A one-shot. Mostly no dialogue, it explores Rosalie and Edward's relationships. Rosalie's POV. Thanks to J3nn for the wonderful beta job!
She's got long blond hair, a body that curves in all the right places, that confidently sexual demeanor — and a face both angelic and full of measured disdain. When she walks her whole body sways to a hypnotic rhythm only she can hear, and heads turn. Daylight shuns her skin. She spends weeks in the dark, only daring to see the sun through closed curtains and cracks in doors. Is that why she is so pale? Is that why she looks haunted?
Few know her secrets.
Only one person knows the thoughts that creep into her head when she remembers things.
Her and her secret-keeper don't talk of that time when she was truly the monster she believed herself to be.
This man is good at keeping secrets. He holds decades of them behind a chilly face and devastatingly hard eyes. He doesn't tell anyone the way she'd press her lips to his and the way he'd kiss her back, because what else was he to do when she was crying so desperately? When she's ostentatious and crude, he doesn't say that her real reason isn't just attention seeking, it's a way of being rough and invulnerable to anyone and anything. She likes it that way.
When she cried because she'd fallen in love, he didn't say anything. She never noticed the jealously in his eyes as he sat by her and let the tearless sobs shake her body. If he could fall in love, he wouldn't cry.
Vulnerable is the one thing she never is — only he ever sees her this way. She is by turns tender, angry, crass, affectionate, funny — a thousand unpredictable moods — but she never shows just how easy it is to tug off her imperfect mask of all encompassing shallowness. She dislikes that he sees her when she lets her walls down. He knows what she thinks, and she knows that he condemns her reasoning. Thinking is not feeling, and nobody knows the emotions that lead to her thoughts.
Her confidante is gone, stolen by the newcomers. Now she rarely sees his face upturned in annoyance at some shallow remark or bout of self-pity. He's always talking to the tiny woman and her mate.
Through the halls of a school she stalks, smiling and tossing her head with untouchable poise and allure. The dim and shadow is what lures her to this place. The security and simplicity is what keeps her here. Does she know she could have anyone; be accepted anywhere? She is lonely, among all the crowds of humans staring and whispering from afar.
Though she feels far more alone in the school than anywhere else — the school, where her husband can't hold her too close for fear of attracting attention — she dreads days when the sun comes out.
Her skin glistens with reminders of her sin and she slinks in and out of shade. Once she spent the day in the shower, trying to scrub off the sparkles that cut into her eyes and soul.
This is why she's a lady of the night. She is lovely with the moonlight against her frigid skin, lively in the dark. Where the sun doesn't shine there is no remembrance of her sin and taint.
When it rains she is happiest. She can go outside and tilt her face to the sky. The water sliding down her face feels like tears — a much needed emotional release. It's a fake — her beauty, her tears. None of it is who she is. Why can't they see this and let her push them away? Alone is where she deserves to be.
She's out in the garage, taking pleasure in defying her flawless beauty and the stereotypes in engenders. Taking apart engines and cleaning them — making them run faster and more efficiently — is something that gives her peace. It occupies enough of her mind so that she can't think too hard about anything too troubling.
"Working on Emmett's Jeep again Rose?" Edward says quietly from behind her, making her jump.
"He wants it to go a few miles per hour faster," She snaps. "And I don't want to think. Excellent powers of observation, Edward."
He sighs and hands her the wrench she's groping around the garage floor for.
I miss you. We used to sit at the opposite ends of the couch silently detesting each other. Now we don't even talk anymore. There are things Emmett doesn't understand about me, Edward. That only you do.
He looks awkward for a few moments, opens his mouth to say something, and slowly walks away. Rosalie smirks at his discomfort and slithers back under the Jeep, back into the darkness.