Author's Note: Not a songfic, but written for "That's Okay" by The Hush Sound from their recent album "Goodbye Blues," over at twilightficmix. Many thanks to my wonderful beta, interfection!
This story takes place in the years before Twilight and all the way into the very beginning of New Moon. There are definite AU elements, specifically with the timeline and passing of events. What I mean by this, is if something doesn't happen at its assigned time or doesn't happen at all, it is not an oversight by me – it's very much deliberate. Also, this story will contain depressing themes, since it deals primarily with Rosalie and Jasper. And no, I'm not just going to ignore Alice and Emmett's existence. That said, please enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight. This applies to all current chapters.
Made of Glass
prologue: you were a child
Raindrops clung to the bricks of buildings, sparkling like confetti in the dim lamplight. He stepped through puddles of darkness and bubbles of scents: lingering spices, perfumes, alcohol. The moisture from earlier rainfall filled his nose; his senses dulled slightly, and the intricate web of emotion around him glowed clearer. Joy, relief, sadness – and the permanent paranoia carved by all Rochester nights.
He had been in New York four weeks, testing himself with each town. Rochester was the largest thus far, crammed from street to street with bustling, thriving humans. Their blood pumped in orchestrated symphony, the heartbeat of the entire city.
Passing through. Always just passing through. Jasper would occupy a dilapidated motel room during the day and stalk the sidewalks at night. He waited in almost giddy fear for the moment it would strike him, the honey sting of blood, and tell him, This is no place for you.
Four long weeks and not a clumsy human yet. Not a bar brawl in a bad district, not a stumbling child. It was luck on the state's part, not skill on his. Like every other phase of his life, this one was slipping slowly into repetition. Until, finally, the stagnant waters swelled and broke.
Jasper paused mid-stride. The scent of blood filled the air, choking out the moisture and beer. He ran soundlessly through crosshatching alleyways, his mind always a step behind the monster, and emerged beneath the curtain of shadow hung between two brownstones.
The sight froze him, still as the stone walls on either side. Blood knotted over the pale body in the street, polluted with sweat and stale alcohol. Over its chorus foamed a sudden wave of emotions, fright riding loudly on its crest.
Her body was as tangled as her scent; her ivory skin glowed cruelly, thickly coated in sweat. Sunspots of bruises rose in fingerprint patterns over her throat, arms, breasts, legs. Her chest jerked heavily, labored breaths struggling in and out.
He had seen her in passing, heard of her on the lips of every aspiring debutante, gossipy old woman, and hormonal shop boy. She beamed from the papers, hair a luminous white against her inky grey face. She was to be wed to someone, she was eighteen, and now she was gasping for breath, beaten and broken on cold pavement.
He turned and ran before a breeze blew and the blood could hit him again in full force. His mind was so frenzied, his own emotions overtaken by her fear, that he didn't catch the scent of another: colder, and reeking of compassion.
As soon as he crossed the threshold into his motel room, he threw his things together, tossed a mess of bills on the bed for the owner, and left New York for good.