The Beatles Contest :
Song : She Came in Through the Bathroom Window
C2 Community: www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/community/The_Beatles_Contest_Entries/75504/
Hearing thunder in New York is unlike hearing thunder anywhere else. It booms violently and echoes off of every building. It chases you. Hunts you.
That night was the first night Emmett heard thunder in New York.
So desperate for the sound of something, however distorted, that reminded him of home he left the window open.
That changed everything.
It was the night he met her.
She came in through the bathroom window
Protected by a silver spoon
As the night ebbed on the rain fell lighter, the thunder came less frequently and Emmett's determination to finish his paper lessened. His strong build began creeping closer and closer to the desk, bored with hypothetical situations, bored with correct grammar, and the opinions of men who never put their theories to practice.
Emmett McCarty wanted to be a surgeon yes. He wanted to save lives; he wanted to be the person that put people back together when they were better off dead. His hand absently touched the scar on his jaw; he wanted to be a Carlisle to some person. He wanted to become his own hero, and if he had to learn the chemical properties of every boring ass molecule he would. But no one said he had to enjoy it.
Frustrated his hand dropped the pen, stretched out his aching muscles and reminded himself he needed to head back to the gym tomorrow morning. A beer sounded promising and he sent a silent plea to the gods that his roommate had replaced the beer he borrowed this weekend.
The night wore on, and three hours later Emmett's face was resting heavily on the thick textbook, three beers bottles lined the side of his desk and a small amount of drool leaked onto the page.
In another words it was a perfectly normal way for him to end the night; until she entered. She entered his apartment, her small lithe frame was able to easily fit through the small window, and her feet fell onto the ground with barley a sound. If Emmett was awake he would see that her mascara was running, a red welt was present on her cheek, and she was shaking as if she had been stranded in the cold for hours.
But he was asleep, and the lost girl took the towel from the rack and dried her hair. She peeked out the room to see a man three times the size of the man she had just run from sitting not even twenty feet away. Glancing back and forth between the bathtub and the man, she weighed her options. In the end she closed the bathroom door, took the large robe that hung behind his door and wrapped it around her and settled on his rug.
'It was only until morning then she would go back', she told herself. Right now she just needed to be here. She breathed in the strangely comforting scent of his robe and fell asleep.
But now she sucks her thumb and wanders
By the banks of her own lagoon
The light woke up the strange girl. The warmth it provided felt nice, and she was so comfortable she didn't want to move. She must be dreaming she thought. Her bed never smelt this good.
It was that thought that prompted her eyes to open slowly, and as she did a panic slowly rose as she tried to piece together the events of the night before.
Royce. His friends. The rain. The thunder. The bathroom window.
The last thing she can remember is climbing in through the bathroom window and falling asleep on the rug. But now there were no rugs. There was only a bed, a small, kind of lumpy bed, in a small room. She shifted on the bed and lifted her head ever so slightly. She must be in his room, the man from last night. He must have found her. A lump rose in her throat, she checked her clothes and thankfully found that nothing had changed. Quietly she tried to climb out of the bed; her feet barley made a sound as she stood. She reached her hands for the sweatshirt at the end of the be-
"Oh good you're awake."
She must have jumped five feet in the air, his voice shocked her so. It took her a second to steady her feet on the floor before she took a deep breath and turned around to face the man from last night. The very large man from last night.
The girl watched as he entered the room. The first thing she noticed was his hands; he held a rifle in one hand, and a cup of coffee in the other. Her eyes then travelled down his bare chest, he had scars (claw marks) crossing his chest from his shoulder to his ribs, but that was not what made her mouth dry. No, what made her mouth dry was just the overall realization that he was perfect male. There was not a spare ounce of fat on him. Every plane on his body was beautifully sculpted muscle. He was physical perfection, a real man, nothing at all like the feminine Royce. She had never been so attracted and repulsed at once. After all if a weak man like Royce could inflict that much damage, there were no bounds to what this man in front of her could do.
"Miss?" Her eyes went straight to his, sapphires clashed with emeralds. Emmett pushed the coffee forward and she took it. She didn't dare tell him that she had never so much sipped a glass of coffee before, besides the heat felt nice. They both stared at the other, wondering what the other was thinking.
The man continued to look at her. She felt his eyes on her, they were piercing, the once glance before threw her off balance. She looked down and studied the patterns in the rug. It was unnerving her, this silence. What was he thinking? Did he know who she was? Did he call Royce yet? She chanced a glance upward; his eyes were still focused on her. They were such an arresting shade of green. They seemed to pierce right through her. She lowered her gaze and took a sip of the coffee. Wasn't it said that coffee started the brain? Maybe it could start hers and give her answers. After all what could she say? What is a reasonable excuse for sneaking into a stranger's house and sleeping on the rug in their bathroom? Temporary insanity perhaps?
