Author's Note: I've always liked the Twilight abuse stories for some reason, and I like writing scenes like that, so I decided to try and make one myself. I'm not sure if that makes me a little messed up or what, but please review and tell me what you think. I reply to all reviews, and openly accept criticism, whether it's bad or good.

Disclaimer: Oh yeah, I totally own this . It's not like I'm a 15 year old girl or anything who wants to write a fanfiction. Noooo, I'm Stephenie Meyers and I am TOTALLY writing on fanfiction instead of publishing this story that could get me millions of more dolalrs .

Bella's POV: Chapter 1

I panted quietly, squeezing my eyes closed and gripping the edge of the table so hard my fingers ached. I bit my lip, holding back the screams that so desperately wanted to escape, building up in my throat. I knew better than to scream.

Another blow hit me in the side and I gasped, all the air rushing out of me. My teeth pierced my lip and I tasted blood, making me feel light headed. I mentally cursed myself for the sensation, telling myself I should be used to the blood by now.

"Say you're sorry!"

"I'm sorry!" I yelled out, tears burning my eyes. I wouldn't cry. Crying only made things worse.

"Who said you could talk?!" I fell to the floor as his fist crashed down on my lower back, knocking my legs out from under me. My head cracked against the floor and I winced, doubling over as he proceeded to kick me in the stomach, making me slide across the floor until I hit the wall.

Pulling my knees closer to my chest, I stopped moving, listening to him slowly walk closer. My breathing was erratic, labored, and every breath sent a burst of pain through my surely broken ribs. I could practically hear the smile on his face as he leaned down, his mouth close to my ear as he whispered, "Clean up the mess you made."

I waited until he was gone before I pushed myself up, wincing. Looking around, I tenderly poked my ribs with two fingers, trying to figure out which ones were broken. 3 on my left side were, just under the rise of my chest, and I think 4 on my right were as well.

Brushing it off- because I could always take some Tylenol- I started to clean. The contents of tonight dinner were splayed across the floor, the plates smashed against the wall. There was a broken lamp in one corner, the jagged pieces of colored glass glinting harshly in the light, and the chair I'd been sitting in was broken beyond repair.

Thankfully, it didn't take too long to clean, even though it was both a pain filled and difficult process. But by time I'd taken the garbage out, Charlie was asleep on the couch, the highlights of today's game flashing across the TV screen.

I trudged upstairs quietly, expertly avoiding the creaks in the staircase. If I woke him, he'd be angry, and things were always worse when he was angry.

Walking into my room, I closed and locked the door, sitting down on my bed and peeling my shirt off. There was a long bruise forming on my side and chest, already a dark purple that worried me slightly. The cut across my stomach from 2 nights ago was beginning to heal, but the burn on my lower back from last night was still an angry mark, the melted flesh shining painfully.

My arms were battered as well, bruises and cuts littering my pale skin, usually hidden by a hoodie or sweater. My cheek was bloodied and swollen from tonight, as was my lip, though the latter was my fault.

Walking into the bathroom, I cleaned the blood off gently, applying Neosporin to my cuts and the burn before bandaging up my torso. It was all I could really do for the broken ribs and painful bruises, hoping it would be enough and that the ribs would heal correctly.

Tonight hadn't been too bad thankfully. I had merely cooked his fish wrong, that's all. It was my fault. He loves me. He just wants me to do things right.

I kept repeating these things over to myself, trying not to think about the sadistic grin he always wore when he was hurting me, or the way he laughed when he managed to make me cry out. Or worst of all, how he's always sober, so that he knows exactly what he's doing.

Chasing the thoughts away with some water and Tylenol, I stumbled to my bed, lying down on my "good side" and closing my eyes, letting the silent relief of sleep claim me, and briefly wishing that I'll never wake up.

Author's Note: Go on... Press the review button... It doesn't bite... Much...