Okay, so this is something I wrote that has been in my head for weeks now! I hope you like it, and please tell me what you think.
Warning: This is M rated for language and sexuality.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
You hide under your bed as the screaming escalades, the hurtful words still echo in your mind. Parents, people that should make you feel safe, make you feel hope, only bring you fear; fear of the way things could be and the way they'll never be. Beyond the masquerades and carefully placed masks and facades, they hate each other, and their relationship is toxic and you wonder if that is what love feels like, pain. As tears pour down your cheeks, your eight-year old body shakes as they won't stop screaming.
Finally you close your eyes and pray silently to God, and you're not even sure he's listening, but your family taught you that God cares for everyone and loves all his children. So you to Him, hoping He's listening, and you speak the words in hushed whispers.
"Please, please don't let me fall in love until I meet my second half," you plead quietly.
And the images of your depressed mother and hurting stepfather, who's practically your daddy, flood into your brain. No, you don't want what they have; you want something better.
…
Six years later.
Your fourteen now, and the preacher's kid is always hanging around your house. Alex, your stepfather, can't do yard work due to arthritis, so he's hired Royce to mow and weed eat. The two of you are awkward together, but a familiar sense of longing is there and you've never felt this way about anyone. His sandy, blonde hair to his cute dimples and blue eyes practically make you melt. He is quite the charmer and you're crushing badly.
As you watch him working from the window your mother suggest you take him a glass of water. You nod enthusiastically and fill a large glass with tap water. Looking at yourself briefly in the mirror, you know you're going through an awkward stage with your looks, but you're satisfied. You're tall, much too skinny, but you're pretty. Long wavy, blonde hair flows down your back and your face is pretty.
Taking a deep breath, you walk slowly and your breathing hitches slightly when you notice his shirts off. He looks at you for a moment and flashes a smile before wiping the sweat off his brow. He takes the glass and a spark happens when he touches your hand, and his fingers linger before taking them away. His eyes are practically sparkling and you feel almost dumb, because you're never giddy.
"Thanks," he says breathy and you swear a small rush of lust sweeps through you.
You're still at the age where sexuality is so new and yet so exciting.
"No prob," you say with a smile.
Suddenly his eyes get a mischievous look in them and he slowly sets the water down on the ground, and you quirk an eyebrow at him. Then before you know it, he engulfs in a big bear hug and squeal in protest as all his nasty sweat gets all over you. He smells like cinnamon and sweat, and it makes your heart race at his proximity. Squirming while laughing, you finally break free and you start running.
You notice him chasing you and you slow somewhat so he'll catch you. You then feel him enclose behind you as he grabs your waist and you both go down in the grass. As he rolls on top of you, your breathing hitches because you want him to kiss you. You've thought about kissing, especially kissing him. And as he leans down, your heart goes wild with anticipation.
"Rosalie, your dad is on the phone," your mother's voice shouts.
You nearly groan out loud because the moment is passed. But you notice how he slowly takes his finger and lightly caresses your mouth. And right then and there you know he wanted it just as much as you did. And for now that's enough.
…
3 years later.
You keep thinking at some point you'll get over him, Royce and move on. Well he certainly has, practically dated the whole church except you. You think you might love him, and the thought pisses you off. Its humiliating, because you practically don't see anyone else but him. But despite how he ignores you, you see his looking at you when he thinks you're not seeing. You know there's some feelings still lingering there that he has for you, but for whatever reason he chooses not to express them.
Royce is a dick.
No really, he's a narcissistic jerk and likes fucking with your head. But you think you might really love him. His best friend Randy is in love with you though, and the thought disgust you. It's not that Randy is unattractive, but he's just so pathetically weak to the point of embarrassment. He's no Royce. He's a good friend even though he knows you treat him like shit.
Then you see Royce walk in, guitar in hand and you don't even swoon. But his eyes fall to the pretty blond near you, and you know she's his next conquest. He invites her to sing with him, to which she does, and as you see his eyes roaming her body, anger ignites in your veins. Suddenly you realize that you don't love him, you don't love him at all.
You just want him.
You just want to fuck him.
But you don't.
…
Four years later.
Twenty one and you're sitting in a conference. Next to you is a dirty-blond girl, who isn't particularly pretty, really average actually. But she intrigues you, and somehow you find yourself wanting her to notice you, and not in a platonic way, and the notion terrifies you. You don't have problems with homosexuals, but your father is a minister, and you he's your last chance. Since being disowned by your own stepfather, this family is all you have left.
Disturbed you walk out briskly saying you're just tired. But you that you can say that till you're blue in the face, and it won't change anything. Truth is, you've always wondered why you only were sexually attracted to one man your whole life. Matter-of-fact, men in general didn't interest you at all, well not enough to act on anything. At twenty-one, you made out for the first time and nothing happened. You didn't feel anything, except emptiness. The boy was hot, but nothing turned you on at all.
