Disclaimer: I own neither Twilight nor Hell.

Author's Note: First I'd like to thank my amazing beta HappyMess who really helped me with all of this! This is going to be a short story: maybe 4 or 5 chapters. This is all in Bella's point of view.

This story is very much based upon Lolita Pille's Hell. It's not mine, so please don't sue. This is All-Human and very much OOC. For those who are easily upset, don't read: it deals with sex, drugs, alcohol, abortion and all those sensitive subjects. If you review (and I hope you do), please don't tell me abortion is wrong or that abortion is murder because it pisses me off to no end. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion but I don't have to listen to yours if I don't like it, so please abstain.

Hell

~ Bella ~

I'm a bitch. The kind of bitch you can't stand, the kind of bitch you loathe. I'm such a bitch, I'm sure you wish I were dead. Don't worry sweetheart, I wish the same to you. I'm the dazzling symbol of capitalism and of privileges. I don't care for anything except me. I spend more time applying makeup and sunbathing than you do working in order to sustain your poor and pathetic little needs. I'm the pure product of the Think Pink generation, my credo: be pretty and consume. I'm the muse of the God Appear on whose alter I cheerfully sacrifice more money than you make in a month.

I'm a bit of the flashy side, I know. I must look like a total tart dressed in Gucci from head to toe. You think I'm stupid and shallow. Well, that might be true but you would be wrong to underestimate me. I'm very much lucid about the life I lead. My good looks are my weapons. They're going to help me find a husband at least as filthy rich as daddy. I won't work. I'll be a trophy wife. I don't care. It's what I've been brought up to be.

I despise you. I don't even see you; you're not part of my world. There's you and there's us.

We live a 200mph life. We mix alcohol with weed, weed with coke and coke with ecstasy. Guys fuck hookers bareback and then cum inside their little sisters' girlfriends who are anyway willing participants in orgies from dawn to dusk. We're in a complete delirium of sex, drugs and money. We take Prozac like you take Tylenol and we'd like to commit suicide at every bank statement.

Well, right now, I don't care about all the money I'm going to spend—waste—today. All I care about is the outfit I'm going to wear to lunch with Rosalie and Alice. I've got one hour to get dressed. So much to do in so little time. Abundance is not a gift; believe me, the issue being the multiplicity of choices. All these fucking clothes and nothing to wear. I'm standing in front of my walk-in closet in a bra and a thong, a cigarette in my mouth, waiting for the inspiration to come. Without much conviction, I end up putting a light pink Chloé dress that I've already worn in Saint Tropez at Spring Break. My Prada ballet flats are in the atrium. I grab my Gucci purse from the coffee table and luckily, I've bought the very last Chanel sunglasses. Gorgeous, tanned and monogrammed, I leave my apartment the heart and the foot light.

My cell phone is ringing.

"Yeah?"

"Honey! Where are you? We've been waiting for half an hour."

It's Rose and I can hear Alice in the background talking about the last shoes she bought.

"I'm in a cab. I'm just around the corner."

"OK, hurry up! You'll never believe who's here!"

Five minutes later, I'm entering Le Flandrin. I quickly find Rosalie and Alice. As soon as I'm seated, Rose starts to lynch everyone who's in the restaurant. It's not see and be seen, it's lynch and be lynched. Everyone is talking about everyone. Just listen…

She had a nose job… Felix's dad paid his way out of jail… James bought a new girl… Kate is in Italy right now… Jane just bought a $12000 Chanel purse… I've snorted so much coke at D's party my head is still hurting… I've fucked with Alastair last night… I heard Victoria is pregnant… There's a party at Aro's place tonight… Cynthia let Ryan fuck her in the ass last night…

I'm so tired. In the cab that's taking me home, I get the feeling I've wasted my entire day. My head is aching because I smoked too much. What did I do today? I ate a confit de canard with roasted potatoes and six raspberry macaroons. I said hello to forty-two people today and I was introduced to six I didn't know before. You dream about our opulence, about our wealth. You dream about our fast cars, our golden lifestyle. Money, cars, expensive clothes, jewelry, fancy restaurants, houses all over the world… It's all fake. We're jaded. The truth is that we're bored out of our fucking minds because there's nothing we want anymore. We've got everything. There's no dream, no hope, no desire. The world is too small, we already went everywhere. My life is a never-ending masquerade.

The night is coming and I'm in cab heading to the latest club. Parked in front of the club, there are a multitude of cars: Ferraris, BMWs and Mercedes but my eyes are caught with a red Aston Martin with EAC-0620 on its license plate. Rose and Alice are meeting me there. I find my way through the dancing people, the smoke and the tables. Rose is drinking her third martini and Alice is happily texting away. She glances up when she sees me.

"Michael is here," she says to me with a sad smile on her face.

Michael is my dreaded ex and I hate him with the burning passion of a thousand suns. I fell for his game and he screwed me over, literally and figuratively.

"Fuck him!" I answer her as she hands me her drink for a sip.

"That's the spirit honey!" Rose says as she gets up and goes to the center of the club to dance with the guy who has been eying her since she entered the club.

