Disclaimer: I do not own the characters Stephenie Meyer, Author of the twilight series has created, but I do own the plot line of this story. Any infringement is not intended. Warning: do not steal my idea.

I sit quietly in the creaky run-down lazy boy my parents bought years ago, wincing as the torn leather fabric pinched my sickly pale skin as I sank into its confines. The chair was practically deteriorating before my eyes. My shoulders slumped and a wave of sadness enveloped me as I realized that this was a perfect analogy of my life.

My life was destroyed years ago, until I became an outsider to my own life. Watching as it deteriorated and withered before my own eyes. Watching as it played out in front of me as I looked on with bored eyes.

My mother, Renee, jolting me out of my internal musings, making me put my wallowing on pause, asks me to turn the television to her favourite station: Lifetime. Apparently, I'm their human television remote.

I quietly comply with her request and do what my mother commands, only to be stopped by the pathetic excuse for a father that sits beside her. He barks at me harshly, commanding me to disobey my mother and yield to his wishes instead.

I'm about to comply after I complete the task my mother already has requested of me.

Charlie grows impatient with me. He shows me no respect, so I show him none in return. Isn't that what they say? "To earn respect you must give it?" Well I fully believed in that saying and I stand firm in my belief. Even him I'm just grasping at straws to justify my behaviour.

Charlie, my father, Chief of police overreacts in response to my sluggish behaviour to complete his order and tries to save face in front of my mother. He resorts to pushing and hitting his daughter, me, demonstrating his role as the alpha of this pathetic and fucked up excuse for a family.

He removes his hand swiftly but leaves behind evidence of his assault. In its place, her hand is adorned with black and blue marks and now red to add to her almost healed marks. Decorating her skin and displayed proudly like a beacon of light.

I don't wince. I refuse to let him see the physical pain he causes me by revealing the emotional storm raging behind my stony mask. I'm not afraid of him anymore and I does not cower in his presence as of late. I… have learned to adapt.

Instead, I choose to stare at him, allowing my mask to slip just this once and disbelief shines clear on my facial features.

His actions confirm what I've been trying to tell my mother for years.

The words "woman abuser" and "child abuser" echoes in faintly through my mind, the words resounding, bouncing off the far corners of my mind as well as Renee's mind and at that very moment, our eyes connect.

Mother to daughter. I'm communicating silently with my eyes, reiterating the very words I've spoken long ago many times, the words that my mouth cannot repeat anymore. Repetition gets tedious.

My mother breaks the connection with our eyes and casts her eyes downwards, refusing to look at me, her daughter, in the eye. Knowing what she would surely find rooted firmly in my eyes: Betrayal.

My eyes harden and I turn my gaze back to my father. I'm angry…furious.

I summon all of my courage and in that moment a weight has been lifted off of my chest as rip the imaginary thread from locking and sealing my lips together tightly. I speak the truth out loud and scorn my father venomously.

I could almost hear the faint thuds of the spittle that escapes my mouth along with my words.

Charlie's furious with me and in retaliation, he picks up a thick black cable cord and threatens to beat me with it and my mind travels back to a time where he did beat me with such a monstrosity. The only difference is he did not use a cable cord, but used a piece of the green garden hose in its place where he bent it once to create a torturous weapon.

I remember, with crystal clear clarity and push down the mounting fear within me and dare him to strike me with my eyes. I taunt him.

He backs down and so does she.

This is the first time he's hesitated to hit me.

I yearn to spit on him like the dirt he is but instead, I storm off and situate myself beside my mother. I fumed silently, crossing my arms across my torso in an effort to stop my limbs from attacking him. I claw into the skin on my arms, digging into it to anchor me from launching myself at him.

I smirk darkly. Who am I kidding? I don't have the balls to attack my own father.

And then I remember:

He will meet his demise.

I shake out of my anger induced stupor and concentrate on the task at hand.

There he lies on his clean sheets on his bed with his wife by his side. My eyes linger on his wife for a moment as my fingers on my left hand caress the cold hard aluminum beneath my fingers like a tentative lover.

I smile softly at the calming feeling such an object can give to me and I continue to watch his wife as she sleeps peacefully nestled into his side.

How sickeningly sweet.

I hesitate for a second. Do I really want to do this? I ask myself uncertainly. Yes, yes I do.

However, my smile falters as I encounter a hurdle of indecision of who I should share my "calm" with first. The husband or the wife? The father or the mother? My frown does not last long as I make my decision and my smile re-appears full force.

"Batter up! She's ready to bat, and you can see immense concentration on her face!" my imaginary baseball commentator exclaims and I can't help but chuckle darkly at my errant thought as I plant my feet firmly on the freezing cold tiled floor.

It's dark but light was streaming through the window from the moon illuminating the ill lighted bedroom, illuminating the faces of the faux parents lying in front of me.

My eyes glint wickedly as a loud crack echoes through the air, and a pained cry pierced through the silent night. Hands tried desperately to grab for me blindly and I take another swing reveling in the dark music of cracked bones and pained cries.

His wife jolts awake when her husband jostles the bed and screams like a wild banshee. Asshole. He is so inconsiderate I note clucking my tongue while shaking my head in disappointment.

Renee turns to look for the source of her husband's pain, and her distraught eyes land on a very distressed and haggard looking Bella. My mother stares, frozen for a moment as she witnesses the smile slowly forming on her daughter's lips. And at that moment, she knows that this is not her Bella anymore.

She quickly forgets about her husband lying paralyzed with pain beside her, and her body prepared to scream.

I watched in amusement as I witnessed her mouth open wide and her chest puff out as she gulped down the air greedily.

My smile grows impossibly wider. My eyes danced with delight. She wet her lips and it's like I'm in a movie, and the climax has just begun.

The air rushes out of Renee's mouth in a loud whooshing sound after a dull thud is heard.

The sound of my aluminum bat connecting with my mother's stomach is like music to my ears.

"Demon! I rebuke you in Jesus name!" Renee wheezed out.

I let out a bitter laugh as it is clear as day that she still strongly believes that the way she molded me: with harsh words and black and blue skin; that I am the one possessed.

I spat on her and do not spare her another glance… not yet.

I returned my attention to the "woman beater", "child abuser" and half a man lying in bed next his sociopath of a wife, only to be disappointed at the sight before me.

I pouted as I realized he was lying unconscious on the mattress, knocked out by the pain inflicted on him.

A bout of compassion crashes over me and I decide to grant him this kindness and let him rest. He's going to need it.

My pout doesn't last long as I glance over at his wife again and I clucked my tongue disapprovingly and express my disappointment with words about her husband to her.

Smirking, I stalked predatorily towards her.

The night has just begun…

Author's note: Hey this is just a teaser preview of what is to come. Review if you like me and wish for me to continue. Thank you.