New story! Sorry about putting my other story on hiatus until further notice or adoption, but it had to be done. I hope my story will suck you in like I have seen other stories do to myself, and please, compliments, advice, and constructive criticism welcome!

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight. But I do own this "Sweet Lemon" lip butter from Bath & Body Works that tastes like bananas. Oh, and that bastard Damien is mine, although sometimes I wish he would do us all a favor and go die in a hole.

He would be coming home soon. And as much as I hated to admit it, I was scared. I was certain he would have ended my life the night before, had he not passed out on the floor, drunk enough to not know what he was doing to me. Usually if he wasn't drunk, he would be satisfied with the occasional slap, or verbal abuse.

Last night it had gone too far, too long.

He had come home from the local bar around midnight, throwing his keys on the table and kicking back in a chair, most likely finishing a beer. It was a wonder he hadn't been caught drunk driving or crashed into a tree. And he had long since acquired the skill of speaking without slurring when he was drunk, which was only learned so he could frolic in society without being questioned or stopped.

"Honey," he had yelled. "I'm home!"

He had been talking to me, of course, taunting me. I had long since learned to keep quiet, in hopes he would think I was asleep and skip that night's beating.

But this time, I hadn't been so lucky.

He had barged into the room, not bothering to knock, and in a sickly sweet voice had said, "What do you want to do today?" I kept my mouth shut, knowing my answer would have angered him more than my silence. Besides, that sentence sounded so awkward it didn't deserve an answer.

He had grabbed me by the front of my shirt, pulling me up two inches off the floor, and said menacingly, "Did you hear me? I asked you what you wanted to do today." I had remained silent, intent on getting it over with. It helped if he was angrier by the time he started. That way he would expend his energy quickly, instead of dragging it out longer than necessary. Not that any of this was necessary in the first place, but I would rather it be more painful and it be over quickly, than be in pain eternally.

He had thrown me to the floor, where I slumped against the wall. I felt his fist connect with my face, and I winced but didn't make any noise, as it would only egg him on. He grabbed my arm and squeezed harshly, while whispering crude things in my ear.

"You're getting what you deserve, bitch." he had said, walking out of the room, although I knew he wasn't finished with me yet. He returned with a poker used to move ashes around in a dying fire, glowing red-hot at the end. This was new. He had never burned me before. I suppose he would have gotten tired of his old tricks after a while, but this would cause permanent damage. He had never scarred me before, not for life.

That's what I was. A dying fire.

He had walked forward, smiling maniacally. I closed my eyes, not wanting to know when it was about to touch me, like getting a shot. Suddenly, pain pierced my upper arm and a silent tear rolled down my cheek. He had removed the poker from my arm, but the pain was still there. I could see him getting tired, too. Maybe if I slowed him down, he would go to bed before hurting me any more.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked, my voice hoarse.

"Because you are an ignorant little brat. And you disgusting children need to know what it's like."

I didn't get to ask what what was like, because he pressed the poker to my arm again, right under the other burn. I cried out, unable to stay quiet any longer. I opened my eyes to see him looking at me with an idiotic grin on his face, and he staggered. He reached out with the poker to press it to my face, but before he could touch me, he had fallen to the floor, having fallen asleep.

Now he was about to come home again. This was the only time he abused me, at night, after he came home drunk. I didn't go to school, obviously, since I wouldn't have been able to cover up all of the marks he had left on me. I hadn't gone to school since I had been thrust into this horrible situation two and a half months ago, after my last foster parents had gotten into a bad fight, and the neighbors had heard and someone called the police. The only reason I was still in this place was because my foster father, Damien, had a completely different face in public. He was courteous and pleasant, even to strangers, and was a well-respected man. After his ex-wife had finally gathered up enough courage to leave him, he had no outlet for his anger, and used his position in society to get a foster child.

That would be me.

Review! Whatcha think?