Memory by Sugarcult
This may never start.
We could fall apart.
And I'd be your memory.
Lost your sense of fear.
Feelings insincere.
Can I be your memory?
So get back, back, back to where we lasted.
Just like I imagine.
I could never feel this way.
So get back, back, back to the disaster.
My heart's beating faster.
Holding on to feel the same.
This may never start.
I'll tear us apart.
Can I be your enemy?
Losing half a year.
Waiting for you here
I'd be your anything.
So get back, back, back to where we lasted.
Just like I imagine.
I could never feel this way.
So get back, back, back to the disaster.
My heart's beating faster.
Holding on to feel the same.
This may never start.
Tearing out my heart.
I'd be your memory.
Lost your sense of fear.
(I'd be your memory)
Feelings disappeared.
Can I be your memory?
So get back, back, back to where we lasted.
Just like I imagine.
I could never feel this way.
So get back, back, back to the disaster.
My heart's beating faster.
Holding on to feel the same.
This may never start.
We could fall apart
And I'd be your memory.
Lost your sense of fear.
Feelings insincere.
Can I be your memory?
Can I be your memory?
Rosalie was even more beautiful than she had been before to her weak human eyes. The entrancing blond was statuesque and flawless, her figure enviously perfect and her features heartbreakingly consummate. Her eyes were a bright, startling gold -- she had just finished hunting, though not a single drop of maroon tainted her smooth, designer clothing. Her ensemble was simple, something almost out of character for the vain beauty, but only a formfitting tank top and clinging jeans. Her sharp, angular features were wrought with surprise, her own lip curled just as the opposing brunette's was defensively. They mirrored each other in their stunning perfection, both wearing expressions of utter shock and disbelief. The softer looking brunette's first instinct was to make her escape, to turn on her heel and sprint away from the dazzling Rosalie, away from her daunting and painful past.
However, deep inside of her, she knew she could not truly run away from this anguishing woman. She could feel in the air that her lifeless existence had been altered in someway; whether it was a positive or negative change she was unsure.
Then, as quiet as a breath, Rosalie spoke, her bright red lips trembling as she stared at the astonished and terrified brunette, "Bella?' Her voice was unusually soft; though her human memories were clouded and buried deep, the solitary creature remembered that Rosalie always spoke with contempt, if at all, to her. Usually, all she was given was a simple but ferocious glare.
All that Rosalie showed now but shock and something else, an elusive something that she tried to identify but could not.
Automatically, Bella shrunk back, retreating but two steps. She had to suffocate a broken sob, sending it back down her vaguely burning throat. She was sure that if she could cry, tears would be streaming relentlessly down her pale face. She was sure that if her heart beat, it would be racing.
"Yes," she whispered, even more softly, though she was sure that Rosalie had heard. Her eyes closed for a moment, squeezing shut tightly, as she attempted to hold herself together. If a God existed, what has she done to deserve such a pain-wrought existence? She truly was damned to her own personal pain-wrought, earthbound hell. If only she could repent, but she suspected with a heavy, still heart that it was too late. Forty-two years too late, at least for her pitiful being.
As if they were dancing, Rosalie stepped forward gracefully, no breath coming from her parted red lips. She had closed the distance between them in one second, slowly for one such as herself, to only half of what had been. Bella could already feel her spacious mind working in instinctual, aggressive thoughts, though like her sobs, she withheld and drew them back.
"You're alive." Wonder oozed from her words, her eyes still as wide. Strangely enough, Rosalie did not have the slightest suggestion of her past aggressiveness in her face nor tone. Had she changed, as Bella had, over the past forty-two years? "You're alive.."
"Yes," the brunette, shying away, continuing to retreat step by step as the blond approached, said in a breathy whisper. Yes, she was alive, much to her anguish. What wouldn't she give to die? Long ago, she had gone to the Volturi, only to be turned down. Her lips trembled, still restraining her dry wailing.
Rosalie was beginning to overcome her shock, her mouth closing silently, her eyes now staring intensely at Bella. She stopped moving, her slender, pale hand halfway outstretched toward her. Her face gained a look of determination, one that frightened the brunette immensely. Her sharp golden eyes glinted in the dark light as the rain continued to pelt through the helpless greenery.
"Bella," she began, her voice strong and sure, "you've got to come back with me."
Bella flinched, her breath hitching. Her arms had wrapped tightly around her torso to hold herself together and they tightened automatically in response as if she was protecting herself. She was, in a sense, from her past, from the pain that now lounged in her mind, slowly but surely eroding her already dilapidated shell. For an eighty-forth of a second, she considered using her gift to escape the whole situation. It would simplify things so much, even save her from the torture she was experiencing that was bound to intensify the longer she let it develop. But she couldn't bring herself to do it: she couldn't make her mind whip the fantasy into reality, for somewhere in her head in all the space, she knew her choice would haunt her for an eternity.
"I can't. No, no, I can't.." Her voice trailed to silence at the end, and for a forth of a second, her head whipped around and her gaze flickered behind her, as if she was still considering the delicious idea of running.
Rosalie, seeming to think she was going to run, launched forward just as she looked away from the blond beauty. The sound of the earth cracking as she collided with Bella, who had no time for action. She was overwhelmed with the instinct to fight against Rosalie though she resisted it. However, another defense fell as she smothered the need to fight -- a sob ripped through her chest, broken, releasing a portion of her agony in one strangled cry. Rosalie grabbed hold of Bella's upper arms in both strong hands, hauling them both up from the wet forest floor, staring Bella square in the eye. "C'mon."
Even if she had the big enough desire to resist, she couldn't have, at least not without the use of her gift -- Rosalie was stronger and faster.
And so, Rosalie's hand still gripping her arm firmly, she was dragged along in the forest, sobbing without tears, her chest ripped apart and her dead heart being pounded into the earth. She couldn't bring herself to escape the situation, though she knew she could as easily as sucking in a breath. Her cries echoing against the bark of the trees and the pelting rain, she was helpless; she had been stripped of everything, including willpower.
She barely even realized when through the trees an immense white shape showed through that she knew as the Cullen mansion.
I lied. I like this story even if it is extremely unoriginal (everyone needs a good cliche every now and then) so I wrote a second chapter. Whatever -- truthfully, if no one reviews, it won't be any skin off my back because I'm doing this for my enjoyment. BUT, don't get me wrong, I love reviews. They make my day. Yep. Enjoy if you read this.
xoxo crystal binoculars