This is my first fanfic- I hope you like it!!!! And please, please, please, please, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW!!!

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight, or any of its characters. Stephenie Meyer does.

Bella's point of view

I grabbed onto the table and fought for breath, trying for one moment to escape the cruel torture my father was inflicting on me. When Charlie, my dad, noticed I was getting away, he grabbed my hair and wrenched me back with brutal force.

"I'm not finished with you yet, brat," he snarled, and pounded on my body with his hard knuckles. Pain blossomed at the base of my spine and shot up my back.

"Please, please," I gasped, "please stop. I'm begging you." Charlie laughed mercilessly. "Beg all you want," he said menacingly. "It'll only make things worse. For you, that is." And with that, he slowly pulled out a knife from the pocket of his grimy flannel shirt and drew it from the hollow of my neck to the start of my jaw. I screamed and writhed as white-hot agony burned from the wound. The foul scent of my blood wafted up to my nose, and my eyes watered from the smell.

Charlie laughed. He was enjoying all of this. Just as he was about to maul my body with the knife again, though, I was saved by a loud knock at the door.

"Charlie," a gruff voice came from behind it. "Open up. I've got beer." My father heaved a sigh, like he was debating something in his head.

"I guess you're done for today, Isabella. Just be expecting me to want to have more quality time with you after work tomorrow," he said, throwing his face into mine. I nodded shakily and stood up.

"Get upstairs and don't come down, or else you're going to get it. Maybe, if I think you're worthy enough, you can have dinner tonight. Now scram," he barked out. I leaped away from the dust-blanketed kitchen floor and scrambled for the stairs, wincing when the injury on my chest let out a fresh wave of pain. I didn't stop, though, until I got to my room. The rickety door shivered on its hinges when it was slammed shut with all the force I could muster.

This was not at all what I had been bargaining for when I moved in with my dad. My mom had been murdered two months ago in Phoenix, Arizona, and until now, I'd been living with my grandma. I knew I was going to have to live with my dad eventually, but I hadn't done so because I needed time to grieve for my mother in her hometown and things needed to get set up here. I had arrived at this small house with peeling, ugly, grey-blue paint yesterday. Charlie had picked me up from the airport and taken me here. I thought he seemed like an all right guy. The moment I had stepped into the house, though, he said, "So, how do you like Forks?" I had just shrugged and smiled, "Okay, I guess. I haven't really seen much of it yet." He had grinned evilly. "Well, babe," he said in a falsely cheerful voice, "you aren't going to like it much now." And with that, he had raised his fist and had brought it down on my body repeatedly, while I had screamed loud in shock and horror as agony riddled through my body each time his knuckles connected with something. Charlie had beat me for more than an hour and a half twice that day, and had fed me one piece of bread and a little strip of cheap, stale beef jerky that I could barely even swallow. I was sent to bed, and when I couldn't stop sobbing, he knocked me out with cold medicine.

Anyway, back to the present tense. I carefully laid my body down onto my bed and took off almost all my clothes, inspecting my body for the damage that Charlie created. Bruises were just beginning to appear on my torso, arms, legs, and neck, and nasty gash he'd done with the knife was still gushing blood. I sighed. I knew I couldn't report this to the police, for two reasons. The first was that Charlie had threatened to kill anyone important to me if I did, and the second was that Charlie was the chief of police here in this rainy town of Forks. If I went to the authorities, he was sure to lie and beat the hell out of me when we both got home. I sighed, and the movement hurt my throat. No, I couldn't go to the police, I couldn't tell my grandmother, I couldn't tell my friends back home, I couldn't tell anyone. I guess I would have to just tough it out here and try to live through a couple more years with Charlie, then run away and get my own place, preferably in a warm, sunny place. I heaved another painful sigh. Two years seemed a long way away, especially because of what was in store for me with the time in between.

I breathed out heavily one last time and tried to go to sleep. Try as I would, I couldn't, because of the acute, throbbing pains all over my body, especially on my chest. Eventually, at around ten thirty or eleven at night, I fell into a fitful sleep. (Italics means she's in her dream.)

I looked over the plain of endless sand, walking, trying to find something, someone, anything, but I couldn't. It was just me, the sand, and…nothing. An absolute and complete loneliness filled me, starting at my toes, slowly moving up my calves, thighs, torso, chest, neck, and finally my head, so it enveloped my whole body. Somehow, I knew that I would be alone, always, and with that knowledge, I started to scream. I screamed and screamed, until something hard collided with my head.

Suddenly, I snapped back into consciousness, and my father's face greeted with me. As usual, his fair brown hair was falling slightly over his night blue eyes, with his high cheekbones seeming to stick out more than usual.

"You were screaming in your sleep," he growled. I sat up.

"Oh," I said. Charlie pushed me off the bed and snapped, "I've got to go to work now. You can have a bowl of cereal. Dress in whatever, just don't let it reveal any injuries." He kicked me savagely, and then left the room. A couple of moments later, I heard the roar of his ancient truck's engine in the garage, but as he went farther away, it grew fainter and fainter, until finally, I couldn't hear anything but the intake and release of my own breath.

I looked at the clock. Six thirty. I had just enough time to throw on jeans and a t-shirt with a hoodie over it, quickly run a brush through my dark brown hair and pull it into a ponytail, and eat before I had to leave to start walking to school at seven.

I breathed in the fresh, cool air of the outside as I stepped outside of the house. I locked the crummy front door with my key and started for school, the one place I knew I didn't have to be afraid of Charlie.