John Adams Shea. A 1920's socialite, husband of one, lover of many. He was arrogant and pig-headed, and I was looking forward to this one more than all of the others, except for the killing of the devil himself. John would fight until the end, giving me more time to toy with his fear.
He had heard of the death of Caleb St. Laurent, naturally, but he was a Georgia peach farmer, and he had not known any of the others except for Royce. I had taken the name of one of his lovers, a flapper, and was meeting him in D.C. for the weekend.
I was getting ready, wearing a sequined dress and costume make-up, of course, when Edward came walking in to my room. He had a hesitant look on his face, his eyes tentative. I ignored him for several minutes, applying rouge to my icy cheeks. After a while, I heard him quietly clear his throat.
"What?" I demanded, swiveling around on my vanity chair. Edward seemed pleased to finally have my attention.
"Rose, is this fair?" he murmured warily, his eyes skimming the sequins that covered my body. "After all, they have families." I blinked in shock. Was he siding with them? They had left me on the snowy streets to die! They had torn me up and destroyed me! My whole life... I had a whole life ahead of me.
"Damn it, Edward," I groaned. "You are such an asshole. I had a family, too! My mother and father- they loved- they were proud of me." I rethought over what I had said. Had my parents loved me? They had been pleased with me, and they had brought me with them everywhere. I was their trophy, their crowning glory. But had they loved me? I brushed the thought away. After all, none of that mattered anymore. That was a different life, a different Rosalie Hale.
"All that I am saying, Rosalie," Edward persisted, pulling me out of my reverie, "Is that you should rethink this. You're a smart girl. Is this justice, or revenge?" I stood up, sending my swivel stool flying towards the wall.
"It's revenge!" I shrieked mirthlessly. "It's revenge, God damn it. Don't I know that? I'm not like you- I don't think as rationally as you do!" It was the first time I had ever complimented him, but I hadn't meant for it to be a compliment. What was the point of being rational if you had been hurt? Edward shook his head sadly.
"Rosalie, why don't you try thinking with your head instead of your heart for once?" he muttered. I scoffed.
"That's easy for you to say!" I hissed. "You don't have a heart!" For a moment, I basked in the glory of my insult. Edward was such a jackass. He didn't like me, and I didn't like him. We both knew what Carlisle wanted, but he was dreaming if he thought that things would ever work out like that. The only reason that I even stayed with the Cullens was out of gratitude for Carlisle, and admiration for Esme. We were similar, in some ways, at least. We both wanted children, and we had both despised our human lives.
"I've stood aside," Edward began solemnly. "I've let you do this, because I know that you won't be content until you do. You're only two years old, in a supernatural sense, and I don't know if you fully understand the consequences of everything that you do." I rolled my beautiful golden eyes, not comprehending a word that he said.
"What don't I understand?" I demanded, impatiently. I heard Edward heave a sigh as I leaned down to apply extra mascara. The make-up was just for show; I was gorgeous without it.
"Whatever you do know, Rosalie," Edward explained, "It will be with you for eternity. We don't die." How well I knew that. Why did he feel the need to remind me of this? How God damn well I knew we couldn't die.
Two hours, 34 minutes and 17 seconds later, John Adams Shea lay dead on the marble floor in front of the Lincoln Memorial. Revenge keeps getting sweeter.