I say hello to a thousand people. I don't have enough fingers to count the guys I've slept with and who are here tonight. I dance a little. I drink and I drink and I drink and I occasionally go into the bathroom to snort a rail of coke. I observe people in the coke haze I'm swimming in. I start to wonder what the hell I'm doing here when I could be in my room watching re-runs of Ally McBeal.

Several hours later, I end up in a guy's room. The floor is covered with empty condom wrappers. I'm drained. The guy is above me thrusting in and out and all I think about is that I've got an appointment tomorrow to get an abortion.

On the way back home, I can't feel my legs and my chest is tight. Rimbaud is dead and I'm just a slut. I'm exhausted but I don't want to sleep. I don't want anything. I don't want to be alone but I don't want to see anyone.

The sun is shining as I'm leaving the hospital alone. I put on my sunglasses. My stomach hurts. Alice is waiting for me at the Plaza and I can't find a cab. I'm wearing a pair of Dolce & Gabbana jeans, a Cacharel t-shirt and grey Chuck Taylors. My sunglasses hide half of my face. I'm not crying; I just want to find a cab.

I arrive at the Plaza an hour late. Alice is at our usual table and she's reading Nabokov.

"Where the fuck were you?"

"I got an abortion"

She didn't hear or maybe she didn't listen. She puts down her book and lights up a cigarette. I need some Tylenol. The pain is killing me. I take one from my purse and I grab her glass thinking that it's orange juice. I almost choke when the bitter taste of vodka touches my tongue. Alice doesn't usually start this early in the morning. She takes off her sunglasses and her eyes are red and puffy.

"What's wrong?"

"My father, as usual."

Alice's mother killed herself when she was three and she lives alone with her Dad who is the archetype of the fifty-something womanizer, heroin shooter and CEO of one the biggest company of the country.

She starts telling me that she can't stand her dad anymore. His violent moods, the 15-year old hookers she always find in the kitchen the next morning, the never-ending party in her apartment, the heroin, the coke, the awkward silence at dinner, her dad being always gone, the scandals in the press…

I don't know what to say. Actually, I don't fucking care one bit. She carries on whining as she puffs on her Marlboro.

"He gave me money to go shopping. Again. I don't care about his fucking money! I've got a purse full already! It's not going to make me any better! I've been taking Prozac since I was 16, I need pills now to fall asleep, I go out every night, I drink, I fuck, I snort coke like I powder my nose, I go into hysterics, I cry, I scream, and all he can do is give me money, money, money, I'm sick of it…"

She's interrupted when her phone rings and she answers with a smile on her face.

"It's Jasper! He wants to see me! You don't mind if I leave, do you?"

I haven't even answered her and she's already throwing some money on the table and hailing a cab. I down the rest of her glass and decide to do some shopping.

Last night, I went out to a club. I had a few drinks, I snorted too much coke, I slept three hours and then I got an abortion, I took a drink with a depressive friend and now I'm going shopping. Today is a day like any other.

I enter the first store I see and once I'm inside, I realize it's Dior. I make my way among the clothes, the shoes, the purses, the swimsuits. I grab whatever I touch. My mind is elsewhere. I'm not going to wear half the things which hang on my arm. I buy them anyway. I exit the store not knowing where to go and I see that the sun is shining among the clouds.

I walk with my eyes open but I don't see anything. I see another store and my eyes are drawn to its window display. There's an oddly small t-shirt in the window. I couldn't even fit my arms into it. I don't understand. I stare at it and I realize that all the other clothes in the window are made in the same size. Little shoes, little t-shirts, little coats… I'm resurfacing. My breath is caught in my throat. I feel like I've been punched in the stomach and I feel like throwing up. A dreadful pain radiates in my body. A pain that no word, no action can comfort. A pain which causes bitter tears to run down my face. Tears which cry for the baby I had in my belly and who will never be born…

I pathetically sob in front of Baby Dior. I fall to the ground and I feel like I might die. I can't breathe and I cry and I cry on the ground. Then, after what feels like an eternity, someone is handing me a tissue. I glance up and through my tears; I make out a male face. He helps me get up and I feel his hand at my hip to steady me. I wipe my eyes and blow my nose. Now, I can see his face better. He's got striking green eyes framed by very thick eyelashes and bronze hair. He seems to be a little over twenty. He is gently smiling.

"Are you going to be ok?"

I nod my head and he hands me the shopping bags that I had dropped. In his other hand, there are more shopping bags. I reach out to take them.

"No," he says with a smile, "those are mine. I think I've seen you around. That's why I came to see if you were ok. Can I offer you a ride home? Or maybe I can hail a cab for you if you want to be alone."

I don't answer and I hear him calling a cab. He says a few words to the driver and hands him some money. He gently puts me in the cab and tells me to take care of myself. I look at my mysterious Samaritan and I see him getting into a red Aston Martin. I make out the license plate: EAC-0620.

End Note: This is going to be a very short story: there are seven chapters. I have already written the rest of this story so I will update pretty quickly. This is all in Bella's point of view.