And for the first time, you face the possible reality of your situation that night.
Maybe there is a reason you're not attracted to men.
…
One Year later
Finally you came to the conclusion of what you are. You are into people, not gender. And the girl you've met has caught your interest. She's a lesbian, and she knows or has a good idea you might like her. But you're not like her, she's so sure, so unafraid. Her personality is sweet, and kind but there's a quiet strength there. Her long brown hair and hazel eyes stir things inside you and you want more. But your family will never accept you for who you are.
"I've seen you, seen the way you look at me" she stated quietly. "And I think you just want to be wanted," she continued in the dark room.
Her face was so close, too close. Her minty breath was on your cheek.
"I want you, and I know you want me back," she claimed as her face came closer. "There's nothing to be afraid of, never with me" she said as her lips ghosted over yours.
The sudden urge to press your lips to hers, almost becomes overwhelming, but instead you pull back and stand up. She'll ruin you, and you won't be ruined.
"Don't," you choke out. "Don't do that ever again," you say stronger this time.
And you watch her eyes blaze slightly before she stands up in front of you.
"How long?" She demands harshly. "How long are you going to keep denying this, denying us?" She borderline yells.
"It's not that fucking simple," you scream back. "You don't have anything to lose, but I have everything!" You continue screaming before turning your back on her. "When I was a little girl I prayed to God that he wouldn't let me fall in love until I met my other half," you continue softly before getting angry again and turning back around to her. "And it really shouldn't surprise me that it was you," you spit out. "And you know why?" You ask with a hysterical laugh. "Because God takes pleasure in my pain," you grind out before grabbing your purse and walk out the door.
"Don't, don't run from this Rosalie" she pleads as you go.
You ignore her desperate voice and keep walking.
"Well fuck you then! Fuck you Rosalie Hale!" She screams.
And now as you see her flirting with some guy named Edward, you can't help but be jealous. Isabella belongs to you, she belongs to you, and yet she doesn't. And you know she's doing this to spite you, because she cares nothing for him. But despite what you know, you find with each caress and seductive glance your blood burns with a raging anger and desire. Her hand then lightly caresses his bicep and you know she's giving his some bullshit comment about how sexy he is.
When he lightly brushes the exposed skin on her waist you lose it.
"Rosalie wait," the man beside you calls. Emmett is his name, and he's really sweet but not your type. He doesn't interest you at all, because he isn't HER.
And you faintly feel that familiar pang that you once shared with Royce.
As you walk away, you see yourself in the window. You know you look good, short blue dress and black, lacy tights and curled hair pulled back on one side. You dressed this way for her, for Isabella. Your feelings confuse you, for you know what you want, but what you feel like you should deny.
As you stand in the deserted hallway, you see her walking out alone. The hallway is dark, but you can still see the outline of the short red dress she's wearing. And suddenly an epiphany happens.
You want her.
You want to fuck her.
But you love her.
And this time you don't run away.
As she gets closer, still unable to see you, you quickly grab her wrists and roughly pin her to the wall and smirk as you hear her gasp. Rage and lust rage through you, burning through veins. Her eyes darken when she realizes it's you. Slowly leaning towards her ear, her wrists still held captive by your hands, you whisper.
"Did you enjoy him," you whisper darkly. "Did you enjoy touching him," you continue dangerously as you press your body into hers.
She moans lightly at the contact and practically drunk off her.
You've never felt like this before.
With anyone.
"No," she says shakily as you release one of her hands and caress her thigh softly, inching ever so slowly to the hem of her dress.
"Could he ever make you feel this way?" You ask as you continue your exploration, bunching her dress as she bends her leg to your waist.
Shaking her head quickly, you reach her lacy underwear and groan aloud when you feel its wetness. Getting right in her face, your eyes pierce into her own.
"I've got these feeling, so many fucking feelings that I don't what to do with," you say darkly as you stroke her through her underwear. "Feelings for you," you continue as she practically begins to shake with want.
"God please," she pants as she bucks against your fingers.
Smirking, you continue to stroke.
"Please what," you demand so turned on by power and her.
She moans loudly before smothering your lips with her own and you can taste strawberries and cigarettes on her breath. Parting your lips, she slips her tongue inside and both of yours explore, feel and taste. As she caresses her tongue to yours, she leans back breaking the kiss and you almost moan in protest.
"I love you," she states looking you right in the eye. "I've always loved you, from the moment I met you I knew I would love you," she continued strongly.
And suddenly everything falls in place, and nothing matters but her.
"Now," she begins her eyes turning darker again. "Fuck me," she says and you don't miss how she purposefully causes her bottom to catch in her teeth while saying 'fuck.'
And so you do.
Right on this wall.
You fuck her, fuck her hard not being gently with your fingers.
And you make love to her.
And you're happy, blissfully happy and so is she.
And you'll deal with tomorrow when tomorrow get's here.
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