"Do you care to tell me what you were doing sleeping on my rug last night miss?" He talked slow, with a lazy accent. Unintelligent. New to the city. Maybe she could do this. Maybe she could take back some control.
"Do you care to tell me what gave you the right to move me into your bed?"Her voice was controlled, the voice she had been trained to use all her life, it conveyed status and class. A voice that could be heard in any drawing room in Manhattan that clearly stated I matter and you don't.
"You were freezing." He insisted.
"I was perfectly fine." She swore.
"I mean no disrespect but the shiner on your face says otherwise." She gasped part by the audacity of him to mention the bruise and part because she had almost forgotten. Automatically her hand went to touch the offending area, and she winced as her fingers touched the tender skin. The man sat there watching her, not at all ashamed that he brought up such an unmentionable subject. "I'm not gonna hurt you ma'am. I just want to help you. Maybe we can start with your name." He whispered and held up his hands, a motion that matched his statement.
He meant no harm.
Well they never meant harm she thought perhaps cynically. She studied him. The man watched her eyes, he could see her weighing her options. Somewhere inside him he was pleading with her to trust him. Unsure of why it was important. He just knew it was.
"Rosalie."
One day that word would be all he would ever need.
"Do you have a last name miss?" He asked. As she heard the southern twang and soft words roll of his tongue she imagined curling up to his body and allowing him protect her. That's all she really wanted in this world, all she ever expected, a man to protect her and take care or her. But last night changed everything. She needed to stand tall and straight and look him in the eye. She would take care of herself.
That began with deciding what should be kept secret. She knew that if he knew her name he would give her back. It wouldn't be his fault, it was simply the way of the world, and she belonged to Royce. She was his property, his wife, even if she was just a trophy wife. But last night severed all ties between them.
Never had she been so humiliated in front of the others. In private was one thing. Mama had taught her to take the bad with the good, and if you looked at the statistics she had plenty of good. But last night. What he wanted to do to her in front of his friends. No, she belonged to no one anymore. Only herself, and she would stand on her own two feet as much as possible.
"No." She whispered.
She was no longer .
She was just Rosalie.
And she wouldn't go back to being Mrs. Royce King without a fight. Thankfully Emmett just accepted this.
"Well Miss. Rosalie, would you mind telling me what you were doing in my bathroom last night?" He asked as he dragged his hand across his face. She could hear the exhaustion in his voice. She could see the heavy bags under his baby face and the image of him slumped over his desk flashed in front of her. Why was he doing this? Why would he waste his time on her?
"I…" Be strong Rosalie. "I just needed a place to stay." She twirled her hair through her fingers, and watched anxiously for his reaction.
Don't make me tell you anymore. Please don't kick me out. I have nowhere to go. Let me stay. Rosalie begs in her mind. Her parents will just send her straight back to her husband, her rightful place, they don't understand, and she could never tell them. How could she say what he did? The way he touched her, tried to… his friends watched, and just leered at her. She can't be his wife anymore. She can't be that person. She has no money. He has everything; everything but her, her and her body. So please, please just let me stay here. Her lips tremble, her eyes water, as she waits for Emmett to decide her fate.
He for the most part, silently watched her and for a long time just stared. A strange girl showed up in his bathroom seeking solace. It is obvious enough why, when he first saw the bruise on her face he wanted to vomit. But giving her a place to stay, hiding her from a man who would surely be missing her. Could he do that? As each second passed and her face only increased with fear his answer was an obvious yes. Something in those baby blue eyes of her reached out to him, and he just couldn't deny her his protection.
Finally the silence was broken. "You're hiding." He stated. "Running away from who did this to you." Another statement and Rosalie nodded her head, please, she begged one final time.
Emmett exhaled, "Okay."
"Okay," she smiled.
And thus it began.
Didn't anybody tell her?
Didn't anybody see?
A week, then two, then three had passed and Rosalie found herself going stir-crazy in the small apartment. Emmett made himself clear that she was never to interact with his roommate. She was not to be heard or seen. She was a prisoner again but she couldn't bring herself to escape.
Her days were spent watching TV. Sometimes she would read the books that lined his walls. She knew by now he wanted to be a doctor, not that he had told her. They did not talk, they only shared actions: silent glances, gestures, smiles, looks. They tip-toed around the other. Sometimes she wanted Royce back. If only so she could hear him shout at her, so that someone would ask her how her day went. Sometimes she would swear the false civility and boiling rage was better than this slow and quiet friendship that was beginning between the two of them. Then she would fall asleep at night and feel safe. Emmett's body heat only an arm length away, silently reassuring her it would be okay. Three weeks and not once did she ever worry he would strike her. Three weeks and he had yet to raise his voice. Slowly she would realize that that feeling of safety was worth all the false conversations and restless nights with Royce.
