists, although those are tough too.

Charlie doesn't even acknowledge my presence. He just sits down at the table and starts shoving the food into his mouth. He finishes the plate off and grabs the beer, chugging it all in one go. He finally looks at me and points to his plate and beer. I quickly grab his plate and put the rest of the spaghetti on the plate, also grabbing another beer. When I turned around, he downed the glass of milk.

He must have been thirsty. I can't even remember the last time he's drank anything other than alcohol. I set the plate of food down next to him, along with his beer. Afterwards, I grab the milk out of the refrigerator and pour more in his glass.

"No," he grumbles. I stop immediately and put the milk back in the fridge. Then, I sit across from him, wishing that it was me eating the spaghetti.

Charlie polishes the plate off and pushes it towards me. I pick it up and set it in the sink, rinsing it off with water.

"How was work?" I ask quietly. Charlie was getting up and heading towards the living room.

"Shut up and get me another beer."

I take away his glass of milk with a slight frown on my face. I hate being told what to do. I hate it so much. It's not like I can refuse his request, though. Being stubborn can really suck sometimes.

I sighed and opened the fridge. When my hand encircles around the beer, I hear someone clear their throat behind me. I spin around quickly, my heart racing.

Charlie was standing there with a serious expression on his face.

"We need to talk," he says.

"Okay," I reply, barely breathing. I hold out the beer can to him, and he snatches it from me.

Charlie starts walking up the stairs, and I slowly follow after him. What's he going to do? He said talk, but what if he's going to do something else? I gulp loudly, trying to swallow the bile in the back of my throat.

Charlie takes a left, into the bathroom.

I really wanted to ask him what was going on, but I was too afraid to speak. I take a left and follow him into the small space. Charlie was sitting on the toilet with his head in his hands.

"Look Bells," he starts off, lifting his head up. "I'm sorry for the way I have been acting. I shouldn't have flipped out on you like that at lunch. I never made any indication that I was going to be home. I know I need to get my shit together, but it's…difficult." Charlie looks at me sadly. "I understand if you hate me, but I just want you to know that I'm sorry and that you'll forgive me."

His apology sounded so sincere. Since I'm not one to hold a grudge, I nod slowly. "I forgive you."

Charlie smiles widely. "Good."

I smile back. First he drank the milk, and now he apologizes? Maybe my father has come to his senses and will actually be there for me.

"Would you like to go watch the baseball game with me?" he asks, standing up and taking a swig of his beer.

Not wanting to ruin his mood, I nod. I hate watching sports. They're so boring. I'll stick it out for Charlie, though.

"Cool, let's go." Charlie brushes past me and heads downstairs.

I smile widely while he's not looking. We're actually going to bond for once!

"Actually," Charlie says, pausing on the last step. "I'm in the mood for some chocolate cake. Can you make that for me? I'll even let you have a piece." He smiles at me, but it didn't reach his eyes.

Confused with all the change, I agree to make the cake. I guess it'd be better than watching boring baseball.

"K," he replies, walking to the living room. What is going on with him?

I sigh and search for the box to make cake. Do we even have cake? Charlie normally likes cookies more.

Once the box was located, I get out the ingredients and start the task. The entire time I was mixing it, I was thinking about Charlie, and what was wrong with him. When I put the pan in the oven, I figured it out.

He's on drugs.

Charlie likes drinking a lot more, but during really stressful times, he'll take drugs. They usually make him very serious and quiet. Now, they're making him…nice.

I plan to test the theory once the cake is done. I had to wait thirty minutes for the cake to bake, and then another fifteen before I could frost it. Turns out, we didn't have any frosting, though.

Shit.

I slowly walk towards the living room. He's going to kill me.

"Um, Charlie?" I whisper from behind him.

He turns around and stares at me. "What?"

"We, um, we don't have any frosting for the cake." I look at the ground and bite my lip nervously. If he's on drugs, maybe he won't freak out as much, right? This is a better way to test the theory if he's high.

"Go to the store and get some then. You know where the money jar is at. Just be quick."

I sigh quietly in relief. "I'll be quick," I reply, walking back to the kitchen and grabbing the money jar. It was sitting on top of the fridge. I grabbed a twenty out of it and then ran upstairs to get my shoes.

I can't believe he didn't hit me, or even raise his hand. Yeah, he was a little irritated, but he's usually livid. He's definitely on something.

Without a second though, I walk out the door, and start walking in the direction of the grocery store. Charlie never let's me outside of the house for groceries, unless it's Thursday, our shopping day.

It took me ten minutes to walk to the small store. The entire time, I was shivering. It was absolutely freezing out. I didn't think to bring a jacket, but it would've been dumb of me to walk back for one. So, I toughed it out and finally made it.

I got goose bumps once I walked in, because it was so warm inside.

I got straight down to business and headed for the baking area. Once I got there, I cursed. What kind of frosting does Charlie like on his cake? I scanned the types of frostings they have.

Would chocolate be too chocolaty? Does he like a lot of chocolate? Maybe he's weird and likes strawberry on it. Vanilla?

"Well, well, look who we have here."

What do you think? Should I continue? A review would be pretty awesome(:

~CR338