Ok, so this is my first story on Alice and Jasper. I've decided to make it that they're human (Edward, Jasper and Rosalie are the children of Carlisle and Esme). So please R&R and enjoy!

Alice's POV

The walls of the basement were a dark, fading grey. I stared at them blankly, completely aware of the fact that my bruised limbs were aching, and that I was almost on the brink of death. A few tears escaped my eyes, though my face displayed no emotion. To survive within this household, you had to be blank. Lifeless. You couldn't be seen or heard.

The bitch was drinking again. The living room carrying a strong waft of her booze and vomit. I hoped she would slip over the contents of her stomach and die. It was harsh, yes. But after what I had lived through. The hell...the shit I had put up with. I was not going to go a day without subconsciously trash talking my step mother.

I closed my eyes, drowning myself in my thoughts. I knew I was losing myself. All the physical abuse I had received had been stabbing at my emotions, and the person I used to be. I was a fading light. A shadow. I was never going back to the life I had before this. There was only one factor that would shift everything back to when my life wasn't this hell hole. But I couldn't raise the dead. As much as I had tried. Begged God. I knew they weren't going to come back for me. Because they couldn't.

I shifted my body carefully arranging my position on the moulding mattress. I couldn't make a sound. One tiny squeak and that would be the end of Mary Alice. Gingerly, I lifted my bruised arms, wincing as the pain grew at my movements. I lay back on my dust laden pillow and closed my eyes, hoping that the night would drag on, and that morning would never come. I couldn't face her again.

As morning light cascaded on my face, I frowned. Not because it didn't feel pleasant to have microscopic dust motes run along my skin...but because it was a change of scenery. The basement was a damp, dark place. It clearly resembled a medieval dungeon. You wouldn't find any light down there.

I was about to open my eyes when the odour of tobacco burned through my lungs. I groaned internally as a shadow loomed over my figure. She leant against the counter, one elbow leaning on the marble, the other hand occupied by the lighted cigarette. I noticed the large pint of beer beside her arm. Her stubby fingers were itching to get to the drink. There wasn't a time where this woman was sober.

"Get up."

I groaned quietly, stumbling onto my knees. My stepmother's tiny eyes didn't miss a thing. She snorted, flinging ashes everywhere as her body shook with mock laughter.

"I said GET UP!" she shrieked, her voice reaching two octaves higher. Her eyes bulged as I wobbled into the best standing position I could manage. I was surprised that she hadn't hit me yet. She would probably smash the glass on my head once she'd finished indulging her addiction.

I stared around. I had been lying on the cold tiles of the kitchen floor. Shaking my head slightly, I kept my posture frozen, waiting for her verdict. The cold silence didn't last for long.

"So," she began, her foot tapping sharply on the ground, "You decided to steal from me did you?"

I almost raised an eyebrow. Instead, I composed my face into a blank expression. I didn't know what she was talking about, but I knew it could've been a ruse to give her an excuse to abuse me. It wasn't the first time. She had broken my arms with her bare hands when she suspected me of stealing food from the kitchen. I wasn't stupid. I knew that I ate what I got. Even if it was my own vomit. It was better than going hungry in this household. She had known that I hadn't taken anything, yet her paranoid personality had caused me to be rushed to hospital with a dysfunctional arm. Because I had 'fallen'.

"I-i don't know what you're talking-

"Shut up!" she hissed, "You know you stole my ring. You know you fucking stole it you little bitch!"

I flinched. Her wedding ring. Of course her husband had left her years ago. I envied his freedom. I doubted that she even remembered him. And judging by the amount of alcohol she consumed, she shouldn't have been able to say her own name. She misinterpreted my discomfort for guilt.

"Why you little pig!" my stepmother growled, her eyes rolling to the back of her head. She stepped forward, the stench of alcohol overpowering my senses. I heard swooping as her arm raised to strike at me with as much force as she could muster I stumbled back as I felt the impact of her punch on my cheek. Blood poured into my mouth, forcing me to gag.

"Say it!"

A kick stabbed my ribs, my head crashing into the wall. I felt her blow crack my head open. Her foot fell on my face, pressing it down with a sickening crunch.

"Say it you ungrateful nuisance!"

My mind was screaming pain. I couldn't even make a noise as my mouth was overflowing with blood and saliva. I coughed up more red. She removed her foot and started to kick my midsection again. The pain was too much.

"Confess! Confess that you stole the ring you little imbecile!"

I wouldn't give in. I couldn't. If she was taking me down. I would go down with as much pride that I could muster. Even if it was limited.

*crack*

One rib down.

*crack*

My skull cracking open. My scream was muffled by the blood clogging my throat.

*thump*

And there's another bruise on my stomach...

I knew my body couldn't resist any longer. The darkness overwhelmed me as I felt myself leaving my semi conscious state. I was drifting off into oblivion. My ears strained enough to hear the last words she scoffed as I went under.

"Get up you piece of shit."