So she traded her once exciting and fast paced life for days of boredom. She sat in the apartment day after day, hiding in Emmett's room until his roommate left, and watched the TV. Always waiting for the second her face appeared on the news and Emmett turned her in. As the weeks passed she wondered why no one looked for her. She was the wife of a tycoon. Her face was known everywhere yet no one commented on her disappearance.
Unless… Unless he lied. Unless he didn't admit she was missing, perhaps she was just vacationing somewhere. But when would it happen? When would they finally realize that she was gone too long? Would they just forget? God, she hoped so, but it filled her mind constantly. What if she stepped outside and ran into a friend. Just six floors upstairs and Royce was sleeping soundly. Was there someone with him?
Rosalie's mind was always filled with these thoughts until Emmett came home. The second he entered the room she felt like she needed to hold her breath. He filled every square inch of the apartment. Even if he was on the opposite side of the room she could feel his skin touching hers. She could barley form a coherent sentence when he was in the room let alone, worry about Royce.
And so it continued.
Sunday's on the phone to Monday,
Tuesday's on the phone to me
"I want to get a job." She announced one morning as they sat at the kitchen table and shared a bowl of cereal. The roommate had an early class, Tuesdays and Thursdays and they took advantage of the time they could relax together outside of the bedroom, where neither was able to be relaxed.
"Can you do anything?" He looked at her; green eyes sparkled with an expression that just made her want to slap him, and maybe just maybe laugh. Oh how she wished she could laugh. When was the last time she had?
"Yes." She answered.
"What?" His mouth curved, and he waited eagerly, like she was about to tell him a great joke.
"I don't know. I can cook and I draw pretty well. I like to fix things." His mouth curved further; honestly it was going to split his face in half if it kept going.
"Honey its 1962 no one is going to hire you to fix anything, besides breakfast. And not in a restaurant." Then he went and did it. He laughed. Like her making a living or being capable of being anything other than the perfect housewife she was raised to be was amusing. She was intelligent. She could do things. When Royce threw the radio clear across the room in one of his fits, it was her who put it back together the next day so it worked.
Her eyes stung as the truth of her life crashed down around her.
She was raised to be nothing more than a pretty face.
She was raised to believe she was a wife.
That was all she ever wanted, to be a wife, a mother. And now it seemed like such a joke. God she was so naive, and now that was all anyone would ever see.
Even Emmett only saw the flawless veneer.
It surprised her how much that disappointed her.
Well fine, she was ready for a fight. Rosalie raised her face and tilted her chin. "I. Want. A. Job." Her blue eyes were unwavering, and his laughter faded.
They both knew what this meant. If she left the apartment she could see him. The man whose name she wouldn't tell him. She could see him and he might come after her. He might not let her disappearance go so easily. But freedom was worth the price. A chance to make her way. To learn who she is.
"Can you dance?" He asked.
And something changed.
She said she'd always been a dancer
She worked at 15 clubs a day
Every night for the next two weeks Emmett would watch Rosalie come in; hugging her body close, as if she wanted to disappear into herself.
He hated the idea of her dancing at the Peppermint Club.
It was harmless enough. The peppermint club was a landmark in the city, a place to go to see and be seen. He found it through a buddy who knew someone, and he knew from first hand that the girls, who danced there, were just those girls who danced. Yes, their makeup was a bit flashier, their dresses an inch or two shorter, but they were friendly girls, beautiful, gorgeous friendly girls that danced on tables and stages.
So he didn't feel guilty calling in a favor and getting her an audition.
It was just that he hated her body being on display. He hated knowing that she needed to do this, or at least she thought she needed to do this. He hated her not always being here, but he was beginning to understand.
He was beginning to get a handle on Rosalie.
She was an entirely different person than the girls back home. The girls back home said what they thought; they worked in the home, took care of the kids, but smacked a man if he said a word she didn't like. The city was a different universe.
Rosalie was fragile. She edited the words she spoke before she spoke them, held her tongue when others would have lashed out, she lowered her eyes to the ground and listened to every word that he said.
Emmett was ready to strangle her.
He had never had to think so much about another person's frame of mind. His sister, his old girlfriends, he always cared what they thought, he was a good guy. But he had never had the problem that they would believe every word he said, and act accordingly. Truthfully everyone tended to ignore what he said, he was the goofball and he enjoyed being the court jester and entertaining his friends.
