WARNING! THIS STORY DEALS WITH GANG RAPE. READERS CAUTIONED.

"Rosalie?" Emmett called from the next room. "Rose?"

—His breath stunk of alcohol—

"In here," I called back, trying to recover from my flashback. I had never been the same since that night

—They crowded around me, one pulled out a knife—

when I was raped.

—"You go first Royce"—

Emmett entered our bedroom and came over to me. I tried to avoid his gaze. I knew that he would be able to see the pain in my eyes and it would worry him. Emmett seemed invincible to the rest of the world, but truthfully, my pain tore him down. He knew what happened to me the night I became a vampire—Carlisle had told him—but I never told him the true story. Only Edward, Esme, and Carlisle knew the true horrors of that night. I had told Esme and Carlisle, but Edward being the dick he is, searched my mind until he dug out those undesirable memories. I gave him a good sock in the jaw afterward, though.

Emmett wrapped his arms around my waist and planted a gentle kiss on the nape of my neck. His touch was gentle and loving

—They hurt me. And hurt me. And hurt me—

unlike theirs.

—One after the other. Different sizes. Different speeds. Pain—

"Are you alright, love?" he inquired, kissing his way along my collarbone now. "You seem distracted." I could hear the worry brimming in his voice. It was almost undetectable, but I knew him better than anyone.

"I'm fine," I lied. "Everything is fine."

—Someone spilled bourbon on my upper thigh—

"Are you sure?"

—The cold blade of the knife pressed up against my—

"Yes," I answered, shaking my head slightly. I wanted to get these flickers out of my mind as soon as I could. If my heart still could beat, it would have been pounding.

Emmett spun me around gently so I face him. His golden eyes searched mine. "You're thinking about it again, aren't you?"

—A pair of hands ripped off my shirt and started touching my—

Sighing, I nodded, finally giving in. "How can I not think about it?"

—Royce entered me first. Pain. Unbearable pain—

Emmett kissed my head. "Rosalie, I know you hate to talk about it, but I need to know what happened. I need to know what those monsters did to you," he whispered, his lips brushing against my forehead still.

"What's the point?" I snapped.

—"Look at that fresh p—"

"I already got my revenge."

—"Looks like you're gonna have to find a new wife, Royce!"—

He nodded. "I'm glad for that," he told me. "But… I want to know, so I know what I can do and what I can't do. The last thing I want to do is cause you pain in anyway—physically or emotionally. Rosalie Hale, you are everything to me. You're the air that I breathe and I don't want to hurt you."

—"Stop it! Stop it please!" My cries were in vain—

"But by asking me to talk about it, you are causing me pain. I don't want to talk about it, Emmett," I growled. "And that's final."

—"It's kind of hard to tell with all those clothes on,"—

I turned away from him, but saw him look down out of the corner of my eye. "I'm sorry, Rose."

—"Hey, Rose! Come over here!"—

The flickers needed to stop. Maybe if I did talk to Emmett about it, they would go away. I would be willing to recall my darkest hour if it would make the flashbacks go away. Never again did I want to think about what Royce King put me through that night. I sat on the bed and looked at Emmett who still stood, hanging his head. It would take him a minute or too to get over it.

"Em," I said, watching him carefully.

He looked up, and his eyes locked with mine. "I'm sorry, Rosalie."

—"Shut up, you little whore!" A hand slapped my face—

"It's fine… In fact, I think I do want to tell you," I whispered.

He came over and sat beside me on the bed, taking my hand in his. "Rose, if it's too painful…"

"No. I need to tell you. You're right—you deserve to know… You love me enough to tell me everything… and I owe you this much… I love you more than enough. I don't know why I've waited this long… I guess…"

Emmett stopped me by kissing my lips suddenly. I kissed him back until he pulled away. "I tell you everything, because nothing nearly as traumatic has ever happened to me. I was a freaking playboy before I met you. You salvaged the real me—saved me from becoming something that I'm not. You gave me a second chance and allowed me to redeem myself. I can never thank you enough for that. And… you don't need to tell me anything."

"I want to," I persisted. "Now shut up and listen."

It was literally the last night of my life—my human life at least. I was at my friend Olivia's house. She was my maid of honor, and we were going over some details for my wedding that was just days away now. Olivia lived just a few houses away from my own. I didn't think anything of walking home—I had done it many times before. Why should that night have been every different.

