I do not own Twilight – it belongs to Stephenie Meyer.
Forever and Always
June, 1996
We're eight. Do you remember when we were eight? It was the year we had that stupid, ridiculous fight.
Do you remember? It was something to do with you hanging out with a bunch of boys I didn't like. I don't know, it was stupid, it was irrational. It ripped a hole in our innocence blanket, causing a spill of evil, bad emotions to fill the gaps.
Do you remember when we were eight?
.
"I don't like you hanging out with those people, Em." My voice was whining, droning in my ears.
"Well, I'm sorry Rosie,but you don't really get to pick who I am and aren't friends with."
I stared up into his brown eyes, his jaw jutted out. My hands were forced onto my hips as I glared up at him. "Don't call me that," I whispered through my teeth, spitting the word at him.
"Don't tell me what to do," he countered back.
"Don't call me Rosie then."
"Fine."
"Fine."
"Good."
My face was inches from his, my eyes were fuming, two angry red spots appearing on my cheeks. "Don't talk to me," I told Emmett, turning on my heel.
He stood still, his arms hanging limply by his side. "Good, I never wanted to be your friend anyway. I hate you, you're a bitch!"
I flinched back from the curse-word. It seemed to vibrate all around the school. It hit me quite suddenly, quite unexpectedly. I had no friends. Emmett was my one and only friend. And now, I had lost him as well. I had turned my back on the world, on civilisation.
Loneliness entered the security blanket.
.
Do you remember when we were eight, Emmett? You didn't talk to me for a week. I sat in our tree as I watched you run around with your new friends, your new life. I let my feet drag along the ground as I swang off the branches, watching you kick around a ball. I watched you laugh and smile and joke.
And God, Emmett, do you realise how jealous I was? I wanted to know the secret, I wanted to know the secret to friendship. I wanted to know how you did it. How you fit in so easily.
Do you remember when we were eight? I was lining up at the canteen, cowering away from the big kids as they pushed each other aside, yelling and hitting, screaming and hurting. And I saw you, two places ahead of me. You looked at me, do you remember Emmett? Do you remember the look you gave me?
You smiled, but it was a sad smile. It was as though you realised that our friendship was over. Our lifelong friendship over just because of some stupid, arrogant fight!
But do you remember Emmett? Remember how I smiled back and suddenly everything was all right? You offered me a spot in the line, and I took it. I went before you and I bought the last pie. But you wanted the pie and . . .
Do you remember when we were eight, Emmett? That was the year we learned to share.
Author's Note: My inner eight-year-old is to blame for the theatrics. Also for the constant change of tense. It's having an identity crisis.
