Pain. Blinding, searing pain that coursed through my veins and pinned me to the cold, hard table I had been laid on top of. Maybe I had died. Maybe I had died and gone to Hell, for what they had done to me just there, out on the street. Perhaps it was my fault, though I had tried to get away. I wasn't sure, but I knew that something was happening to me, I wasn't on the street anymore; I was in a fire,
and it was burning me to death.
Time seemed irrelevant in this tiny bubble, this tiny bubble of pain and agony. It began in my neck, and then spread outward, through out my body and out to my finger tips, my legs, my toes. It burned everything, spreading slowly, causing my back to arch and screams to escape my lips. I couldn't move my limbs but I could speak, and I begged, pleaded with whoever it was around me - because there was someone, I knew it - to kill me. End my insignificant existence before the pain or the shock itself killed me. They took no mercy,
and that was when I knew I was in hell.
It worsened and worsened, seemingly about to reach some sort of peak, and I screamed louder and for longer, screeching to be killed. I wanted to die. I wanted to be dead, not just to end the pain but to end the memories of what had happened before my damnation. Still, no death came, and I was sure I cried.
And then, it subdued. The burning turned slowly to a tingling, and my screams turned to a whimper. I still didn't open my eyes. I felt more alert, though - I could hear things, like cars driving along the road, though they sounded distant and far off, and the sound of a baby crying softly from a small way away. And then voices, closer now, within the same house or vicinity that I was in, whichever it was. It was a young man, and he wasn't pleased.
"Carlisle, I can't believe-"
"I thought you would be happy." A man's voice again, but this one was lower and softer.
"Well I'm not. You can't just take lives because you think-"
"Edward, he was trying to help." A woman's voice now, with the same soft tone as the man's.
"Please, Esme, just don't get involved. He's turned a rich, high society girl who's absence is going to be noted, and when they see her with us they're going to be after us! You've ruined us, Carlisle!"
"Calm down, son. She was dying. She needed our help in any case. We should be welcoming, not angry."
"I'm not being her mate. I don't find her attractive, she's a socialite, and I hate her already."
I realised then they were talking about me. I was shocked - appalled, even! I had been the object of attention since the day of my birth, and here this man was saying that he hated me already! And he didn't find me attractive, which I knew was a lie - men always found me attractive. I hated him already, too.
"Of course you don't have to, dear. He did it out of thought for you, though. You shouldn't be so-"
"Ssh. Listen."
I listened then, too. I wasn't sure what they were listening for.
"Her heart's stopped."
There was a sigh, and then the woman said, "Come on. Let's go and greet her."
I was up like a shot. I threw myself off the table, but I must of used more strength than I thought, as I flew to the back of the room, and hit the wall with a thud, setting a large crack in it. I wasn't that heavy, was I? I was disoriented and backed into a corner as they entered the room.
As I crouched in the corner, the same burning that I had experienced before entered my throat, creeping up on me by surprise, and I clutched at it, trying to feel the flames that were licking it. I couldn't focus on the people in the room as I gasped for air, but then one of them said,
"Hello, Rosalie."
My head snapped up. They were stood in a sort of trio, with the softer man in front, the woman his right and the angry boy on his right. The man in front had blonde hair, pulled back under a flat cap, with tawny eyes and porcelain skin. They all had that - the golden eyes, and the pale, pearly skin that seemed to glow in the candle light of the room. The woman by his side had caramel hair, that was rolled up in some sophisticated and intricate looking style that must of taken hours to achieve. She had plump lips and a warm smile, and I almost felt comforted at her presence. Her dress was a bright red colour with a reasonably low neck line, and tied just above her hips, in a bow at her naval.
And then there was the angry boy - the boy I already despised. I glared at him as I took him in - his bronze hair that as combed back and slick, though I could see it was long. His features were angular, and he held himself stiff and straight. He almost looked out of place in his grey suit and black waist coat, though he was in keeping with the fashion. I met his gaze, and his gold eyes glared straight back into mine.
"What have you done to me?" I hissed, my hand still around my neck. "Who are you?"
"I'm Dr. Carlisle Cullen." He said, and I grimaced. The Cullens. Of course. Their beauty had been whispered about amongst the women of Rochester, and I had been jealous at first at they way they captivated everyone's attention. Now, however, I wasn't jealous - I was afraid. "This is my wife, Esme." He gestured to the woman, who smiled warmly at me. "And Edward." He gestured to the angry boy,
who remained glaring and glowering at me.
"I'm sorry for what I've done." He continued, a shadow passing over his eyes. Had he done this to me? He seemed genuinely sorry. "You may have a hard time believing this, so we'd like you to humor us for a few minutes, until we've told you everything. Can you do that?"
It sounded like he was speaking to a child they way he spoke to me, and I resented it. I glowered at him for a moment before muttering "Yes." and standing up with the speed of lightning. It took me off guard, and I steadied myself, trying to walk at a normal pace to wherever he was taking me.