"Hey Rose!" the monster called. I looked over into an alley and I saw them. They looked like a bunch of hoodlums crowded in an alley. One was smoking a cigarette and the others were passing around a couple bottles. The monster—Royce as his friends called him—waved me over. "Come over here."

He was my fiancé. Why should I say know? In a few days, I would've been Mrs. Rosalie King anyway. I did as he asked, but went over slowly. He must have seen my reluctance, for he met me halfway and grabbed my forearm almost roughly. "Get over here," he said, but his voice was light, almost teasing.

As we reached the other men, Royce took my face in his hands and pulled it to his. His breath stunk of alcohol, but he crushed his lips to mine. I jerked away so he just pulled me so I was pressed up against him. "Royce…" I breathed. "You're drunk," I said, shooting an uneasy glance at the men.

Royce ignored me. "Isn't she beautiful, John? I told you she was beautiful," he half-growled, trying to kiss me again. I tried to pull away.

The man named John was the tallest one there—I would estimate he was about six foot tall—he had short black hair and beady brown eyes that reminded me of a weasel's. He smiled a sick, twisted smile. "It's kind of hard to tell with all those clothes on," he said, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

That earned laughs from the drunken men around us. Royce smiled too. One of his hands reached down my shirt and touched my left breast. "What'd ya say Rose? Why don't we take off a few layers?" he asked, adding the other hand, trying to rip my tan fur coat off.

I whimpered and jerked out of his grip, tearing his hand from my blouse. "I'll see you tomorrow—sober." As I turned to leave, Royce grabbed my upper arm violently.

"Where do you think you're going?" he demanded in my ear. He yanked me back toward the others.

I fought against his grip, but it was like being locked in iron. "No! No! Please!" I begged. Royce again ignored me and threw me to the ground before the others. One guy tore off my coat and tossed it on the ground. My white blouse was ripped from Royce's grabs, and my bra was exposed slightly. I moved away from them, trembling.

They all crowded around me, and one pulled out a knife. The man named John grabbed me and yanked me to my feet. Royce helped him pin my to the wall. I screamed, I kicked, I punched, but to no avail. "Stop it! Stop it please!" My cries were in vain.

"Shut up, you little whore!" A hand slapped my face. I couldn't tell who it had been. I screamed even louder as a pair of hands ripped of my shirt and began touching my breasts. I could tell it was Royce. Another pain ripped off my bra and threw it somewhere on the ground.

"Shut her up, damn it!" Someone growled. Another hand appeared and shoved something in my mouth—an sock. It stuck and tasted horrible. I tried to scream, but it as muffled by the piece of clothing.

Someone pulled off my shirt and began rubbing their fingers against my still covered entrance. Tears sprung up in my eyes. I couldn't control it as they began to fall. Another hand reached out and slapped me, but it only made me cry more. More hands began to play with my entrance and finally, someone took off the underwear.

The men laughed. "Look at that fresh pussy!" One said happily and I assumed he was the one who stuck a finger inside and then pulled it out roughly.

I let out a moan of pain, but they must have mistaken it for one of pleasure. Royce laughed. "Listen to that! She likes it!"

Nearby, a few of the men already had their pants open and were stroking their erect, swollen cocks. I was trembling. This could not be happening. This could not be happening. "You go first, Royce," John said. I couldn't see their faces anymore. Everything was a blur of hands and shadows. More hands brushed against my thighs and pried them apart farther than I thought possible. I let out a cry of pain. Someone spilled bourbon on my upper thigh.

Finally, Royce's face was directly in front of mine. He smiled and entered me. I cried out as he penetrated me further, breaking the strand and claiming my virginity for himself. He didn't want to for me to get accustomed to the new, strange sensation. He pulled out roughly, looking displeased. "Give me a bottle, Walter. Damn bitch's too dry."

A man with a shadowed face passed Royce a bottle, and he poured it over my womanhood. I whimpered at the coldness of the alcohol. The next thing I knew, Royce was inside me again. He began thrusting in and out. He hurt me, and hurt me, and hurt me.

Finally, he cried out and I whimpered as something shot deep inside me, right to my core. He'd released. "Someone else can have her now," Royce said, stepping away from me, his cock still dripping with fluids.