No Rosalie needed to get a backbone and she better get it before Emmett cracked. He didn't want to, and the lord knew he was holding down and staying strong for her but he could only last so long. Each day tried his patience. Each day, he was losing control. Each smile, each glance. Each touch was testing him, and he had never had to be so selfless and he was finding he didn't much like it. But he tried.
And they stayed the course.
And though she thought I knew the answer
Well I knew what I could not say.
Three months later and she was still there. Every room had her touch. The walls were painted. His bed was made. There was actual food in the refrigerator. His roommate had long since left, claiming it was unnatural to live with an unmarried female. Emmett only shrugged and told him he was more than welcome to leave; within a week Rosalie moved into his room.
Emmett now wishes she hadn't; he misses her.
Her smell is everywhere in the house, except his bed. When she stayed in his room he could smell her hair on his pillow and the feel of her warmth an arm length away. Now she is in the next room and he misses her smell. He misses her face. They live in the same house and barley see one another, when he was sleeps she is out dancing.
In the past three months they settled into a routine. They found a rhythm together, a secret that only they knew. Saturdays were his favorite day. He would sleep late, and they would be together in the kitchen, circling around one another, an intricate ballet that only they knew the steps to.
Sometimes he would imagine the routine five, ten years from now.
Sometimes in his daydreams she would be pregnant.
Then he remembered they had never kissed.
They had never hugged.
Every night she danced in front of strangers, she smiled and laughed for them. The charming woman he knew she could be. Then she would come home to him the broken little girl he found in his bathroom that morning. He wanted her, all of her, every inch of her, all the good and all the bad.
But now was not the time for that.
Now it was four o'clock in the morning and he needed to get ready a few hours sleep before his last exam. In a week he would be a doctor. In three he would begin his internship at Columbia. Maybe she would come to his graduation.
As he walked out of the bathroom he heard the door close. He paused for a second debating between a few moments with her, and the extra minutes of sleep. It isn't a contest; he walks into the kitchen and leans on the doorframe watching her. Rosalie is there; her feet bare, hair down, singing Having A Party, with a smile on her lips as she reaches into the cabinet for a glass. She moves through the kitchen as if she is floating. Her voice rings out through the apartment, her hips twist; her hair hypnotizes him as it swings back and forth. She is gorgeous.
It is as if he is seeing her for the first time.
"Good night?" He asks. She turns at complete ease and not at all surprised by his presence. That action alone made him realize how far they had come.
Her eyes meet his; her blue eyes which he has studied so often, and tonight, tonight the normally brilliant blue is breathtaking. She is a goddess her whole body is glowing.
"Great night." And then the world tilts on its axis and she laughs. It was the first time; he ever saw her laugh, the first time he ever saw her laugh.
It is a vision which stays with him for the rest of his life.
"I saw Royce. The man who gave me the black eye." Emmett nods as his hand balls into a fist, happy to have a name that he can hunt down. "He didn't even recognize me." She says, and begins laughing. He tries to but it doesn't come naturally.
"I was… still am actually still married to the ass and he didn't recognize me. When he looked at my face I expected him to… I don't know, drag me out by my hair. Call me a whore. Demand I come home…From the second I saw him walk in I held my breath. But then he just walked right by me. He passed me over and looked at the other girls. How could he not have known it was me? Did I change that much? Did he never actually see me before?"
Rosalie looked at him, her head titled, confused. She was asking him questions, questions he would never be able to answer. The woman in front of him was the same person he saw that first day. Yes she was a little brighter, her body fuller, she stood taller. But she was still Rose. The same Rose he looked after, and watched. The one he tried to help; the one who had unknowingly changed him.
How could Royce look past her? The thought hangs in his mind, as his brain scrambles for an answer. How could anyone not drown in the vision before him? The thought fades quickly because in the next second the world really does spin on its axis.
He swears he is dreaming.
The moment he imagines a million times begins.
Rosalie walks over to him and takes his fist, tugs on his fingers, and holds his hand. He watches her, his mouth dry, hanging open. Who is this marvelous creature and where has she been hiding. She looks up at him and starts talking again, "He didn't even recognize me. I stood in front of him and dance. He didn't know who I was."
Why is she telling him this? Surely she can feel his fingers tense under hers. "It's such a shame that as he walked by I slipped and accidently collided with him."
A smirk ghosts over her lips, and he can see the laughter bubbling underneath. "It's even more of a shame that my boot happened to collide with a specific part of him."
Finally he is able to laugh along with her. And that's when it all began again anew. At four o'clock in the morning, two tired, desperate, exhausted souls finally let down all their defenses and laugh.
Maybe one day the rest of his dreams will come true, but for now this is enough.
Right now, they can just laugh.