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Lost and Found

Summary:
Carrie, an abused teenager, has moved to Forks, Washington. She longs to find freedom, but is it as she has expected? Will she ever find happiness. Sorry I suck at summaries. My first fanfic. Read and review please. rewrite with chicke


Notes:
Disclaimer: I do not own twilight and my friend doesn’t mind being a character and is looking forward to what I write Lost and Found A Twilight crossover Pairings usual except for Edward/my character Bella/Jacob My character is based on my best friend, the only one that I ever trust. There are similarities between them, but this one has an ending. I’m trying to write it as if from her point of view. It will change POV sometimes. Senior year, Edward and Bella have split for good, but the Cullens haven’t left. I would like a review or something before I post the next chapter


1. Chapter 1

Rating 0/5   Word Count 661   Review this Chapter

Ch 1 Prologue

Forks, Washington, the wettest place on Earth apparently, but it didn’t matter to me. We wouldn’t be staying here for long anyways; we never stay anywhere for long. It doesn’t matter; it’s never home to me. No. Home is where the heart is, as the saying goes. Home is where there are people who look forward to your return from school. To see your parents smiling at you, asking how your day has been, stuff like that. No. There is never anything like that here or any where for me.

I’m sorry my name is Carrie. I don’t go by last name. I have one, but I don’t use it. It’s the family name. I have no family. Ok I have family in the biological sense siblings and parents, but that is as far as the word family gets me. Sure I have parents and siblings, who have moved off to start their own lives, but I have no family. They don’t acknowledge me, and I don’t acknowledge them. That’s the way it always has been, that’s the way it will always be. My parents, and I use the term loosely are not like parents at all. A Mother is suppose to be nurturing and caring, and a father is suppose to represent safety, protection, a provider or at least that is what I have heard. Not one of these qualities can be found in my parents at least not directed towards me. In a way I don’t even live with my parents. I’m not even really allowed in the house. I wouldn’t go in there even if you paid me.

But I digress. My point is this; I thought that this place would be like all the others. I would fade in then fade out and none would be the wiser. Another day would pass that I would be forever stuck in this jail, and in my shell. It may sound as if I have given up, and in a way I guess I have for I know that I will never truly be free until my death comes to claim me. But do not mistake my words for being suicidal I am not weak enough to take my life. All the things i have been through and all the pain I have experienced only makes me stronger. It’s only the chains that keep me down and discourages, that prevents me from blooming. I’m just too scared to break free for I have closed my eyes to the matter and accepted it as normal. I have discovered long ago that my chains represent my fear, I am too scared to break free. My eyes cant not see in the dark and without any light I can not move forward without risk of tripping, so I stay. I have become accustomed to my life and have long ago excepted it as normal.

I just accepted this hollow, lonely feeling with in me for it defines who I am. I am nothing, I am no one, my sole purpose in life was to just take up space, as I have been told repeatedly by my parents. I have come to accept everything they ever told me, when they did speak to me. Or more precisely at me; that is because I have never been told or shown otherwise. I wasn’t worth anything to anybody or anything. So I continued with my empty existence living only for myself and no one else.

That all changed when I allowed him in, or more accurately he forced himself in. With him I eventually opened up, but as I’ve said before, my true freedom will only come with my death. Or is it just an exchange of cages. A change for a cage that is less constrictive. I still haven’t really figured it out yet, but I’m not complaining.

As I’ve said before, my name is Carrie, and this is my story. My story of being lost then found.