I gasped as the cold blade of a knife was pressed up against my entrance. I let out a cry of pain as the sharp side poked my clit. "NO!" I screamed behind the sock. "STOP!"

"Hey! Don't ruin her until we've all had a turn!" one guy called.

I wanted to let out a small sigh of relief, but the feeling was gone as someone else shoved themselves inside me. The knife sliced my upper legs on both sides, and then began to outline my breasts. The guy with the knife played with my body while the other men had their fun. They fucked me one by one and got their sexual gratification from me.

At last, I thought it was over, but John stepped up to me. He held the knife to my throat and forced himself on me as well. When he was done, however, he removed the sock from my mouth and pushed me to me knees so I my mouth was level with his manhood. "Do what you do best, you pathetic cock-sucker!" he growled. Without warning, he pulled my face forward and I opened my mouth, unsure of what else to do.

His penis went in my mouth and it tasted horrible. He continued to pull me forward, shoving his member down my throat. I gasped and tried to pull away. Finally, he let me pull away, but when I reached the tip, he pushed me back. He continued to fuck my mouth and the other men soon returned and began to play with my womanhood and my breasts. The knife guy returned and began to cut up my belly.

One by one, the guys made me take them in my mouth. Royce was last, and once he was done, I collapsed to the ground. Someone kicked me so hard in the back, I urinated on the ground. Someone else stepped deliberately on my leg, breaking it. I screamed, and another man kicked me so hard I the jaw that I was sure it broke. I couldn't open my mouth anymore it hurt so back.

As the men left me in the street, I heard John say something to Royce. "Looks like you're going to have to find a new wife, Royce!" he joked.

They laughed and left me there. I knew they thought I was dead. Believe me, I wanted to be. I don't know how long it was—five minutes, an hour, two hours—it seemed like an eternity. I heard footsteps approach me, but I couldn't move to save me life.

An ice-cold hand touched my cheek. Its touch was so gentle, I immediately felt calm. The hands rolled me over onto my back so I could see the owner of the hands. An unnaturally beautiful man with golden eyes and blond hair was staring down at me. "Hello? Can you hear me?" he asked. His voice was sweet and smooth like honey, but it also sounded kind, like a father's voice, or a doctor's.

I let out a small sound that sounded somewhat like a whimper and blinked my eyes trying to tell him yes. My throat was dry like a desert and my jaw ached like something awful. I wanted to tell him. Somehow, I knew he would help. Somehow, I knew that he would understand.

"Can you tell me your name?" he asked.

"Rosalie," managed to grunt out. The sound of my voice surprised me. I didn't sound like me. I probably didn't look like me either. I knew that the bodily fluids of the men were probably dried around my mouth and lips. I knew that I was covered in blood and my hair was a mess. I felt embarrassed, but at the same time, I could've cared less.

"My name is Carlisle. Rosalie, I am a vampire. I'm going to change you into one. It'll make the pain go away in the long run, but it will be very painful at first. It will feel like you are on fire, but you will survive," he told me. "I'm going to help you."

Vampire. I shuddered inwardly, unable to move my body it hurt so bad. I felt used. I felt like I had be violated in the worst of ways because I had been. I had been used for those monsters' sexual gratification and now I was going to die—or be changed into a vampire. Vampire…

Carlisle leaned down and murmured something that sounded like an apology and sank his teeth into my neck.

Emmett was silent for a long moment. I knew that he had been expecting something bad, but I also knew that he hadn't been expecting something like that. "Do you… do you hate me?" I asked suddenly. I knew it was a foolish question—Emmett could never hate me. But the truth was, I didn't feel good enough. I felt dirty. I felt like Emmett deserved better.

He looked at me, his eyes wide. "Why on Earth would you ask that? Of course I don't hate you! Rosalie, I love you!"

"But… but you must think bad of me," I whimpered.

Emmett shook his head and pulled me into his arms. "No. I don't. It's not like you chose for that to happen. You didn't have a say in that. They used you. They deserved to die! Rosalie, I love you with all my heart, and I will never hurt you."

To this day, Emmett has never hurt me. He has done everything for me, and has been the best husband and partner I could have ever asked for. I love him more than life itself, and he feels the same way. And what's better—I don't have the flickers anymore.

A/N: So, what'd you think? Leave a review please. I know, it's heavy and I'm sorry it was so graphic. But anyway, this is my version of Rosalie Hale's story.